Cat Tails

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

I've managed to catch up with this at last. Sparkie seems to have been very energetic, even with the cast! I hope the cats settled in well once the unpacking and refurbishing was finished.

And it would be great to have a new member, if she'd like to join us.

[NorseThing]

The Mysterious Bedroom Door

by NorseThing

The house is now looking more like a home, at least as far as Sparkie and Champagne were concerned. Routines are set very quickly if you are a cat. Routines are meant to be maintained if you are a cat. A bachelor pad in a nearly empty house are pretty cool as long as nothing changes, if you are a cat.

The cats were hanging out in the same room, the current downstairs main room. I would not say hanging together, but at least they each tolerated the presence of a rival. They were sleeping off the latest pebble feast and were positioned in whatever small slivers of light could fall from the morning sun onto the cigarette smoke infused basement carpeting.

However, the owner was not a cat. Things were going to change. Things had already changed with an early morning trip to the home center. The front rooms were transformed with pails of paint, brushes, scaffolding, drop clothes, and all sorts of debris that was not present the day before. With the chaos of construction, even the casual visitor would not have thought it to be out of place that the rooms were vacant of the normal home furnishings. A cat would have other thoughts though. Minor rearrangments of a room are disconcerting to the average feline. This was not even close to a minor rearrangement.

Even access from the kitchen was now closed off with the simple expediant of a piece of scrap plywood -- a thin plywood piece was leaning in the opening. The cigarette smoke infused carpeting would remain for the time being protected by the plastic drop cloths. Why I protected that which I was about to rip out, I have no real idea. Lack of experience would be my excuse. The front bedroom door firmly closed completed the closure. With luck, the cats would never know what was happening. Their dry food, water and sand box were all down the stairs in the mother-in-law kitchen and bathroom.

As misfortune would have it, Sparkie heard the commotion in the front rooms upstairs and directly above his napping head. He decided to stretch out a bit. Then Sparkie desired to check out the activity. Nothing more than feline curiosity. I suppose.

My first clue was a series of thunks or bangs. Not the -- Bump! Bump! Bump! Bump! that I heard when Sparkie was first learning how to run downstairs like a pocket rocket with his plaster cast on half his body. It was more a thunk! Maybe like a hammer hitting the wall to pound a nail to hang a picture. And then the thunk was repeated with another thunk again a few moments later. And then again a few moments later. I did not think anything more about the thinks, since the thunks stopped.

Back to preparing the walls and the ceilings at the front of the house for my masterpiece. I had never painted a room of my own before, so this painting was going to be a masterpiece. I chipped. I sanded. I did all the prep that the library book said that I needed to do. Hey, I was a college boy. A graduate college boy. I was armed with a book. What could go wrong?

The first coat of the ceiling paint was now completed and it was time for lunch. I say the first coat was completed, but maybe more was on me than the ceiling. Well anyways, time go down the stairs and clean up before having my well deserved lunch. I moved the plywood out of the way and headed thru the kitchen towards the downstairs rooms.

I cleaned up fairly quickly, since a shower pretty much hosed the paint off before it truly was set. Even my hair was now once again fresh and clean. I felt great though a bit sore from all of the rolling of ceiling paint on the front room ceilings. Now for lunch! I was hungry. Of course a bachelor lunch in a new residence is pretty much deli meats, mustard, mayo, and several slices of grocery store bread and of course a big bag of salty chips. Of course there was also some cold beer. No vegatables in the refrigerator such as lettuce, tomato, or sliced onion to spoil the bachelor scenario. Oh wait there were kosher dills, but they are not realy vegatables -- are they?

I set up my sandwiches with the pickles, and chips on a paper plate left over from last night's spaghetti. Psst! I popped open beer. I sat down on the rug near where Champange was sunning herself and began to eat. Of course Champagne had her own pieces of deli meats. Now where was the pocket rocket? Free food and no Sparkie in sight. Hmmm?

Champagne and I both finished our deli meat lunches. Champagne did the very catlike activity of napping after a few quick clean up licks. Now I headed back to work. I hoped to find where Sparkie was hiding. Too bad he missed out on the deli meats, but that was his loss.
Now where was that little guy? I made a quick look in the downstairs kitchen where I had made up the lunch. No Sparkie. I walked past the downstairs bedroom and bath. No Sparkie. I headed up the stairs and entered the upstairs kitchen and looked around. No Sparkie. However, there was still the the bathroom and the back bedroom that was now mainly stacked with moving boxes still to be unpacked. No Sparkie. This made no sense.

I then looked at the door to the front bedroom. It was a bit ajar. Just the right opening for a small cat to sneak in. I opened the door and there was Sparkie curled up on the unmade bed. The mystery was resolved. I had simply forgotten to shut the bedroom door and he snuck in to explore while I was working in the front room. Well, I am not terribly authoritarian. People that know me might think otherwise however. In any case, I let Sparkie have his little victory. He was able to continue his nap in the forbidden bedroom. I would be more careful tonight and keep the cats and the cat hair out of my sleep area.

I like cats, but my eyes and nose do not seem to like cat hair and cat dander. I had thought the best compromise was to have no cats in the sleeping room -- one bedroom closed off from the cats territory. It would be their concession to my sanity. Unfortunately, I do not think Sparkie was in on the compromise as he was still sound asleep on my unmade bed. A night's sleep without cat hair was my goal. The rest of the house would need cleaning to keep the cat hair down, but I knew that cat hair is pretty much part and parcel of the house with cats as live in housemates.

