Mitzi's Convalescent Home for Semi-Feral Cats

It is otherwise known as my garage. Jorge is living there now, and appears most mornings and afternoons, demanding his dinner. He's not moving as fast or as confidently as he did before he was injured a few months ago, before Spot's death. He does seem to be recovering, as his fur is growing back and he does not have any obvious long-term injuries, except a scar over one eye. He was lying on my husband's car when I left home Tuesday, and was still there when I got home. He was less skittish this morning than he has been lately. He came running when I opened the door, and talked to me a little, though I did not offer to pet him. I like my little companions, even if their lives are short and they only come to me for temporary assistance. I offer what I can.

Jorge Lives- And I Passed Candidacy

Today was a big meeting for me- the Admission to Candidacy Oral Exam. It went pretty well. I blanked on a few obvious things, but that was OK, because then they didn't have to get too picky to find my limits. Otherwise God mercifully granted me coherence and intelligent words in the midst of nervousness, and it worked out fine.

Jorge is back for the second evening in a row. I am giving him food, and he lounges in the backyard. He has a scar above one eye that he did not have before, and he is thinner, but he appears to be OK, and his fur is growing back over his injuries. I like having a cat around, even if he will not talk to me. That is OK.

Spot is Dead

I took food outside for the cats and birds this morning as usual, put down the cat food, and was surprised that Spot did not run up to me. I turned to see a white heap of fur under the tree- Spot was dead. Something ripped her throat from below.  She died quickly, as she did not have time to crawl under a bush to die. I screamed, and my husband told me to go inside. He buried the body as I cried. He needed my car today, so he drove me to work. That was good, as I was in no shape to drive.

Spot was a good cat, except for getting white hair and muddy paw prints on newly-washed cars. She was very quiet, as she had some kind of damage to her vocal cords and could not "meow" normally. Most of the time she said a very whispery "Ack" instead of "meow". She probably could not scream for help. I want to get the slingshot repaired and get some steel balls, as whatever killed her will probably return. Whatever hurt Jorge (and he has been very skittish, coming under cover of darkness and no longer allowing me to pet him ever since) probably killed her. I can't shoot it with a gun in this neighborhood, but hopefully I can hurt it enough to keep it away.

Spot and Friends

Here's Spot, napping on the back steps. She had a friend over this evening. Jorge, who was here for amorous reasons a few months ago, returned looking sadly beaten up today. Skinned up from ear to one eye, bare patch of pale white skin on one haunch, trying not to limp, but licking one front paw every few steps. I told him to spend the night in the garage if he needs to do so. He accepted some food, but kept his distance. Cats do that. Unless a cat is really bleeding or looks like it has a broken limb or a damaged eye or something, it is not safe to try to help them. If you do try, wear leather gloves with long cuffs ( like welding gloves) if the cat is conscious, and grab it behind the head where a mama cat grabs a kitten to carry it. You cannot and should not attempt to carry an adult cat by that fold of skin, but the reflex to go limp still works partially, and you can generally put one hand on the neck, the other under the abdomen or the hind legs (glove this hand, please), to get it into the carrier and to the vet. Have the carrier set up and open before reaching for the cat, and stuff it in the carrier quickly. Mine never liked the vet, and learned to associate the carrier with getting poked and prodded. Like I said, with an outdoor, semi-feral animal, I would not bother with a vet unless you suspect life-threatening injury. God provided these animals with amazing healing capacities, so we leave them to their own devices.

My Friend Spot

This is Spot. She moved into our garage several months after my previous cat died. She seemed wild at first, but now I can pick her up (no scratches), and she comes running every time I go out the back door. She meows very quietly, and like a kitten, though she has some white fur in the colored areas of her body, which may indicate older age. She sleeps a lot. She is small, a bit of a runt, but in her quiet way, she is a good cat. We have no signs of rodents, though the raccoons boss her around if I'm not out after dark. She tries to wolf down her food before they show up. Cats don't "wolf" very well, and since they are obligate carnivores (have to eat a meat based diet, though she does freely sample greenery), they throw up easily. This is something to know if you think about owning a cat. They can have trouble knowing when they are full, and if they eat too much, they vomit. If they have a hairball (groom them by brushing- they like it, and throw up less), ditto. Outdoors is a better place for that than inside, especially if you have hardwood or delicate floors. We used to throw my previous cat outside when she made hacking sounds. We didn't throw her hard or far, just far enough to land gently in the grass. This one is already outside, so I just scrape off the residue and wash the sidewalk with water. This way causes a lot less discomfort for us and the cat, and she still has posh sleeping accommodations in the garage. 

