I have written about Julius before. He’s the model for the cat in Yarn to Go He lives down the street, but more or less claims the whole block as his. I hadn’t seen him in awhile and I was worried. He’s a black cat and while he seems rather street savvy, he walks across the street like he expects car to stop for him. So, I was very happy to see a black cat sitting in the back of our yard the other day. I went outside and called Julius and he looked in my direction. I noticed he wasn’t wearing his collar and name tag, but figured he’d managed to get rid of it.
Except a few minutes later when my son went into the driveway, he noticed a black cat sitting under his car and when he saw the name tag realized it was the real Julius. It was better than the time he thought there was a black cat under his car and tried to coax it out and it turned out to be a skunk.
The real Julius came out from under the car and with a few blinks of his yellow eyes sauntered down the driveway and headed for home.
Meanwhile our two cats were watching from inside.
So, who is Fake Julius? We think it is a she, since the real Julius seemed to be watching her instead of picking a fight. We think she lives in the yard behind us. We’ll have to see if she comes back to visit.
It isn’t the first time we’ve had cat doubles. We used to have a cat named Einstein. I named him that because he was a stray who presented himself at our house, clearly a brilliant choice. He was a beautiful big cat and a golden color.
I thought he was a feral cat at first and was just going to try to catch him and get him fixed. I started feeding him and then on the third day when he finished eating, he started doing figure eights around my ankles, so I picked him up and he started to purr. He lived the rest of his life with us and was a wonderful loving cat. We think somebody got him when the Lion King came out because he looked like Simba and then for whatever reason abandoned him.
I used to leave the kitchen door open for him to go in and out, not that he went far. I think after being abandoned, he was so glad to have a home, he didn’t want to leave the yard. After I closed the door one night I came back into the kitchen and saw a golden cat. I went into the living room and saw another golden cat. Two Einsteins, was I seeing double? The cat in the kitchen came into the living room and the two Einsteins didn’t seem to like each other. By then I’d figured out which one was the real Einstein and went to grab him before a fight broke out. I don’t think Einstein understood and I ended up with the battle scares, but got him into another room and shut the door. By then the Fake Einstein was back in the kitchen, anxious to escape. As soon as I opened the door, he flew out the door and went home which we think might have been the same yard where the Fake Julius lives.
Yikes, cat confusion!
Showing posts with label cats. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cats. Show all posts
Friday, August 30, 2013
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Cat Tales
My cat Snaps has stitches in his ear, on the backside. No, he didn’t tear it, nor was he in a fight with our other cat, Panzi. I noticed there was a very small crusty patch on his left ear about a year ago. We have a home-visit vet and he said not to worry about it. But over the next few months, it got bigger. And sometimes the crusty top would come off and it would bleed. When it got to be about the diameter of a pencil eraser, I called our vet, and he came over to take a look. He said it probably should come off. He didn’t think it was cancer – but he didn’t know for sure.
Since we were less than a month away from their annual physical and shots, he combined his visit and found that other than the spot, he was in good health. Panzi was fine.
I dug our old cat carrier out of the storage room and brought it into the apartment to get Snaps used to it. He thought it was swell, a kind of cozy cave, and was in and out of it happily the rest of the day. Panzi, who is our senior cat, could evidently remember being put in the carrier and going off on an unpleasant trip to the vet. She wouldn’t go near it, and in fact became hard to find, just in case we meant it for her.
I put Snaps into it for a visit to the clinic for surgery. He complained only mildly on the car trip over there, unlike every other cat I’ve ever owned. All my other cats cried loudly, incessantly, when taken anywhere by car. When I moved from Madison, Wisconsin, to Minneapolis, one of my two cats actually gave herself traumatic laryngitis, and was reduced to a rasping whisper by the time we arrived.
Snaps continued to behave with surprising calm – he has always been a laid back creature. Anyway, the vet took another look at him and said he’d go right into surgery and could come home late in the afternoon.
He was good as gold on the trip home, despite the vet having found a much smaller spot on his other ear, which he closed with a special kind of glue. The vet said he was going to freeze the material he took off the ears and would hold it to see if the spots come back. If they do, he will send this material to a special clinic to have it tested to see if it’s cancer. The reason he’s not doing it now is because it costs something over a hundred dollars for the test.
Meanwhile Snaps has taken all this with aplomb. He had not pawed at the healing ears. We are keeping the cat carrier in the apartment because he has to go back to have the stitches removed in a few more days – and he still likes to go in there and play now and again. We have our fingers crossed in hopes that whatever it was on his ears, it is gone never to return.
Does anyone else have a cat who takes every happening calmly?
Since we were less than a month away from their annual physical and shots, he combined his visit and found that other than the spot, he was in good health. Panzi was fine.
I dug our old cat carrier out of the storage room and brought it into the apartment to get Snaps used to it. He thought it was swell, a kind of cozy cave, and was in and out of it happily the rest of the day. Panzi, who is our senior cat, could evidently remember being put in the carrier and going off on an unpleasant trip to the vet. She wouldn’t go near it, and in fact became hard to find, just in case we meant it for her.
I put Snaps into it for a visit to the clinic for surgery. He complained only mildly on the car trip over there, unlike every other cat I’ve ever owned. All my other cats cried loudly, incessantly, when taken anywhere by car. When I moved from Madison, Wisconsin, to Minneapolis, one of my two cats actually gave herself traumatic laryngitis, and was reduced to a rasping whisper by the time we arrived.
Snaps continued to behave with surprising calm – he has always been a laid back creature. Anyway, the vet took another look at him and said he’d go right into surgery and could come home late in the afternoon.