Anyways, back to work at the front of the house. At least this area was closed off to the cats. Ah, the smell of drying paint! Now for the second coat on the ceiling. Once the ceiling was completed, I began to paint the window trim and base board trim with the same ceiling paint. Hey, I am a bachelor. It would take a female to decide this decor scheme differantly. I was pretty basic. Anyways, as the late afternoon sun turned to darkness, I was finished for the day.

A good day of vacation time painting the new abode. I was pleased, but very tired. Well, now to repeat the process from noontime. I 'hosed' myself off in the shower. Then, I dressed and headed out for dinner. I was not ready for a repeat of deli sandwiches and that is pretty much all that I had in the house other than the breakfast danish. I could not even call my buddies about dinner. No telephone service yet in the new abode. Well, I was too tired in any case. A fast food burger and fries and then off to bed, I guess.

The next morning....

I woke up just before sunrise but still it is dawn's early light for a poetic turn of a phrase. My usual time. I fumbled around for the light switch near the door. Dang! How did Sparkie get in here? I could have sworn I put him out before I went to bed. Oh well. Time to go down for a roll and coffee to get the day started. I am certain the cat's sandbox needs a quick clean up as well as my face before breakfast. Champagne greets me at the downstairs kitchen area. At least she knows her place is not sleeping with the human. I get the drip coffee started and then head into the only real working bathroom that has all the essentials -- clean towels, soap, razors, dirty clothes hamper, and a kitty sandbox.

I washed up. I filled my coffee cup and grabbed a day old danish. I then head upstairs to evict Sparkie from my bedroom before starting the next day's worth of painting. I gently placed him out of the bedroom and tightly closed the door. I satisfied myself the door to the central hallway was closed soundly and tightly. Now off to begin the next bit of painting in the fornt rooms Today was rose paint for the walls. But first I would need to mask off the freshly painted trim. I was assured that twentyfour hours was a good drying time for the trim paint to set. Oh wait -- the trim had only been drying for twelve hours. Okay -- I guess this is a free day. So much for my busy 'working' vacation.

The next day, early in the morning....

I woke up just before sunrise as my usual time. Just like yesterday, I fumbled around for the light switch near the door. Dang! How did Sparkie get in here? Deja vous all over again to quote that baseball guy. Once gain he is sleeping at the foot of the bed on the mattress. I know I am a heavy sleeper, but.... This was getting old.

Once again, I get ready for the day. Coffee and two day old danish are in hand as I evict Sparkie from my sleeping bedroom domain. Once again, I closes the door to the central hall after the eviction. I head back to the front rooms to start on a days worth of painting with the rose tinted wall paint. While painting, I hear once again a bang that sounds like a hammer against the wall. I stop the painting and head into the kitchen. I hear another bang! I look into the central hall between the bedrooms, the bath and the kitchen. This central hall is only about 30 inches by 70 inches. Just large enough for all the connecting door jambs and a linen clost door. No door to the kitchen. No real wall space either. And what do I see?

Bang! Again! It is Sparkie hanging from the front bedroom door and swinging with all his might. The plaster cast is hitting the linen door as he grips the bedroom knob. Bank! Now the bedroom door is a jar. Sparkie drops down and heads into the bedroom to take up residence on the unmade bed. Mystery solved. That tiny pocket rocket was opening the door! How he figured it out, I do not know. How to keep him from opening every door was now the new mystery to be solved.

To make this a bit shorter of a tale, I will inform you, the reader, that Sparkie was able to continue to open the doors for a few more days. I then was scheduled to take Sparkie into the vet for cast removal time. It appears that without the heavy cast, he could not hang on the door knobs and swing to turn the knobs and thus open the doors. I now had a normal over active young cat that could be kept out of the bedroom while I slept. I will always wonder though, how did that cat learn how to use that heavy cast to open doors? A mystery that will forever be hidden from mankind and only known to one very small but very active black kitty.

Bang! and two Meows until next time!

[NorseThing]

A New Tale and I have merged the first two posts and created a Table of Contents on post 1 of the thread.

[NorseThing]

March Madness and Squeaky Shoes

by NorseThing

The interior painting has been finally completed. It was an on again and off again process. But the interesting part of renovation in not the ultimate completion, but the completion of one task that actually makes a differance in the look and feel of the home. In this case it was after the paint and wall paper in all of the upstairs was finished. Except the dreaded kitchen remodel, of course. The kitchen was going to cost alot and it had to wait. The downstairs kitchen was good enough for now.
I then pulled the carpet. Yep, I just pulled it up and tossed into the trash. Well actually not tossed into the garbage. I tried that and the trash collector said in no uncertain terms that big and bulky stuff that was not food waste was my problem and not theirs to dispose of. I thought a roll off since the kitchen remodel was needed, but that was not in the budget. A guy accross the alley had a solution or a modest suggestion. It was a bit sneaky, but clearly not illegal. He was a police officer on the night shift and about my age. He had his own project home and noticed my efforts. He thought that if the carpet was near his trash bin and only about 1/3 of it each week, they would take it and ask no questions. He was right. City workers do play favorites. Though the 1/3 each week might have worked at my bin if I tried that at first. So much for city hall rules on trash collection. It truly is who knows you and not who you know.

Anyways, under this cigarette smoke infused monstrosity of gold (shag or just well worn?) carpet, there was a beautiful finished floor in both bedrooms and in the dining / living room. Oak in front and walnut in the bed rooms and the tiny central hallway that connected everything up. I hit what was to me a lottery jackpot. Now I had to refinish and restore these floors.

