A Cat to Accompany Death

Mom and I had moved 3 times between the years 2002 and 2010.

Our first move was moving her out of senior housing into a house with me. She was 81 and in good health but not eating as well as she should (too many Hungryman dinners) and it was getting harder for her to clean the floors.

I had just returned from Santa Monica, California to take up a permanent position. It was perfect timing for Mom to live with me. However, this wasn’t the first time, as she had lived with me, my husband and children for a decade already.

But changes in our lives had necessitated Mom moving into senior housing for a time. Jack and I moved into a tiny duplex on our own while our children transitioned out of the house.

As soon as I moved from California back to Oregon, I moved Mom in with me. In the first house that we moved into, we had abundant gardens, which we took full advantage of. We spent every day that wasn’t stormy or too cold, out in the yard. Mom had been skillfully using a walker for a few years at this point, and managed quite easily.

However, there were steps going up to the path to the front steps of the porch. There were steps going down from the back door into the back garden. There were steps going down into the basement. Mom loved to do the laundry and so it was necessary for her to descend those dark stairs. I soon decided that I would take over the laundry chores. I couldn’t though deny Mom the privilege of going in and out of the house at will, though it was a constant worry.

It was in this house that Mom saw me through surgery and eight months of chemotherapy. She took over all of the household chores and my care. I was supposed to die but I didn’t. We lived on together.

Five years later we moved into a beautiful little 3 bedroom ranch and again, with large gardens and beautiful plantings front and back. Thankfully, this had absolutely no stairs for her to climb or descend. But, in two years it was necessary for us to move once again.

Fortunately, I found a house with an identical lay out without stairs so that Mom could spend her time out in the yard tending to the plants and just enjoying the outdoors. We had a large outdoor patio where I hung fushias and begonias from the rafters and filled the space with hostas and ferns. I bought a large Asian pot and filled it with water and goldfish and lotus.

We were happy in this house and I hoped we wouldn’t have to move again. Mom was quite near her church and the bus came directly to our door to pick her up to take her anywhere she wanted to go. We lived in the neighborhood where she had raised us. We were home.

One day, shortly after we moved in, a beautiful and talkative mixed breed cat that looked much like a siamese, came strolling up the street and walked straight into the house, just as though she’d been there before. I think she had found home.

She found it comfortable, sleeping on the corner of Mom’s bed in Mom’s bedroom or sitting at her feet or walking back and forth so that Mom could pet her and gently pull her tail. Mom would give her food and water and they would spend the day together as I worked. I knew they were close but at that time I didn’t realize just how close they had become.

The cat we called Mama, as I did for many of the cats that I had in my life. If Mom were gone and it was just me at home, Mama didn’t pay much attention to me except to lay close if I were sitting on the couch or in a chair. She might follow me outside to sit on the patio furniture if I happened to sit for a while.

I could tell that the cat was only trying to figure out where Mom had gone. One day, Mom went to the hospital where she stayed for two weeks. When she came home, it was to wait for the inevitable.

We situated the hospital bed in front of the large window where Mom could see the goings on in the neighborhood. She, and her constant companion, watched for the mailman, the newspaper delivery, and the many visitors who came with cookies, cakes and kisses.

Mama sat with Mom day in and day out and reluctantly jumped off the bed only when we changed the bedding. Then came the day when Mom cut the cord that tied her to this world. Family and friends came to say their last goodbyes. I didn’t notice if Mama was around or hiding safely but out of sight.

When everyone was gone, my sister, my daughter and I (and Mama) were the only ones in the house with Mom as she took her last breath. Mama sat quietly on the hospital bed, against the window beside the front door, as Mom’s body was carried out into the wee hours of the night.

Just two days after Mom’s passing, the hospital bed had been removed by the hospice folks. Later in the day, I saw Mama in Mom’s bedroom, laying on the end of her bed. I hadn’t been paying much attention to her as I had much to attend to. I laid my hand on her soft body expecting a reaction but she was cold and stiff. Mama had died.

I think Mama had come to accompany Mom on her journey out of this world. Now her work was over and it was time for her to rest, as well. You were never my cat, Mama, but I loved you, too. Thank you for walking with Mom as she passed on. We won’t ever forget you for accompaning life and then death.

Chapter 2: The Adventures of Baby Fox

By now Baby Fox was not so much a baby but she still had so much to learn.

