I don’t usually mark anniversaries to the day. If something stands out about a certain day, then I will remember it; if not, I generally just recall the year in which something occurred. For instance, Josie came to stay with me, I believe, on Christmas Eve of 2008. Tungsten arrived in August of the year before, though I cannot say with exactitude which date it was. I know when she left me, though.
I know when Parker came to my apartment because I wrote about it in my blog. It was one year ago yesterday. My sturdy orange foster-cat has become a part of life in the household. He is available for adoption, but it would have to be a very special individual or family to whom he would go. Of course, rescue-groups feel that way about all their foster-cats, but the specialty must be a little different for Parker because of his diabetes.
Taking care of him is more than just injecting him with insulin twice a day. It includes the monthly monitoring of his blood-glucose levels (‘curves’), which involves taking blood every two hours over a twelve-hour period; in fact, because I want to be more exact, during mid-day, the sampling is every hour. He must also be watched for water-consumption and frequency of urination. His body strength must be gauged, and his diet strictly controlled. Other people could do a better job of this than I, but it must be constant, and not everyone is able to provide that care, due to their home and work situations.
He’s estimated to be eleven years old now, but still enjoys an active life. He loves to bat around the fuzzy mice, will charge the Track-ball and run about simply because he likes it. He will also jump onto the kitchen counters, possibly because I don’t like it. Parker still has his troubles with the other cats, so he remains in the library while I am absent or asleep. He would prefer the freedom of the apartment but the library is a comfy little room, so, while he may be bored in there, he is not suffering.
Parker is always on the look-out for food. His weight stubbornly refuses to diminish, but he is not fat; he’s a big-boned boy. Since his dental procedure some months ago, he is in good health, aside from his diabetes. He is a fun, friendly fellow. He lies at my feet while I wash the dishes and loves a good, sustained head-rub. His purr is rough and throaty; otherwise, his vocalizations are highly pitched, like a little kitten’s larynx has been put in the body of a tiger. His personality is definitely that of the extrovert.
Until the ideal home comes along, this solidly-built fellow will stay with me. It’s a bit crowded in the cosy apartment, but stepping over or around a fifth cat is not too much trouble. I’ve been doing it for a year. I can do it some more.