Not much of a problem to refinish the floors with the advice of the local flooring outlet. Just rent a floor sander and pay them some cash. The advice on refinishing alone was worth the price. You walked around the room with the sander as if it was just a vacuum job. Except the noise of the sander over the next week drove the two cats crazy. They stayed in the safety of the basement with their water, kibble, and sandbox the entire week.

I had to get it done pronto though. It has been almost a year and I still had a empty bachelor pad. A truck from South Carolina was about to deliver funiture to transform this small brick home into a real honest to good livable home. Also, I had to fit the refinishing in with a 6 day work week schedule. So each late afternoon, the sander was literally an air raid siren for the cats. They headed for cover. They stayed in safety until the all clear sound of silence was restored in early evening.

Once the floors were sanded, cleaned, and finished -- I had to be careful. I either ran around in stocking feet or had my gym shoes on. Those shoes and the newly refinshed floors squeaked. Yes squeaked, just like at the gym. Sparkie was fascinated. Squeaky shoes! I do not know, but maybe he thought this meant squeeky mice. In any case he would follow me from room to room and occasionally pounced at the squeaky shoes.

Champagne was more mature about the whole thing and just watched. Of course when the shoes were off and I was thought to not be looking, she would stalk the shoes. Those motionless and no longer squeeking shoes were still of interest to her. And then she would pounce and kill a stray hapless gym shoe. She would show that young sparkie a thing or two about how to hunt squeaky shoes.

The title of this tale includes March Madness. Well it was March and that meant College basketball in the extreme. I was all set to overload on as many games as the over the air broadcast would carry. The neighbohood was wired for cable, but I was not a customer. So there was no ESPN for me. Over the air was still the main thing though for most of the games. This also meant more deli style sandwiches which seemed to be favorites of the house since the cats' first days in their new home.

So I set up the 'deli' and turned on the television for the first NCAA game to be broadcast. One of my buddies would be over shortly. Free food and basketball were a quarantee. I do not know if there is a parralel lesson here. I know the cats would arrive promptly. Free food and pets seem to be a universal tie in. I was right. No sooner than I had laid out the meats and cheeses for a do it youself sandwich assembly line in the downstairs kitchen, and I had two persistant cats rubbing my legs and purring up a store. It was pure love and affection. Well love and affection for food at least. I knew my place. I was important, but not as important as free food.

So, I turned the game on. My buddy and I sat down to watch the opening minutes. Two carnivores also joined us to munch on deli meat. Normally these cats ignored the televison set. I know they could see something, but there was nothing real enough to capture their attention. The windows were more interesting to watch for birds. To my great surprise, NCAA basketball was differant. Yes, it was squeeky shoes!

They both lined up and 'watched' the squeeky shoes. Just like spectators at a tennis match, their heads would turn as the players raced down the court after a change of baskets. Back and forth the players would run and stop. The shoes would squeek and the cats paid very close attention.

A few days later, I was home alone and there was another basketball game to watch. I turned on the set and went about getting something ready to snack on. The game was already in progress. You guessed it! The squeeky shoes attracted an audiance even without the free food. They were hooked. If there were no college basketball games on the tube, they still simply ignored the set being either on or off. It was only the squeaky shoes they wanted to watch. I even turned on an NBA game once in a while. I had not a single kitty in attendance. The shoes did not squeek or they did not squeek enough. My gym shoes upstairs were still interesting, but not as interesting as March Madness.

A squeak and two meows, until next time!

[HunterKYA]

While I've only gotten through the first chapter, I'm enjoying what I've read so far. Apart from some typos I spotted here and there, The Bat Incident was surprisingly breezy and humorous, with characters that are both likable and relatable. But while reading, your vocabulary in describing the bat felt kind of limited and the use of descriptors would've helped a good deal, instead of using the same word repeatedly, because it kind of lost it's meaning by the story's conclusion. Overall though, it was a fun little read, and will do my best to catch up on the rest.

[NorseThing]

Typing is not my strong point. That said, I will take the hint and see if I can correct the typos. Thanks!

The first post was meant to help stir some life in this forum. Then, it just took off. Now I am not certain I can stop myself from posting more in this thread.

[Alwyn]

It sounds like March Madness is entertaining when you have deli style sandwiches and cats pouncing on squeaky shoes!

[NorseThing]