My Semi-Wild Friends

The boys are back, wanting the food I'm not serving right now (the good chow), and water from my plant-watering buckets, and a rest on the cool metal of the cars in the garage. They do not like getting their pictures taken for some reason. They are active hunters, and they patrol a regular route through the neighborhood. It includes our alley and driveway, which is a blessing. We've been completely free of rats and mice since Spot moved in, and they followed to put us on their route. Though she is smaller, a bit of a runt, she has a surprising amount of control over the boys. She can tell them to go away when she wants, and they do. The boys are powerfully beautiful cats as well as functional neighborhood patrollers, so I thank God for them.

Cats are Conservatives

How do I know? My husband recently found a LARGE bag of cat food on sale for $10. That's less than twice what I pay for the usual fare when it isn't on sale in a much smaller bag, so he bought it. They ate the cheap food the first night out of extreme hunger (I was home late from work, exhausted, and had forgotten to pick it up). They haven't touched it since. The birds will eat it, but the cats won't.

Cats do not like change. They adore routines- if you feed them at the same time every day, go out to the garden at the same times, sit down to pet them at certain times, they will love you for it. Change the routine and they will announce their annoyance in no uncertain terms. A lot of times the language is nonverbal: staring with disgust at the food bowl, turning a back to you when you go out to pet them, keeping distant instead of coming to you for a scratch behind the ears. 

I hope they adjust and eat the new stuff, or they'll have to eat the birds for a while (and thus indirectly eat the cheap stuff) until we use it up.

Love is Strange

FRIVOLOUS CAT POST ALERT!

This is Jorge. Isn't he gorgeous? He's here for two things, one of which is food. It is springtime, you know. He is bold. He does not want to be petted. A snack is appreciated, but he really wants the small female hiding under my car.

Spot (a fixed female) is not amused. While I was outside, she felt relatively safe. She sat in front of the garage staring away from him, only occasionally directing a stabbing glare at him that screamed "YOU DESPICABLE CAD!" as well as any offended human could. Another black male from the neighborhood, Diego, arrived later. He. too, meowed for a snack. Evidently, when "courting", they're too obsessed to hunt. He is hiding under the other car. Poor Spot is not happy, but she can defend herself, and if she really wants them to leave, she'll hurt them, and hopefully they will go. But the soap opera out back is pretty funny to watch for now.

Sometimes The Cold Helps You Make Friends

It is supposed to get down into the 20s tonight. When I got home after dark, a black, furry shadow appeared at the corner of the garage, his pupils so large that he was invisible when he crept into the shadows. Jorge is back. Spot would usually be very hissy about that, but tonight she was moderating her usual hostile behavior, even sniffing him a little while he was eating. Maybe she realizes that a warm companion would help her get through these cold winter nights.

Husband is sure a help for me. It is amazing how much warmer sleeping is with two people! A cat is fine, but too small to cover much surface area. My previous cat, Felicia, slept on my bed before I got married. She seemed to know when I was sad or lonely- then she slept very close. At other times she played kitty practical jokes, sneaking up to my ear at 2AM, meowing, then jumping off the bed. If cats could laugh, she would have been giggling. 

Anyway, I hope Jorge and Spot can patch up their differences for long enough to keep each other warm. I closed the garage to hold in the heat from the car, and there is an old sweater and a sweatshirt in a box where she often sleeps. They should be OK.

Spot Likes Turkey, and I Do, Too

Lunch today was a big success. We ate the menu mentioned before. I put the 13-lb (minus the ice in the cavity) bird in the oven after completing the thaw (it was supposed to be fresh, according to the package) at about 4 AM. It was done by 10. I use a probe thermometer to make sure the meat gets up to 180 degrees F. We don't roast ours; it is oven braised, half-submerged in chicken broth and the liquid that cooks off the turkey. Soup material after the broth is strained. We don't carve our turkey; it falls off the bone. Mom and Dad came in just as I was removing the dressing and the sweet potato casserole from the 2 ovens. Brussels sprouts went in, veggies went on the stove, and we ate a little after 1 PM. I gave Spot a leg with some meat adhering to one end, and she was licking her lips over it when I went back inside. She did not run away when Mom and Dad were outside! She's a tame kitty after all, though she would not let Dad pet her.

Who is Responsible?