Baby Fox was still all alone and had not found a family. She had become quite adept at hunting for her meals but many times she found herself hungry and shivering from the cold.

Deep winter had set into the mountain. It had snowed mightily leaving deep drifts in all of the valleys and crevices and small niches. She hadn’t found out that in order to prepare for winter she had to find and prepare a den. You see foxes don’t hibernate but they need a warm place to sleep during the day and to hide their prey.

Baby Fox had now a keen sense of sight in the darkest nights. She had slits in her pupils like a cat and like other canines, she could hear the slightest rustling of wings and scuffling under the dense bushes of others just like her, looking for their own nightly meals. But hunting and catching her prey was never easy.

Before the ground froze and snow covered the trees, Baby Fox had learned to eat small birds and small animals that scampered through the forest, but now that the cold had set in in ernest, she slept curled in a tight ball at the root of a tree, and woke at night to find food.

She began her life in a struggle to survive and never had been nourished by her mother’s milk. She was still tiny, though she was a fully developed adolescent fox but hadn’t even learned the skills her mommy would have taught her. As the sun rose over the mountains, her eyes would begin to close even if her tummy was empty. The cold, wet dirt under a bare root became her only bed.

Fortunately, she was as keen of sight and hearing and could smell as well as any animal in the forest even without the benefit of growing up in a fox family. While hunting one night, she ventured farther afield than her usual territory. She came upon a hole she hadn’t seen before. It was hidden under a large stone. Ferns and moss were peeking out from under the snow, which had been protected by an overhanging cliff. She cautiously felt the warmth coming from within and heard soft purring sounds.

As she approached the entrance, whatever was in this den smelled of something awful but strangely attractive. But morning would soon be coming and she knew she couldn’t resist slumber. Maybe, she thought, it could be like when she first found her family as a baby kit. Maybe there were some sisters or brothers to snuggle with. She cautiously approached the entrance, perhaps with too much curiosity but with an instinctual need to sleep and for warmth and comfort.

She put one paw inside, then another. She put her nose to the ground and then lifted it in the air. Though the smell was strong like that of a skunk, which she had foolishly come too close to before, she sensed that it was something different. She was quiet. She began to breathe so as not to make a sound. Whatever was in this deep, black den was sound asleep. Casting all care to the wind, she slumped to the floor, wrapped her fluffy tail around herself, closed her eyes and went helplessly, fast asleep.

The day broke and snow fell heavily on the earth. There was no sunlight that could penetrate the storm. The wind howled and even the wild things that searched for food during the day, were hunkered down. Their backs were hunched as they turned their backs to the wind and closed their eyes.

It wasn’t until late in the day that the storm subsided. Animals began to stir and shake the snow from their backs. Birds, that had not migrated, began to peck where they could, to find seeds and bugs and other life to eat. Other animals tried to paw through the deep snow for any thing they might find. They gnawed on bark and branches. It was a fight to stay alive in the forest on the mountain.

As night began to fall, Baby Fox began to stir. She immediately sensed danger. It dawned on her that she was not the only one in the den. She feared to move a muscle and yet instinctually she knew she had to leave the den to once again hunt for food.

She heard a low growling and a slow movement deep inside. She heard the noise and felt that the creature was ever so slowly creeping closer. She had to flee but as she rose to escape, she bumped up against something blocking the entrance. While she slept, the storm had blown snow firmly and solidly against the opening to the den, trapping both animals inside.

They both needed to get outside. The hair on her back rose and her tail extended and her claws, that were safely hidden, were exposed. She would fight, she thought, if she had to. The other animal suddenly charged. Her hair had grown thick as the temperatures lowered on the mountain. This, and her claws were all the protection that she had. The other animal came at her with a vengeance and they began to tumble in a fight for their lives. They growled and clawed and bit each other. The fight was so violent they broke through the snow that was pressed up against the opening of the den. They both tumbled out onto the fresh snow that was lit by a full moon.

Baby Fox lay as still as if dead. The snow around her turned red but looked black in the moonlight. She knew that the other animal had fled. It was almost twice her size and stronger. She hadn’t really got a good look at it. She felt as though she couldn’t move yet, though she already felt hungry and thirsty. The cold snow felt good on her battered body. It also helped to stop the blood flow.