Sylvester has a problem

by NorseThing

I have been writing this series titled "Cat Tales" in creative writing. It is a light hearted look at some of the cats that I have had the honor of living with over the years. All of my cats have been adopted from shelters. This is a special edition in the series but it is not so light hearted. This is about Sylvester. He is one of current two adopted house cats, the other is also an older cat, but is much younger and is named Mortimer. Both are black and white medium haired cats of unknown but mixed breeds.
　
This instalment is of a more current nature. Sylvester has a problem as you can tell from the title. Sylvester is the titled inspiration for the series and is represented in the header picture as he might have looked in his youthful vigor. Today he is much older and may not get much older. He has the usual problems of aging. He has bad kidneys, bad teeth, a bad hip, arthritis, and perhaps some vision problems. I do what I can for him, but money is limited. I want him to be as comfortable as reasonably feasible.
　
Cats, like most all animals have a desire to live and thrive. They want to reproduce and have a good life just as we as human animals do. Our society does not want unbridled reproduction so he had been surgically altered many years ago to prevent reproduction. Sylvester is no exception to this desire to live and thrive. But last weekend he took a very bad turn for the worse.
　
Sylvester had stopped eating. This is when I and my beloved first noticed the problem. His habit is to eat and then to drink water and then to use the sandbox. All of this is in fairly quick repetition as a pretty set routine. By stopping eating, he was stopping all functions necessary to live and thrive. Of course there was a cause for this. The cause is an abscess infection. This infection is probabl in no more than one tooth root. His current 'Bucky the Cat' left front tooth is the problem tooth. I knew this was clearly serious, though I am not a vet. I took him to the vet on a somewhat informal emergancy basis. The vet reccomended having Sylvester 'put down'.
　
I have a problem putting pets down. I know it is often necessary and often best for the pet. I also know that personal feelings towards the pet make the decision making biased, to say the least. I have put several cats 'to sleep' over the years. Often the reasons were organ failure and thus no hope that reducing the pain would matter for more than days. I had one pet, Sparky that was saved by extraordinary efforts of a vet after a car collision while he was only a kitten. Much the same as we often do to save the life of a human child. When our children and our pets are so young such extraordinary measures are reasonable in my opinion.
　
Old age makes things a bit differant though. Sometimes such efforts would prolong the animal's life by only hours. It has always been a hard decision to balance spending money with extending life. Each and every time I held the cat as the injection was given. Quickly life left the cat and then the vet would arrange for a 'proper' disposal. When my time comes, I hope for a proper disposal. No grave and no marker need be a part of such a disposal. If I have made a mark and others remember me, that would be my fleeting grave and marker for my life.
　
The problem is knowing when my time has come. Or in this case I must know when my pet's time has come. I wrote a short tale of the week for the last time I saw my father. His time had come and the end came quickly. No resessitation and no extrodinary medical actions were made to prolong his life after it was his time to go. It is what he had wanted when he was better able to plan and judge. So now I am faced with a decision. Has Sylvester's time come? Three nearly sleepless nights are probably not the best environment to setting the stage for making such decisions. In the end I was probably too sleepy to make the decision.

Cats lose teeth all the time. Sometimes we, as the pet owner, spend a huge sum which is paid for the surgical removal. As I was told, the issue is one of the pain the pet is experiencing coupled with the sympathetic pain felt by the pet owner. So surgery is one option when it it time teeth to be removed. I had neither the money for that option nor the desire to proceed with that option in any case.
　
Then, I asked a fateful question to the vet: "If this cat was one of your family as a human and not merely a pet, what would you do?" The answer made things a bit clearer for me. Sylvester will be taking some medication for the abscessed tooth. It will probably disolve at the root or otherwise fall free as the infection receeds. At least that is my hope for a resolution of the bad tooth.
　
So there was the option of medication to treat the infection. Sylvester will also be on a daily pain medication to ease his arthritic movements. This medication will be every day for the rest of his life. No extraordinary medical procedures, but his life will as comfortable as feasible.
　
When things settle a bit, we will take another look at his diet regarding his kidney condition. I do not know what such a diet can be for the meat eating world. I have mostly left the meat eating world due to my own problems. But I chose to change my diet. My pet is depending on me to make these decisions for him. I know he detests the grain in the over the counter kidney 'cat food'. I am willing to try samples of the prescription options to lower the meat consumption. In the end, he will probably be happier dying (perhaps much sooner) with a meat based and oil based diet. He likes and prefers the food of a younger cat. I see no reason to try and prolong his life by making him less happy. Cats do not commit suicide nor are they as yet asking for assisted suicide. But our pets do express preferences.
　
Today is a better day than the past few days. He wants to eat the dry Science Diet again rather than the Friskies Pate. He does not like the daily medicine, but he does come when called to take the daily dosages. His time has not come, yet.
　
I promise to return to the series with a regular instalment on a more light hearted topic with a further rememberance of Sparky and Champagne. Until next time, meow!

[Alwyn]

Poor Sylvester! It sounds like he - and you as you take care of him - have been having a difficult time. I hope that he will continue to have better days. It sounds like he is a well-cared for and much loved family member who will be deeply missed when his time comes.

[NorseThing]

Sadly, I had to put Sylvester down this week. He was still eating and drinking, so his kidneys were still functioning. He was no longer able to do any proper cat movements though. His hip was so much weaker that it was a struggle to even walk. He could not jump up to a favorite chair to nap and could not do his favorite drink from the bath tub faucet that he so loved. He was pretty much restricted to sleeping on the heat vent (already off for the season) in the kitchen and eating and drinking what was put in front of him. Well, I guess the past eight months from when the vet 'suggested' he be put to sleep was a good thing. I shall miss him.

[Alwyn]

I'm sorry to hear this sad news, it sounds like he was much loved. I wonder whether Mortimer has reacted to the loss of his friend (assuming that they were friends.)

[♔atthias♔]

I am sorry to hear this norsething treasure the good moments with him is all I can say

[NorseThing]

