Category: Cats

What to Do About a Cat

But is she happy?
Fran Ham and Yum Yum

As you would know if you follow my blog, when I moved from our large four-story house, repleat with our dog, Yum Yum and our two cats, Eris and Fran Ham, I brought Fran Ham with me to live in my small apartment.

Fran Ham is a very lovely cat. She’s big, not unusually so, but enough so that her nickname is “Chonky”.  As you can see from the photo, she is a medium-haired tabby. She wears white stockings and a white dicky but the rest of her is a lovely gray and golden and black coat of distinctive patterns.

She is very affectionate and loves to sit on one’s lap and talks incessantly in kind of a high squeaky chatter, and will follow one anywhere never stopping to take a breath. It seems she has much to report.

She’s very insistent about her meal schedule and lets you know, in no uncertain terms, that breakfast, lunch, 3:00 pm high tea, dinner, and before-bedtime snacks are due. She does this by, instead of her high-pitched conversational tone, she begins to wail quite loudly, walking, one might say insistently, between the refrigerator, her bowl, all the while, circling your legs. She is not to be denied.

When she came to us from a sister of a friend, she had been leash trained and box trained and was strictly an indoor cat. But being the people that we are, we did not deny her access to the outdoors through the cat door from the very beginning. She was well-mannered and came and went at will and never wandered far from the yard.

Though Eris, tiny warrior cat, was brought home first from the Humane Society (in an attempt to clear out the mice in the attic, which she promptly did), Fran Ham wanted to be Top Dog. Right away she started slapping Eris around, hiding and stalking her, jumping out of corners and pouncing from tables causing a terrible racket. Such a cat fight you have never heard.

Eris…Tiny warrior cat
Eris… After a mouse

Fran Ham won. To our chagrin Eris acquiesced. She began to walk along the perimeters of the rooms and gave up her favorite sleeping places and even gave up her food before she was finished. But she never stopped being the warrior kitty. She continued to bring in mostly mice and the occasional large rat that stalked our neighbor’s chicken coops.

Eris is tiny with large green eyes, a pink nose, a pink mouth with long sharp dagger like teeth and has never grown larger than a kitten. Why she gave in to Fran Ham is beyond me. Maybe it was the size differential and that was all.

So now the cats no longer cohabitate. From what I’ve seen and from what Hannah says, Eris is a much happier cat now that she doesn’t have to contend with Fran Ham jumping on her and slapping her and taking her food and bogarting her way into Eris’s favorite sleeping places.

But it was sadly certain that in the first month of living with only me, no other members of the family, and no dog, and no access to the outdoors, that Fran Ham was lonely and not the happy contented cat that she was. And perhaps she also missed tormenting Eris.

At times Franny would lie in my arms and look at me with the most forlorn look in her eyes. But there was naught to do since we were in the same boat, having moved away from home and family. I’m sure she saw that same look on my face.

It’s been over 2 months now and we are slowly adjusting. But curiously, when family comes to visit or when anybody comes into the apartment, Fran goes under the bed and refuses to come out. There’s only one exception and that is if Ancel (geandson) comes over on his own and the two of them greet each other with great affection.

I too, Fran Ham, get misty-eyed after a visit with family. But one thing is certain, that I am glad to have you as my companion. We’ll be fine.

The Cat that Stalks Me

I can’t believe I’m able to do this. I can’t believe that day after day, I can put one foot in front of the other and put one thing in a box, and one thing in a bag, and end the day, still putting things in bags and boxes.

Useless, precious, beautiful objects of my affection. Proof of my existence. And one day no one will care for them nor remember me.

This hard work and I still don’t know what the hell I’m doing or where I’m going. And even less whatI I’m supposed to be doing or where I should be going. I try not to think about it too much. I just keep doing.

This is how I’ve lived my life. When a door opens, I just go in. Not putting much thought into it. And here I am getting closer and closer to the end of my life and still living the same way. But more aware than ever of futility.

And now worry stalks me like a dangerous and silent cat in the wild would. I am it’s prey and it, my predator.

I think it’s always been with me. I used to not notice it. But these days, I’m made aware of it by weakness creeping in, by my slowing gait, by increasing frailty.

I’m aware of its footsteps falling almost imperceptible except for a rare snap of a twig, or a small tumble of a stone. but still closely behind. I’m beginning to hear it’s heavy breathing when I hush. I hear its snuffling at my foot prints left in the soft soil I call my life.

It is there in the night with only the stars and the moon as my companions… no protection at all but, I remind myself, I still can call up fire. But it never rests and so neither can I. I can sometimes see its eyes glowing in the flickering flames.

During the daylight hours, I am distracted mostly, but these days, not like in the past. What will I do when I can no longer move forward, when I must lay down, when rest is needed more than life itself?

Then I will lie down. Then worry and wonder and unknowing will no longer stalk me. Then I will rest.  Then, I will no longer need the strength that now I do.

So now, before I lay me down, I will put some more things in bags and I will put some more things in boxes.

Good night, big and beautiful and wild cat. I hear you breathing softly.

Winter is for Rest

Off to the pool.

Home for lunch.

Now it’s time for sitting, knitting, snoozing, tea, and small snacks.

Right Fran Ham?

She agrees.

Fran Ham on the toasty spot

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.

Held in Liminal Space

Portland remembering

This morning’s weather reminds me of when I was younger. It shows just how Portland I am.

It’s grey everywhere except for the explosion of some small Spring flowers. It’s cold. It’s raining but not pouring but it’s constant.

The wind is blowing. It’s blowing hard enough that I can hear the bells hanging on the porch.

The trees are still barren with just small buds of green showing. The exceptions are the Magnolia and Tulip trees that have full blooms, now drooping and dripping. The Japanese quince, stiff and thorny, is showing pink.

I walked the dog and I was reluctant to come back into the house. But Yum Yum was wet (her least favourite state) and ready for her treats.

Now, I’m sitting in my room and the rain is tapping on the windows. The big and old trees are swaying slightly against the wind.

I can hear the heater motor and see the fake fire inside my electric stove. Somehow warming.

The cat is sleeping on my bed so there’s no reason to make it up. She has made beautiful swirls in the blankets.

It’s very dim in my room and I don’t want to turn on any lights. I like this gloom and deep shadowed corners that are inviting and welcoming.

I think I will have a cup of tea and a little bit of dark chocolate and slices of the orange sitting in a ramen bowl.

I don’t miss the invasion of the bright rays of the sun that is hiding behind the charcoal clouds as they scud by, pushed along by the wind. There is a brightness in the far distant horizon where the clouds have thinned.

I might even doze a bit today. The gentle pitter and the patter of the rain are the perfect lyric and rhythm that can enduce slumber for any troubled mind.

I’m held in the arms of Portland weather and memories. Let the world go by. I’m not interested.

In the Dark of Night She Kills

Eres

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.