Have you felt disturbed lately by the news of financial, environmental, and other crises? Everything seems to be a crisis of epic proportions. As my husband often says, the journalists seem to be rather "geeked out" lately, turning every new revelation into a Happening that will Change our Country Forever. We've never seen this before, but our great-grandparents would probably just smile, nod, and hand us a hoe and some seeds and canning jars. They and their politicians probably didn't mess up with quite so many zeroes, but it has happened before. As Solomon said, there is nothing new under the sun.
Today in a seminar about blood pressure I thought,"Who is really responsible for my health? Is the doctor? Is the mechanic responsible for keeping my car in good shape? The plumber and roofers for my house?" They all share in the responsibility, and are liable for any shoddy work they may do, but I only call them in for things I cannot repair myself. I am ultimately responsible for all the above- no mechanic stands by my car every morning to make sure I start it correctly or to remind me to get the oil changed. The doctor does not control what I eat or drink. The plumber does not come unless called. It is up to me, as far as God grants ability, to take care of the things under my control, and recognize when I need help. The doctors in these seminars sometimes act as if patients ought to be like rats, and should passively take drugs in ever-increasing amounts until the "clinical outcome" (which is all too often the adjustment of a number, and not necessarily restoration of true health) is reached. Thank God people are not rats! Let's get busy and help fix the things we can. Speaking of which... gotta go.

Jorge the Mighty Hunter

Well, I found out why Jorge isn't coming around for the food pellets (actually, he did yesterday, but was more excited about the scratch behind the ears). Check out this picture. Yes, that is a bird in his mouth. I should feel bad about it, but I don't. The backyard is a jungle, after all. That is actually a neighbors yard. We DO mow our grass. Cats like high grass. It reminds them of their ancestral savannah.  They can feel like The Mighty Hunter On The Prowl. Mice and small birds take warning! Jorge is out for blood! (Most of the birds around here are invasive species anyway, so it is just as well).

A Cat Is A Sometime Thing

Jorge was out today. He did not come for morning or evening feeding time. Hope he comes tomorrow. He is male, though, and males do wander. He can hunt, so as long as he doesn't get hit, he can provide for himself.

Today the temperatures fell into the 50s after a day of drizzly rain. Winds from the north are bringing a chilly bite to the air. Eat those gorgeous tomatoes while you can! Winter cometh, when the only decent tomatoes ARE canned- and I have 11 pints of those (out of 13 canned plus 2 frozen containers, from 1/2 bushel of tomatoes bought over the summer). If you buy the "Culls" (tomatoes from behind the stand, separated out because of cracks or flaws), you get a very good deal.

My Friend Jorge

About a year ago I saw a pair of golden eyes peering at me from the darkness under the holly bushes when I reached for the garden hose. He acted wild. He would not come near or speak to me. He ran if I came within feet of him. He liked cat food, though, and was willing to be fed if I kept my distance. Tonight he rubbed his head against my denim-jeaned leg and closed his eyes with pleasure as I scratched behind his ears.
Cats are a lot like people- you have to earn their trust, especially if they've been hurt before. These cats act abandoned, which would leave them with trust issues. I like trying to befriend them.
Animal rescue people call me a "magnet"- I attract animals, just like my father and paternal grandmother. There is at least one dog in almost every picture I have of her. I don't want a dog unless I can give it the acreage to live a dog's life- sniff, hunt, protect sheep, etc. A cat's life can be lived in a small backyard. Plenty of food, water, shelter, and the occasional prey to keep one svelte. Speaking of water- here is Jorge drinking from his preferred water source: a water bucket I use for my plants.

Meet the Cats

There are now two cats living full time in my detached garage. Spot, a female, was named last year before I could get close enough to tell her gender. Spot has had her shots and is spayed. Jorge was more luckily named. His dramatic yellow eyes in a black face are always a bit startling, like someone opening a door to a bright room in a dark hall. You wonder what he thinks about.
They shelter in the garage and get two small meals a day, plus all the birds and rodents they can eat. No more mice or rats around here. Yes, I feed the birds, too. The bird feeder is out of the cats' reach, so I enjoy the sparrows, cardinals, mockingbirds, blue jays, doves, and others that stop by. Without the cats, we were getting mobbed by pigeons every day. The cats keep the ground-feeding pigeons nervous enough to allow the smaller, more diverse birds a chance. And small birds can get away.
The birds eat the bugs in my garden (along with birdseed), and the cats keep the birds from overpopulating. Balance is good.