Sage on the High Plains Desert

by NorseThing

We have a new 4 year old gray and white short haired cat named Sage. At least that is the name attached to the adoption certificate from the local Denver Dumb Friends League. My beloved has some naming ideas and I like Sage. At the moment it is Sage. I think of it as appropriate. This could be his stage name if he were starring in an old western from the 1930's in black and white with perhaps Roy Rogers or John Wayne as the co-star.
　
Last week was Catfest! The once a year festival to celebrate cats at the Denver Dumb Friends League Shelter. Adoption fees are waived. The savy cat fancier should take advantage of the opportunity. I hope many did and I hope their fund raiser was a success as well.
　
So Sage came home with us. This cat has had a tough 4 years even though 19 months of that 4 year age estimate was with Sage at the shelter waiting for adoption. Fortunately our local shelter has a no kill shelter policy or I fear Sage would have been put down. It is terribly hard to place a 17 pound male cat when the main attractions for adoptions are kittens and cute small female cats. I admit that my beloved had her eyes on a small calico named Maddie. She was a mere 18 months old and even she seemed too old for the potential adopters window shopping for a new cat. When there is a large supply of homeless cats that are younger, age is clearly your enemy.
　
Maddie is in a group home at the shelter and she is clearly the belle of the place. I think the shelter has 4 such group homes and a number of individual kennel spaces for viewing adoptable cats which may have a virus or do not do well with other cats. I know there are more kennel spaces in the back areas for recovery and needing vetenary care. Even some of the individual kennels were not available for adoption for various reasons, so the house was most certainly full.
　
And then I spotted Sage. Alone and away from the other cats in his group home. He was very friendly, but not near the glasssed entry and not with the other cats who were vying for attention as people stopped by to take a peek. I think all cats get a special course on being friendly before placing them in the group spaces for adoption.
　
Before we continue with this tale, perhaps a little information is needed about our new friend, Sage. As I stated at the beginning, he is a 4 year old gray and white short haired cat. His previous owner had given him up at the shelter at probably about the age of two. The shelter then performed the usual inital exam in December before Christmas in 2015. They found him to have injuries and infection in his tail. He was in a home with two small children under five years of age and another child on the way. The mother could no longer care for the cat as well as her children, so the cat was surrendered to the shelter. It maybe was not intentional abuse. Too much love by children too young to understand how to react with animals can be a problem. A small child pulling a tail or stepping on a tail are natural hazards for any cat in that situation. My experience is the cats tolerate a great deal from young children that they would never tolerate from an adult. Maybe it is a mammal thing regarding the young ones.
Sage also had some bad teeth. Why I do not know and the records do not say why this would have been a problem in a two year old cat. He was over weight (at 11 pounds at the time), nothing that a bit of time and tender loving care could not address. Now Sage is 4 years old, he has grown a bit and now weighs 17 pounds, and he has issues with bed teeth. A poster kitty for adoption he is not!
　
Today Sage has been in the shelter for a bit over two years. Sage had the dental surgery to remove the bad teeth just days before the Catfest. Why it took so long, I do not know. They were treating the problems, so I know Sage was not being ignored. However nobody understandably came forward to adopt an overweight male cat with bad teeth. Oh, I forgot to mention that Sage seemed fond of clawing the furniture. Not a good notice for even an off broadway play let alone a cat who is homeless. I felt this might be Sage's last best chance to get adopted so I fell in love. Love is like that. I cannot explain it. So on Thursday, Sage came to our home. It was now going to be his new home as well. I did wonder how Mortimer, our black cat with a some bits of white would deal with this new entry into our home. If you remember from a past tale, Mortimer is a bit passive aggressive and not a good example of a strong male presence in the home. Sylvester, our older cat, had to be put down. He was indeed the alpha cat until the day he died in old age. Sylvester had a very bad hip that his body could no longer support. So Mortimer had several months to get used to being the only cat and he was loving it. Now enter Sage. What will happen?
　
My beloved opened the cat carrier at home and Sage was quick to exit the carrier. The cats were new to each other so it was not surprising they kept a cautious distance. Two male cats, both of who have been in groups previously with other cats, is never a certain combination that will work out. Sage remained the strong silent type and wanted to check out every nook and cranny in his new home. There is a reason why we think of curiousity and cats. Mortimer just sat and stared. A quiet steady stare. Not a good sign. He then stared from the safety of behind a livingroom chair. Mortimer gave out a hiss whenever Sage got too close for comfort. Again, not a good sign.
　
Sage continued his look and seek. A young cat has powerful legs which are good for jumping up to the higher places in a modest townhome. And use his legs he did. Odd, but he never was on the kitchen counter top where food is prepared. So in some sense, Sage was well trained despite the furniture clawing warning. There was no place he could not reach with a single bound. Book shelf ledges were checked out. The pass through to the kitchen from the main room got more than one look. Sage was taking it all in single bounds. Superman! Now, was he also faster than a speeding.... Well this is not the old wild west so we will not go there.
　
Each adoption comes with a vet visit from among a list of sponsoring vets giving support to the shelter. It is sort of a wellness check and needs to have the appointment made within a few days of the adoption. Most appointments are then set within two or three weeks. I called on Saturday and made an appointment for a couple of weeks out. I was concerned though. Sage had been taking in water in all the usual cat places but not in the cat bowls. Also, he was not eating. Thursday did not seem like a big deal since the shelter volunteers said that he ate a full meal at the shelter before the adoption. Friday was concerning. On Saturday, the not eating was worisome.
　
I called the vet. The vet on the phone said this behavior was not unusual. The cat is in a new home and there is competition with another cat already well established in the home. Just seperate them and both cats will take some time to accept and adjust to the circumstances. The word was it might take a week or it might take a month. It sounded like nothing the vet would want to deal with.
　
On Sunday, Sage had eaten a bit, but not much. He mostly licked the sauces off of a can of wet food. It was supposed to be good for him. It was the store version of Science Diet for weight control. Unfortunately, cats that I have known do not like rice mixed in with the meat. When they notice the rice, they will not eat the meat. Licking the sauce is the best I have ever been able to do for cats in this situation.
　
The dry pebbles seemed tempting, but Sage would just stare and then walk away. The shelter volunteeers had stated that Sage was happy to eat the dry food when he was at the shelter. It was now time to take the cat back to the shelter for a wellness check. Somebody more than a volunteer on a telephone was needed. I could not wait a few weeks when the cat does not want to eat.
　
I bundled the cat up into the cat carrier and my beloved and I were off to the shelter. It was Monday, day four of not eating. Unfortunately the shelter vets were off on Monday, so I had a choice. I could surrender the cat back to the shelter or I could come back on Tuesday with a 2 PM appointment. I made the appointment and we returned home with a hungry cat who was happy to have some friends.
　

