Curly Antennae

My foster-cat, Parker, has many interesting features. One which I did not notice until this past weekend was the curl of some of his whiskers. They are not those which come from the sides of his mouth but, rather, those that sprout from above his eyes - the antennae.

You will notice that some curl with kinks, instead of smooth curves. I’ve not observed that in any of my other beasts, but I must take a look. Whatever their shape, the orange boy’s whiskers seem to serve him well: despite his diabetes, he can jump and run with the best of them.

Bigger Than a Lap

This is a rarity: two cats on my lap at once.

My cats don’t much care for each other. I had written recently that Tucker and Parker do not get along. In truth, none of my cats cares for another. Each would be quite content to be the only cat in the household. I envy those families who have cats who are friends, who groom each other and play together. Mine do not hate each other, but they are largely indifferent to one another.

When I am on the couch, reading or listening to music, one of the beasts will sometimes join me. At that point, Renn, if he is not the cat already lying on me, will periodically decide to come over, too. He usually approaches the position indirectly, walking along the back of the couch and then onto the arm beside me. From there, he may gingerly step onto my lap. If Cammie is already present, she will hiss and jump off. Parker will move to one side. Josie will only rarely be there at all. If the lap is occupied by Tucker, he might stay.

So it was on the weekend. As you can see, the roly poly is not happy about Renn’s intrusion, but he remained for several minutes. There was even an attempt by both cats to relax and snooze. But my lap is only so big, and the two boys, together, are bigger. So Tucker departed soon after this photograph was taken, and my big boy stayed, settling down for a real snooze.

At the cosy apartment, we take little victories when we can. There is more success in grouping cats together on the bed, at night-time. But then, the bed is bigger than my lap.

Happy Easter

Though much of the continent may not look or feel like it during this wintry last week of March, spring is coming. Its herald is Easter, the holiday that is about rejuvenation and resurrection, the promise of better things to come, the promise of possibilities.

From all of us in the Cosy Apartment – still cosy during this chilly weekend – may you have a happy Easter, and may it be the start of a flourishing year.

Cammie in My Calendar

The rescue-group of which I am a member, the Lethbridge PAW Society, is devising its new calendar, this one for 2019. Each year features twelve cats who were rescued by and then adopted from PAW. There is not a competition to be in the calendar; anyone whose cat qualifies can apply. This year, the last of my perma-cats, Cammie, will be shown in one of the months.

I had no idea whether the photographer would be able to take any pictures of the princess. Cammie must have known something was up, because she hid when the visitor came to the apartment, which she doesn’t usually do. She is never pleased about guests but she rarely hides. After being coaxed out from under the bed, she hastened to the top of the tallest cat-tree, and that’s where the photos had to be taken.

Considering what I expected, Cammie presented herself well. When it comes to a photo session, though, she is no Tungsten. But she is my princess, and whatever develops will be wonderful. Or as wonderful as Cammie permits.

Memento Mori

Memento Mori is medieval Latin for ‘a remembrance of death’. It was meant to put everything in perspective, to remind people that what we do in life is transient and, in view of what comes afterward, relatively unimportant. But, in recollecting death, we must, almost by definition, recollect life, as well.

Three years ago, my friend, my first cat, Tungsten, died. Each year, I write something in commemoration of that occasion. Though I don’t mention it as often, I think too of my foster-cat and friend, Bear-Bear, who died in 2014, after spending ten months with me. I remember the deaths of these two cats; they are very strong, unpleasant memories. But I also remember their lives, and what they brought me.

I know I am not alone in the knowledge that a first cat suffers from ignorance. Tungsten was my test-subject, though neither of us knew it. I learned much from her. I saw for the first time a cat’s bum-wiggle, when she was about to charge something; that made me laugh, and still does. I watched Tungsten pretend, to conjure up a situation in her mind and then act upon it. I experienced with her the tribulations of second – and third, and fourth – cats, and how they interacted, or didn’t. I learned that a person can grow very fond of a cat.

Bear-Bear came along after I knew much more about cats – though not enough, of course. He was cheerful and unworried about much that trouble others of his species. Even during car-rides to the veterinary hospital, he chatted away as if on a Sunday drive. I witnessed how a cat can love people, when his very last act was to try to crawl onto my lap. I placed him there, and that was where he died.

Yes, I remember that death came for my friends, Tungsten and Bear-Bear. But before then, they brought me happiness and surprise, frustration and accommodation, mystery and realization. This, I remember, too.

From Renn, When I am Trying to Clean

Tell me not, human, I am lazy,

That from the place I lie

To be cleaned like crazy,

From vacuum’s noise I fly.

True, a racket will try to chase

First from bed to the chair;

But with an apathy embrace

Continued sleep right there.

Yet this constancy is such

That your pleas shall ignore;

I will not move, human, so much,

For I love comfort more.

                              -- Not Richard Lovelace

Foiling the Roly Poly

Tucker does not like Parker. The roly poly and the sturdy-boy have been in a few fights, and while Parker may be of a more forgiving nature, Tucker does not seem so inclined. Keeping them separated is not a great inconvenience. I certainly do not need to give up one to satisfy the other, and I wouldn’t do it in any case. But I have had to arrange the household to accommodate their disagreements.

Tucker has a bit of a vindictive streak in him. You wouldn’t know it by looking at that infantile moon-face of his. He’s all innocence and virtue, you would think. But, for a while, that feline sausage has been visiting the library, where Parker stays when I am absent or asleep, and wetting just outside his litter-box.

At first, Tucker wet inside, and sometimes pooped, without covering it. This was, I assume, to show Parker who was boss - at least boss of Parker. Then Tucker started thinking outside the box. In the library, I have the same pattern of floor coverings as elsewhere: over the apartment’s fitted carpets I’ve laid large rugs. In addition, in front of the litter-box, to make cleaning easier, I’ve put a smaller mat. Though the cost of those mats add up, I was not so concerned about retaining them. I can buy others at the bargain stores. But the urine would penetrate them into the rug and, possibly, then into the carpet.

And so, in my continuing quest to prove that I will not be outwitted by a cat, I have purchased a couple of incontinent pads - ‘soaker pads’ - one of which will always be placed immediately in front of Parker’s litter box, under the mat. These are re-usable, after a good washing.

I am doing this because I don’t want to deny Tucker entry to the library. When Parker is loose, the roly poly one has every right to wander at will into that room or any other. I don’t want him to fear my reaction when he goes there, which may have been the case if I continued to shadow him every time he walked into the library. Sometimes, he goes in just to sniff. Other times, he wants a drink from the water-bowl there; this especially I don’t want to stop.

We will see if this works. Tucker has not tested the pads for me, and I would not mind if they never received their practicum. But if they do, I am ready. I am determined not to be foiled by a furry sausage - no matter how fond I am of him.