After some time she began to stir, not because she felt better but out of necessity. She licked her wounds for a bit and made it up on her legs with great difficulty. She couldn’t go far from the den and so she sniffed around for something she might find to eat that wasn’t too much trouble. Something had not survived the snowstorm and was lying beneath a tree not too far away. She was able to tear at the still warm carcass with her tiny but razor sharp teeth, through the hair and break through the skin and she ate as much as she could.

She knew she needed to get to shelter or she would be someone else’s dinner. She knew she was unable to fight or flee. She tore off a chunk of meat and headed back to the den from which she had fled with the meat in her mouth. Once there, she marked the hole with urine both outside and inside, and then she collapsed towards the back of the den in the deepest dark corner. She only hoped that her assailant would not return.

She knew not how long she slept. It could have been that she slept through a night or two before her stomach began to growl and cry out for food. She was also in great pain. When she woke, she ate a little of the meat that she had drug into the den. She then went to work cleaning her wounds. She had small deep gashes on both of her front legs. She had a deep gash on one of her hind quarters. Her body was covered in deep bites. Her jaw was aching and blood dripped from a wound on her skull and one ear, as well.

Baby Fox had survived but it would be some time before she was healed. Fortunately, there was enough food for a couple of days and nights, but she needed water. She pulled herself over to the opening of the den and licked at the snow. Nothing had smelled her blood and so nothing had bothered her yet and her assailant had not returned. She was hurting but getting better every day. She had apparently found a home for the winter and knew where there was food and how to hunt if other animals had eaten the dead carcass that was lying by the tree.

Baby Fox had faced the challenge of a lifetime. What other adventures Baby Fox will have to face is yet to be told. We’ll have to wait for Chapter 3 of The Adventures of Baby Fox.

Some Things Lost

I’ve lost a few things that are not forgotten.

The Ring

The very first thing that I can remember losing was my Grandma’s diamond wedding ring. I was only 14 years old. What in the world was she doing gifting a precious diamond wedding ring to her 14 year old granddaughter, anyway?

This was not the first time that this wedding ring had been lost. Grandma was an avid and master gardener. Her yard was filled with fragrant and beautiful blossoms and a lawn that she hand picked the weeds from on her hands and knees. The garden was filled with bird song. She loved those birds as though they were her own children.

One time she lost the ring herself. She didn’t know where but lamented it’s loss deeply. On one lucky day, Grandpa was helping her pull up the spent plants, while they prepared the garden for winter, and pulled up the ring clinging to the roots of one of the petunias. You can see why that ring was even more precious to her than just a wedding ring.

It hurt so bad having to confess that I’d lost it. Grandma and I were as thick as thieves. She was the keeper of my secrets that she took to her grave. I could have moved myself into her tiny house, hook line and sinker, and never looked back. I had to content myself with spending weekends with her. Though she only lived around the block from us I could never get enough of her sweet presence.

I first confessed to Mom that while swinging in the park the ring had come off and I couldn’t find it anywhere. Mom was not one who would soften the blow by telling Grandma about my foolishness. I had to face up to it on my own. “What in the world was I doing wearing that ring anyway”, she chided me.

I think it was too hard for me to hold my Grandma’s reaction in my memories. My Grandma was not one to ever be mad or to express her anger, if she ever was, I can’t remember.

To know that I had hurt and disappointed Grandma was enough punishment for me. I still cry over that ring. I wonder who might have found that it. I wish it had been me.

The Rug

The next thing I remember losing is a hand woven chief’s rug that was given to us by Jack’s Aunt Helen. She was married to his Uncle Hank. Aunt Helen (nee Phinney) was a Nez Perce, a descendant of Chief Joseph. It was evident at the Pow Wows we attended with her, that she was highly regarded among the tribes of the Northwest Territory.

This rug was passed down to her through her family and then she gifted it to Jack, my husband, who she dearly loved. Aunt Helen was fierce. She was diminutive yet strong. One did not cross her in deed or in word.

Aunt Helen’s face was round and flat and colored a soft brown. She always wore a dress and had steel grey hair cut short, and she walked the earth as though she had a specific purpose in mind to her walking. And no doubt she did.

I kind of feared yet respected Aunt Helen, and yet you could feel her love. Her love felt a bit like ownership, possessiveness. Her home on Johnson Creek road was a treasure trove of Indian artifacts. Her yard was a secret garden if there ever was one. It didn’t surprise me at all that she entrusted Jack with this precious rug. He was family though only by marriage. She had a family of her own which I’m sure she gave many gifts.