- To be continued...

[Alwyn]

I like your line about Sage appearing in a 1930s western alongside the famous actors of the era. Poor Sage, the cat that wasn't likely to be adopted - and, when he was, he didn't get off to a good start with Mortimer. I hope that Sage and Mortimer adjusted (or are adjusting) well to their new situation.

[NorseThing]

Sage on the High Plains Desert, Part II

by NorseThing

From the previous episode:
　
I bundled the cat up into the cat carrier and my beloved and I were off to the shelter. It was Monday, day four of not eating. Unfortunately the shelter vets were off on Monday, so I had a choice. I could surrender the cat back to the shelter or I could come back on Tuesday with a 2 PM appointment. I made the appointment and we returned home with a hungry cat who was happy to have some friends.
　
We continue the Cat Tale:
　
Now I still had a cat who was not eating. I headed off to the store for some minced Fancy Feast cat food. The Science Diet for the over weight was not going to work since the last can just resulted in Sage licking the sauce and leaving the meat with the hated rice behind. I opened a can of the Chicken Feast and dished out half of the can. Mortimer thought it was for him and was real excited. Paws up on the kitchen counter edge and mews that only a begging cat make. (I dislike begging and do not encourage it.) So off to the den with the dish of Fancy Feast in search of Sage. Yes, he was in the den window, so I put the food down and closed the door. Mortimer was still feeling entitled and laid down at the door with his eyes peering under the door. I left with closing the door separating Mortimer from the food and Sage. I now hoped for the best. Sage was shut in the room with the Fancy Feast.
　
After a bit over hour, I peaked in to see if the new cat food was a success. Sage had indeed checked it out. Every bit of it was scattered about with nothing eaten. Well just like the old westerns with a prisoner rejecting the jail food, I shut the door. I left the mess on the floor. It was still his dinner. If Sage wanted to throw a fit and scatter it, that was his business.
　
Yet several more hours passed and before retiring for the night, I thought it best to check in our 'prisoner' cat named Sage. I was truly surprised. All of the Chicken Feast was consumed. Not a single sign of the scattered the food was evident. Sage was now up in the window and quite happy. I left the door closed to give him more time away from Mortimer and went to bed.
　
Morning came and with it a bright Colorado sun with no clouds in the sky. A beautiful morning. Mortimer was still at the closed den door awaiting the door to be opened. Was he wanting to confront the new cat in the house? Or was he just curious at the new visitor? Or more likely, he was after the Fancy Feast. In any case, I kept them separated. I prepared Mortimer's pebble breakfast and placed it in the usual spot in the entry hall near the kitchen. I emptied the remaining of the Chicken Feast in a bowl for Sage. His bowl was brought up to the closed den where Sage was being held seperated from the established resident cat. I checked the sand. Not even moved. I checked the water bowl. Still full. I left the den room and closed the door. I was not convinced that last evening was a turning point. Not yet, at least.
　
Sage did finish the half can of Fancy Feast. Whether this was with or without the hissy fit that scattered the food I do not know. But, he did eat the food. Now to pack up kitty and head back to the shelter for the sceduled adoption wellness check.
　
At the shelter, the staff was busy. I punched the buzzer to let them know we were in the waiting room. We waited. And we waited. Eventually a young man in hospital garb came forward and showed us into the examination room with a large japanese emoticon of a kitty on the door. It was otherwise labed, examination room #2.
　
My beloved and I then spoke to the ypung man about Sage not eating for several days. That is until yesterday and this morning when betwween the two times, Sage did consume a can of Fancy Feast. But, in addition, he does not seem to be drinking water nor using the sand box. Despite the small amount of food consumed, I was concerned.
　
He took some mental notes. He said the vet would be in shortly. He closed the examination door as he left the room. Again we waited. And we waited.
　
The vet was a young gal. I knew she was the vet, because her name tag stated both name and title. Sad that I do not remember the name. I was concerned and distracted with Sage. I repeated the entire story of not eating, having a hissy fit with the food and then eating the food. I also stated my concern about water consumption and not using the sand box. It all seemed repetitious but in some way it also seemed to put me at ease.
　
So she took Sage and looked into his mouth and felt him on his sides and lifted his fur. Yeah he is a bit fat, but I think this was all standard for every preliminary examination. The the aide brought in some food in two small dishes. One dish was shreaded tuna. He began to eat as if he was starving. Well he was starving! And then the vet put the other dish down while removing the tuna. It was a very dark brown and a moist blob that had an incredibly strong oder to it. I had never seen anything like it as food before. Sage did not even miss the tuna. He was now eating in a frenzied mode. This was embarrassing. It was a bit like when you bring a distressed automobile to the mechanic and it begins to work flawlessly. I wondered what I was doing wrong that these people were doing right to have Sage show such a healthy appetite!
　
The vet then spoke up while taking the dark brown blob' dish away from Sage. "I see that Sage has broken one of the sutures from the dental surgery. The gums are a bit inflamed. I will give him a dose of a pain killer and I want you to administer some medicine over the next week and a half to help him heal." She then disappeared into the back room with Sage.
　
When she returned, Sage was shaved a bit for where the injection was given, but he seemed happy. The vet then handed me three cans of what that dark brown stuff was and baggie of syringes. The mystery on the brown blob was now resolved. It was Hills Prescription Diet labeled Urgent Care a/d in both French and English. Where is the Spanish translation, by the way?
　
Also a package of single dose syringes with 25mg/ml Clindamycin. The vet called the medicine an opiod, but all I really know about it is as a substitute for penicillin. This stuff was a brown color. I only have seen this as a clear liquid. But my memory is not what it used to be, so maybe I am mistaken. Of course there may be something else in it to keep people from making a silly attempt at getting a high off of what is a cat medicinal strength application. If a person has the potential for an allergic reaction to penicillin, this is the go to drug of choice. Seems probably more serious than it is though. That is the problem when you do not know much, your imagination can fill in the blanks.
　
So the mystery was resolved. A single suture was broken and this was the result. We were told to use only use a teaspoon of the prescription food mixed with the Science Diet dry food. Sprinkle a bit of water on the food to soften it up. Sage should be better in no time! With that, we said our sincere thanks and left with hopes of a better Sage.
　
- To be continued...

