The Return of the Sun

Though we in southern Alberta - and many other places, it seems - have been hit with one snowfall after another this winter, the year is advancing and spring is nearly here.

With the change from daylight saving time - or to it, possibly - there is more sunlight in the afternoon. More importantly - because it is beyond the control of mankind - the Earth is tilting in our favour again, and we are receiving the rays of our personal star more directly now. The cats are enjoying this development.

The sun is shining into the cosy apartment in greater abundance these days, and the beasts are not slow to take advantage of it. Cammie, in particular, is enjoying it. She seems to spend half of her time snoozing in the warmth of the heated cat-beds, and the other half snoozing in the warmth of the sunshine. These are the days when I envy the life of a cat.

Daylight Wasting Time

The change from (or to; I can never keep that straight) Daylight Saving Time last weekend resulted in the usual inconvenience and confusion at the cosy apartment. It would not have been as troublesome if I didn’t have two diabetic cats.

Every day, I wake at 5.35 a.m. On weekdays, it is because I have to go to work, so I inject Tucker and Parker with their insulin about half an hour later, after the insulin has warmed sufficiently to be given. I also scoop the litter-boxes and feed the beasts. On holidays and other days off, I wake at 5.35 a.m. as well, because I need to give the insulin at the same time each day. When I needn’t go to work, I normally go back to bed for a couple of hours.

This past Sunday, I woke at 5.35, according to my bedside clock, and began my routine. You can no doubt see where this is going. I soon realised that it was indeed 5.35, but the new 5.35, which meant that, by the ‘insulin schedule’, I was an hour early. I was told when Tucker was diagnosed with diabetes that the insulin could be given within an hour on either side of the correct time for the injection. But I thought this morning that a full hour might be too much. So I went back to bed, for half an hour.

I rose again at what my bedside clock told me was six a.m. - five a.m., by the ‘insulin schedule’. I left the insulin out to warm to room temperature; that takes about half an hour. I then administered it to the boys at 5.30 by the old schedule - only half an hour off - and then went back to bed, again. That evening, their doses were given at six p.m. It was an hour behind the schedule, but it had arrived there by two half-hour increments, which I felt would be a sufficiently mild change.

In fact, I probably could have given Tucker and Parker their medicine an hour early right from the start with no ill effects. But I didn’t want to take the chance. However, my actions resulted in a disruption of the day at its beginning, and I don’t think it - or I - recovered properly. Sunday was followed by the work-week, which of course destroys any attempt to catch up on my rest, so I will sleep properly only this coming weekend.

As I like to say at this time of year, “Only two and a half months until my holidays…”

Josie and the Water-bowls

Josie likes to see the water-bowls filled. She will drink from them immediately they are recharged. When I initially noticed this propensity on her part, I was mildly worried that it represented an increased consumption of water. But, in fact, my Chubs does not drink an inordinate amount, from what I can determine. She merely likes freshness.

When she sees me filling a bowl, especially the big one kept in the bedroom by the door, she will come over to its spot and await its descent, often with one of her little scratchy cries. She then helps herself to some of the cold, clean liquid. She almost always drinks from a newly charged bowl, though she rarely consumes much at such a time. She does now and then take a long, satisfying draught, but usually after meals. Other instances are just for the taste.

As are other cat-owners, I am continually concerned with my beasts’ drinking habits; cats never drink enough water. I don’t want to see them take in too much – a possible sign of physical issues – nor do I wish them to imbibe too little, as cats chronically cheat themselves of what they need. So I am pleased to watch the Great White drink whenever she likes. Small quantities add up, and drinking a few swallows just for the enjoyment of it is fine with me.

Parker-face

Sometimes cats have the most pensive expressions. I wonder of what they are thinking, or if they are thinking at all. Perhaps they are merely vegetating, as we do sometimes - too often. Are they remembering an incident from the past? Pondering something they have seen? My orange foster-cat is probably trying to calculate how long it will be until his next meal. He would be tough to beat in a card game, though, because he has the perfect Parker-face…

She Talks in My Sleep

Dreams are interesting things. I enjoy my dreams, as the events that occur in them are usually much more exciting than what occurs in real life.

I recall that a few nights ago, I was listening to someone speak in a dream I was having. She - I can’t remember whether it was a man or woman, but I will refer to her as a female for convenience - was saying something that eventually resolved itself into a repeated phrase, a short one, uttered over and over; I don’t recollect what was actually said. I slowly worked my way toward consciousness after this and, as I did, the phrase became incoherent, the voice more nasal and gravelly, until, as I woke, it became the voice of Cammie, out in the sitting room, talking to one of her toys.

“Mrrrraaarrr…mrrrraaarrr…mrrrraaarrr…”

The princess’s conversation became part of my subconscious world, like something from Alice in Wonderland. It’s funny how dreams accommodate stimuli from the waking life. Though, if one thinks about it, it is not strange. After all, we cat-people do everything we can to include our cats in every facet of our lives. Why not in our dreams, too?

Get Away from My Home!

My foster-cat, Parker, of course thinks of the cosy apartment as his home. That is as it should be. And that being the case, he wants to defend it against any cat he feels might be intruding. This applies to the outsider-cats who come by just for the food I leave for them.

The interesting thing is that Cammie used to behave in much the same way as my sturdy-boy does now. The princess still shows an interest in any cat who may be seen through the windows, but she does not become excited about their presence, unless they approach very close and she can smell them through an open window. Parker, however, will sometimes challenge a strange cat, whapping the window-panes to warn him off. Even if it doesn’t go that far, his tail flicks furiously, like a stick on a drum-skin. Perhaps Cammie, no longer the newest, has little anxiety over being displaced – that is Parker’s worry now.

That is how he behaved when the two black cats came by on the weekend for a daylight meal. They did come quite near – but, as I tried to reassure the orange-boy, they were not intending to enter his home. They were just enjoying a meal at the café.

(You may note my solution to having the outside food-bowl exposed to the elements. It is a nylon shopping bag, stiffened on the bottom and sides to create a kind of box. It is on one side, facing away from snow, sleet and wind, and weighted with a flat stone, on which is the food-bowl. I placed the bowl nearer and nearer the shelter, until, now, it is inside. These two felines, at least, have overcome any fears of it being a trap. I think others may have, or at least will. So far, this solution is working. Though Parker may disagree all together with the point of leaving food for outsider-cats…)

Cats Permeate My Life

Cats permeate my life, especially my cats and my routines with them.

There is a colony of unsocialized felines behind my work-place. Lately a new cat has appeared amongst the regulars, who are mostly white and black, except for a tabby with white socks. This new fellow is all-black and is still making his place. I left work one day this week and saw him slip behind a pile of wooden pallets. He evidently met other cats, as there was hissing and growling. I immediately said:

“Hey, hey! It’s alllllll right, it’s alllllll right… Calm down…”

This is what I do when my own beasts act up. What did I expect these community cats to do?

Then there’s the fact that when I see dust-bunnies on floors outside of my own apartment, I stoop to pick them up, automatically thinking them to be cat-hair. When I hear anything that sounds like a cat retching, I look up to see if it’s Cammie. I could be in the local grocery store…

And as if that’s not enough, I was at the pet-supply shop where, on the second Saturday of every month, my rescue-group shows off a cat available for adoption, and watched a dog come in with his people. He was a big, cheerful fellow. He came over to greet me and his people told me that he was very happy to be there. Though I could see his tail wagging, I nonetheless put my hand against his side - so I could feel if he was purring.

Cats permeate my life.