One year we were moving out to the Columbia River Gorge, the land of the Indians. Now, the Gorge is home to the Confederate Tribes of the Warm Springs, the Yakima Nation, the Nez Perce Tribe and the Cofederated Tribes of the Umatilla Indian Reservation.

We obviously, not so carefully, stashed the rug in the bed of the pickup. Somewhere along the Washington side of the river, the rug blew out of the truck. Did we realize when we were unpacking that the rug was missing or did it take us some time before we realized that the rug was no longer with us. I can’t remember.

I wonder all the time who might have found that rug. One thing I know for sure is that unless they did some research they have no idea what a treasure they have in their possession.

I think of that rug quite often and mourn our carelessness. The only thing that would make me happy is if a member of one of the tribes had found the rug and perhaps had found its rightful owners. Maybe they might have celebrated that the spirit/s had returned that rug.

The Tapestry

The next thing I lost was a Franklin Mint Tapestry that my mom bought me at no small cost. This is a Tapestry titled, The Royal Hunt, designed by Marc Waymel for Franklin Mint.

According to some on Google, the tapestry can be seen in a scene from the series, Outlander.

The tapestry can now be purchased online from several different websites for around $200 to $300. For years now I’ve been wanting to buy one online. Maybe this is the year.

In the year 2000, I moved to Los Angeles to get my master’s degree in History focusing on folklore and mythology. I packed up everything I owned and put it in a storage unit. That was my first mistake.

I rolled up my tapestry with the hanging rod and slid it down into a CD rack. It fit perfectly. My second mistake is that I didn’t think carefully about the construction of the unit. One could climb on top of the storage areas and the only covering/roof was chicken wire. This storage unit was inside of one of those really large buildings that have multiple floors with multiple units on every floor. I thought everything was safe.

When I returned 2 years later to unpack my unit and bring everything in to my new house, I realized the tapestry was missing. Coincidentally, I was moving Mom in with me. There was no way I could hide the absence of the tapestry. I didn’t wait until she asked and I confessed. That was a really sad day for me. Mom didn’t have much money as a retired administrative nurse and this was a huge loss to us both.

I’ve now lived without the tapestry for more than 20 years, 23 years as a matter of fact. I’ve never quit missing this tapestry and think of it all the time. I wish I knew which tapestry out there was mine.

Some that are for sale say “some light fading or some wear and tear” but mine was perfect when I put it into my storage unit. Should I risk buying one knowing that perhaps I’m getting one that won’t s assuage my sadness over losing the tapestry? Or should I just let it go and enjoy the fact that Mom bought this for me and it’s in my memory now forever?

Who has my tapestry that my mom gave me out of love? I don’t like that you have it. It still makes me a bit angry that you climbed up on top of other people’s storage units and looked down on our personal belongings and thought that you had the right to steal things that perhaps have great value to us. I hope that every time you look at my tapestry you feel guilty. I suppose you sold it immediately thinking you’d get a small fortune. I hope that the memory of your theivery haunts you to this day.

The Photos

And then there was The Polio Poster photos. I wish Mom was still alive for me to ask some questions about these photos.

In the photos I am in an arm brace and wearing a beautiful, cotton, purple and yellow dress with purple pearl buttons. My blonde hair was in soft, long curls. I was just 5 years old and I was a victim of the virus.

There was also featured in the glossy photos, a famous actress, a chimpanzee and a huge television camera. If memory serves me right, I think on the side of the camera were the letters for KOIN TV in Portland, Oregon… or was it KPTV, another TV station.

I know the photos were being taken to feature in polio posters and I was to be a poster child. This was probably in 1953 or ’54. I had contracted polio before the polio vaccine was distributed. The March of Dimes, in particular, raised a campaign against the epidemic.

My photographs were not chosen for the campaign. I think I wasn’t “crippled” enough. Looking at the posters from that era, they featured mainly children who were in leg braces and crutches. The posters were created to generate sympathy and therefore donations for children who were victims of infantile paralysis and to promote the vaccine.

However, we received the original photographs from that time and I should be happy that I wasn’t “crippled enough”.

For all my life I looked at those photographs but at some point they disappeared. I have all of the old family photographs except for these. Being a researcher, I have looked at all of the obvious places that might have them archived. No such luck.