[Alwyn]

Ah, a mystery is resolved, it seems. It's good to hear that Sage will be (hopefully) better soon, I wonder if there can be a new beginning for his relationship with Mortimer.

[NorseThing]

Sage on the High Plains Desert Part III

by NorseThing

From the previous episode:
　
So the mystery was resolved. A single suture was broken and this was the result. We were told to use only use a teaspoon of the prescription food mixed with the Science Diet dry food. Sprinkle a bit of water on the food to soften it up. Sage should be better in no time! With that, we said our sincere thanks and left with hopes of a better Sage.
　
We continue the Cat Tale:
　
So we packed up Sage into his kennel tote and gathered up the medicine and the food supplement cans an said our grateful thanks and good byes to the vet and her aide.
　
We arrived at home and Sage was very happy to be free from the kennel carrier.
　
I headed into the kitchen and made my first attempt at feeding a teaspoon of the wet canned food with about 3/4 a cup of dry food. I pulled the tab to open the special diet wet food. From the second floor there was a roar when Mortimer smelled the aroma of the open can. This was even more potent than I saw with Sage in the clinic. Meanwhile Sage was now busy rubbing against my leg. He was excited. Mortimer was excited. The thought of Sage actually eating was getting me excited. Wow!
　
I began sprinkling a teaspoon of warm waterover it all to help soften the dry pebbles even more. I then headed upstairs to the den with the bowl of food. Sage followed. Mortimer met us on the stairs. He then followed as well. We were now a parade. Like the Pied Piper of Hamlin, I was leading a pack of hungary kitties. At the den door, I tried and failed to keep Mortimer at bay. I now had two eager cats and one bowl of food.
　
I placed the bowl of food down near the sofa with one hand. My other hand was quick to grab Mortimer to keep him away. Sage simply looked at the bowl of food. Mortimer was crying out of frustration. I carried Mortimer out of the den and shut the door. I carried Mortimer down from the second floor to his bowl of pebbles near the kitchen. He was crying out. It was probably in frustration. These pebbles were not special. No sprinkled warm water. And most importantl, no teaspoon of the special diet food mixed in. Okay. I could fix this with a spinkle of water and a small bit of the brown blob mixed in. I preformed the magic and Mortimer was not interested. He immediately went up to the closed den door and stared under the door to view the desired bowl of food. And he again was crying out.
　
This went on for each morning feeding. This went on for each evening feeding. This simply went on and on for about one week. Then the can of the brown blob stuff was gone. I still had two more cans, but I did not want to get our kitties hooked on the stuff. So I cut it off. Cold turkey. Now it was just 3/4 of a cup of the dry food sprinkled with a teaspoon of warm water for each cat. Two daily feedings.
　
But the war continued. Mortimer was still obsessed with Sage's bowl and not his own. The bowls were identical, but not in Mortimer's way of thinking. He still wanted Sage's food over eating his own. Thus the regime was established that each would eat in their own space and the doors would keep them seperated until Sage had eaten and done his thing in the seperate clay sand box. Then the box would be cleaned and Mortimer could enter Sage's room. No surprise that Mortimer would hardly touch his food, at least not until either hunger or some sane reasoning got the better of him. But at least Sage was eating and he no longer needed the added inducment of a bit of brown blob mixed in with the dry.
　
I checked their weights one evening before the ritual of the pebbles. They were both the same weight. Seventeen pounds. My beloved thinks Mortimer had lost a bit, but I do not know. It is hard to compare two cats when one is a short hair and one is a medium hair. Sage is a bit over weight just as Mortimer is a bit over weight. I was just grateful that Sage was holding the same weight he had when we adopted him from the animal shelter. Two fat cats, not tubby though - just a 'healthy' bit of the fat for six years and younger males cats. Two years in an animal shelter is a long time. I am glad he now has a new home. So the competition between two males would continue. We now know that the Sage is healthy.

This concludes our tale of Sage on the High Plains Desert. Until next time, meow!

[Alwyn]

Mortimer's behaviour reminds me of a small child, wanting their sibling's toy instead of the perfectly good toy in their hands. It's good to hear that Sage's health recovered. Good update!