Postscript

Dr. L James Lewis, an employee of Dr. Jonas Salk, injects a rhesus monkey with the inert vaccine, weeks before its release.

Postscipt: The claim is that research to find a vaccine for poliomyelitis was never used on chimpanzees.

A Dog’s Reverie

Yum Yum doesn”t like to be cold but prefers the luxuriant scarves that cover and offer the warmth needed on a pre-autumnal day of grey clouds and damp streets.

She might stay here all day in her reverie of summer days… who’s extreme heat also is not to her liking.

She longs for spring days that neither intensely burn nor send chills through her sensitive constitution.

I will provide the lush environment that pleases her.

Folded Origami Dog

To wish I could fold like this as autumn approaches.

We will find piles of blankets and quilts.

Soft, wool socks and hand made sweaters.

Roaring fires in stoves and fireplaces.

The joys and comfort of summer’s labors.

Phone Translates a Dog’s Bark into English

We had some repairmen from the electric company doing some work at the house today. Of course, Yum Yum the dog, would prefer that they weren’t here. So, she’s at the door checking their work and barking at them.

I was texting somebody using voice to text and this is what the voice recorder picked up when Yum Yum started to bark at them.

“Rock rock, eagle rock. Water, Water. It’s about 11, right? What, what, what?”

She’s obviously a very smart dog. ☺

Arizona is a Wonder

My trip to Arizona was amazing. Tracy and Kelly and I visited historic sites to view missions and petroglyphs. We visited mountains and canyons, the desert and rivers and creeks.

We hiked in the Madera Canyon in the Santa Rita Mountains and did a lot of birdwatching. A coati came right to the door of our cabin… not once but three times.

Deer and wild turkeys were abundant as were the afternoon thunder storms with raindrops the size of marbles. The food we ate on our travels was a cultural adventure.

Tracy drove us along the rim of Box Canyon, an adrenaline rush to be sure. Where the road was washed out and only wide enough for the truck, we laughed or held our breath as we looked into the depths of the Canyon, yelling and telling Tracy not to look but to keep her eyes on the road.

The skies in Arizona are wide and blue or black with giant storm clouds the size of mountains. The roads are strewn with washes and signs warning of flash floods and cattle wandering the open ranges.

I greet the saguaro as we pass by. They seem like old friends and maybe ancestors. I love all of the cactus that I see as we drive long, long stretches of road through the reservations and small towns and seeming nothingness except the land, the mountains and sky. But there’s something special about the saguaro that I can’t explain.

Though October is rattler explosion time, I thankfully didn’t see a one and I thankfully didn’t see not even one bear or big cat. The universe heard my cry.

We knew the elusive Red Start was near because we could hear it’s song. We were never able to spot it until moments before we left the cabin when it hopped upon our door jamb as though to mock us and to say goodbye.

Back home we visited the Cosanti studio again where they bought me another bell. We swam in the pool and looked at the sky and read the books we bought along the way. We watched a movie or two and discussed life in general and in particular as we loved on the three old dogs and cats.

Times like this change our lives forever.

In the Dark of Night She Kills

Looks can be decieving. Eres, the sweetest sleepy calico during the daylight hours.

But in the shadowy hours of night, she tangles with the dark, evil rodent forces; severing heads, leaving only hindquarters and tails, wreaking havoc and chaos and fear in her wake, leaving behind not a drop of blood.

She is a warrior, a terror, fearless and hungry always for blood and guts, bringing her spoils to us in the night, seeking the approval of her dominators and providers of shelter.

Therefore, she is one tired kitty.

A Little Respect Please – The Squirrel and the Apple

As I sat in contemplation in the shade of the apple tree, I was giving attention to the sensations in my body and the sounds around me. There was the warmth of the sun and the cool, sudden breeze passing by. Birds were seemingly arguing. Cars and trucks rumbled by. In the distance people were talking. The pleasant fragrance of jasmine and water was everywhere.

I heard rustling above me and I noticed that I was feeling bits of something dropping on my head and shoulders and hitting my legs and feet. I opened my eyes and looking up, there was a fat and happy squirrel chomping on apples and spitting out bits and pieces, making a direct hit on me.

If it wasn’t intentional, I would be surprised. We live in an animal paradise filled with food and drink for birds, raccoons, opossum, squirrels, crows, bees and butterflies and who knows what else.

You’d think that squirrel would have a bit more respect for the human who so generously provides this buffet.