[NorseThing]

The Tail of the Red Copper Penny Candy Kitty
by NorseThing

　
My parents thought it would be best if I and my little brother learned to take care of pet. This began a series of pets up to and including Sage and Mortimer that you knew from my 3 part series titled "Sage on the High Plains Desert". The first pet my father brought home was a red labrador whose name I do not remember. For this tale. let's call him Red. (I think that really was his name, but memory as an adult when a small kid is not so reliable.) The young dog was lovable as I remember, though I suspect all dogs are lovable by 4 year old children. Red did not do well with our small family of two very young children and a fairly active mother and father. To shorten this tale a bit, the dog had separation anxiety whenever my father left the home. He would sit at the kitchen door that connected to the garage and cry until my father returned from work each day. Red could not be consoled by me or my brother. My mother would often leave and our grandma would be our baby sitter for the duration. Now Red had double separation anxiety with both my parents out of the home.
　
I suppose the decision was joint between my parents, but in the end Red was returned to the kennel or where ever he came from. I was saddened, but I know now that it was more of a loss of a possession and neighborhood bravado on having a dog. I never really felt partnered with Red. Red knew who was in charge of this household and it was not two children of 2 and 4 years of age. Dogs tolerate young children, but their world of the den includes the adults. Dogs know who to depend on and who needs protection.
　
So the family then acquired a very young red tabby from a local farm. The cat was now a part of the family and needed a name. Something special. My mother suggested Candy since as she said the kitty was so sweet. I wanted to call him Red like the dog. I was not so creative. My younger brother wanted to call him Penny. Just like a new penny in his collection of pennies. You know the blue hard books with the precut holes. The book had the pre printed identification of dates and mint marks for each of the holes. Actually we each had a book, but that is another tale. My mother, the family diplomat, then suggested we call the young kitty Red Copper Penny Candy to include all of the suggestions.
　
So it was agreed by all that the 'official and most formal name' was to be Red Copper Penny Candy. For me as well as the rest of the family, this kitty was Penny. Penny became the shortened name. We all knew and were proud to state official and most formal name when asked, "What was the name of the cute kitty?" Just as important of name as any pedigreed dog or a champion show cat. It was still easier for me and the rest of the family to remember Penny though.
　
I do not know if there was any serious intention by my parents for my care and feeding of Penny to be some sort of growth and learning experience. If so, parental discretion quickly abandoned the idea. The kitty was a farm cat and did his business outside. Food and water were always plentiful and always available. My mother would groom Penny with a comb and a brush. At least I think I remember this was the routine for Penny. In short Penny was an outdoor cat that returned for free food.
　
Despite my parent's intentions, this cat was my mothers cat. Penny was loyal to a fault and wanted to join in all activities when my mother was present. This even extended to grooming. When my mother was in the bathroom, the cat was present even with a closed door for my mother's modesty. On time, mom was taking a soaking bath with the door a bit ajar so that the mirror would not fog over. Penny had been left out of the activity and discovered the soaking hot bath and ... Penny just jumped into the tub. Mom let out a loud scream that was heard throughout the neighborhood. From that day forward, there was no bath water run without a tightly closed and locked door. We all joked that it was clear this is one cat that would never drown.
　
Later in life, I discovered that Penny developed a series of homes for free food. There was an entire network that knew the name of the cat. These people I did not know at the time, but they were friends of my parents. The cat had a wider known territory than I had at time. I could not even cross the street in front of our small brick home. I was limited to the city block with a special exemption for two houses that were close but on another side street. Penny had a territory that spread over at least seven or maybe eight city blocks that I now knew of. There were no restrictions on which streets to cross. Penny was a cat. He would not honor such arcane conventions that I was restricted to.
　
Of course this network included free food at all Penny's chosen stops. It seems many of these stops were wives included in my mothers 500 card club. I did not know what 500 was, but once a month the club would meet by rotating among the wives. Maybe Penny being a good judge of character (or at least a good smell of character) knew these people from their visits to our home and then 'found' where they really lived. I know it seems fantastic, but canned tuna is a powerful motivating force for a cat who cannot open a tin of food without the help of a human.
　
Over time Penny grew. And Penny grew and grew. Now Penny was a big tom cat. In the winter, the cat would have a thicker fur good for the cold northern Illinois winters. He even had small tufts of hair to protect his ears. I always thought it was just like the ears of a bobcat. But that was probably the result of too much imagination for a school age child of age 9 or so.
　
I now had more brothers. I know that my mom was hoping for a daughter, but my parent's gift to the world was to be four boys. The youngest was now three. He was inseparable from Penny, when Penny was at home. A little older, Penny was now pretty much at home during the day and out at night.
　
Time flies and now I was a young teenager. Penny is getting up in age as well.
　
Our youngest brother took a fancy to dressing up Penny with some borrowed big doll clothes from some of the girls in the neighborhood. First it was just a pioneer bonnet. Then came a girl scout shirt. The neighbor girls and my little brother all had a good laugh and Penny was happy to be the center of attention. I was so amazed what an adult cat would tolerate when it came to accommodating small children. It must be a bit universal that mammals know when other mammals are young children. They also seem to know when we adults that should know better. Even I as a teenager knew I would risk getting my hand bit if I tried to dress the cat. But Penny was willing to be carried and dressed, but only by the youngest of our family. Penny was even willing to stay in the small wagon while being pulled through the neighborhood while dressed up.
　
That is all for now. Meow!
　
　
Author's Note: Until I began writing this tale, I never realized that my brother had won the naming contest despite the diplomacy of mom with the fancy combination name. I guess it pays to think back sometimes.
　

[Alwyn]

I enjoyed the connection between the history of your pets and your experience of growing up, seeing Red's different reactions to adults and young children, and seeing the ways in which Penny created a network of suppliers of free food and his reaction to being dressed up and being pulled in a wagon.