He was good as gold on the trip home, despite the vet having found a much smaller spot on his other ear, which he closed with a special kind of glue. The vet said he was going to freeze the material he took off the ears and would hold it to see if the spots come back. If they do, he will send this material to a special clinic to have it tested to see if it’s cancer. The reason he’s not doing it now is because it costs something over a hundred dollars for the test.
Meanwhile Snaps has taken all this with aplomb. He had not pawed at the healing ears. We are keeping the cat carrier in the apartment because he has to go back to have the stitches removed in a few more days – and he still likes to go in there and play now and again. We have our fingers crossed in hopes that whatever it was on his ears, it is gone never to return.
Does anyone else have a cat who takes every happening calmly?
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Remembering Cats
The first cat whose personality I really remember came to live with us when I was in fifth or sixth grade. What I remember about her is that you could have a conversation with her. You could say, “How are you today?” and she’d reply, “Ah meh rah eh,” or something like that, a series of truncated meows. “Well, that’s great, I’m glad to hear it,” I’d say, and she would reply with a new series of little sounds. We’d “talk” for a few minutes, then she’d get bored or I’d get bored and we’d go our separate ways.
Then there was Skipper. I was in high school when a friend reported that her cat was pregnant and did I want a kitten? I rashly said that if one of the kittens was a solid black I’d take it -- I thought that was a safe promise, all-black cats are rare. But sure enough, one of the kittens didn’t have a white hair on him. I don’t know what he went through as a tiny newborn, but when I got him he was a mess. He cried all the time, even choking over his food trying to cry and eat at the same time. It took weeks of patient care before he settled down, and by then he was deeply attached to me. (I think male cats form stronger attachments to their humans though they tend to be less bright than the females.) This was back when neutering tom cats was uncommon, and so he wasn’t. So attached as he was, he also roamed the neighborhood at night. I took advantage of his attachment to teach him tricks. He could even shake hands, though if I asked him repeatedly, showing him off, he would take the base of my thumb into his mouth as a warning not to ask again. Once I was going out on a date and saw him darting across the street -- right in front of a car. He ran off and we thought it was just a close call, but I found his broken body in our back yard the next day.
Then there was Lady Felicity. The U.S. Navy sent me to London for two years back in the sixties. There isn’t a base in London, so everyone was on his or her own to find a house or apartment. I found a place in a big old house converted to apartments in West Hampstead and commuted to Grosvenor Square via the “tube” or underground (subway to Americans). I started exploring England on weekends and one of my first trips was to the ancient walled city of Chester in Cheshire. I thought it would be fun to have a real Cheshire cat, so visited the local shelter and fell in love with a young female with a multi-colored tabby coat. I brought her home on the train. She was so beautifully mannered that when I opened her carrier box to check on her she sat up in it, peering over the top but not climbing out to flee or explore. She sat like that, perfectly still, the whole long trip back to London. She was a beautiful, quiet, gentle cat -- except when she was in heat. Then she’d pose obscenely in the French doors of the apartment for an audience of toms. Eventually I couldn’t bear the racket and would let her out. She’d be gone about fifteen minutes and some weeks later there would be kittens. She loved me to be there for their birth, rubbing her tummy and making encouraging noises. If I wasn’t there, she’d have them in my bed, under the covers. Fortunately, I never had any problem finding homes for them. Most of her kittens were orange, even the females, because her favorite mate was a huge orange tom with a bent ear and half a tail. She’d bring him home and share her dinner with him on the occasions when I left the French doors open and she wasn’t in season. She was a prodigious hunter, I never had a problem with mice no matter where I lived, but she went after birds, too. I brought her home to the States and got her neutered.
When one of my moves brought me to Madison, Wisconsin, there was a cat show in a hotel right up the street from me. They had a “house cat” judging and just for fun I entered Lady Felicity. I thought she wouldn’t appreciate the noise and strange cats at the show, but Lady sat in her cage and looked around with her usual aplomb: “Oh, see all the lovely people come to talk to me,” she seemed to say. She let the judge handle her with no fuss at all. The judge, hearing she was eleven years old declared that she wasn’t Lady Fellicity but Dame Felicity, praised her magnificent coat and attractive head, and announced that she was first runner up of all the domestic breeds.
There have been other cats in my life: Harley Quinn, Wobbles, Friday, Sophie. My current cat, Snaps, is a love magnet. An attention monger. A licker of cheek, and, especially, hand. He leaps onto the bathroom sink morning and evening, wanting me to turn on the water just a trickle so he can drink, even though he has his very own electric fountain. Often annoying with his demands for affection, especially when I’m trying to write, it has occasionally occurred to me that he and his kind surrendered many freedoms -- including in his case his claws and his fertility, to live in the safety of mankind’s shadow. So in honor of that I indulge him with a prolonged session of stroking and praise-words. (By the way, I didn’t take his claws from him, that was done before he came to live with us.)
I think it a curious and possibly unique trait of humans that we keep pets. I believe it started when we fell in love with animals useful to us, the dog, the horse, the camel, the donkey, the cat. We shaped them to our own needs, and in doing so removed their ability to survive independently. But it has gone beyond usefulness now, we love them for their own sake, and we think extremely poorly of those who injure or acquire and then neglect them. So be extra nice to your cat today.
Then there was Skipper. I was in high school when a friend reported that her cat was pregnant and did I want a kitten? I rashly said that if one of the kittens was a solid black I’d take it -- I thought that was a safe promise, all-black cats are rare. But sure enough, one of the kittens didn’t have a white hair on him. I don’t know what he went through as a tiny newborn, but when I got him he was a mess. He cried all the time, even choking over his food trying to cry and eat at the same time. It took weeks of patient care before he settled down, and by then he was deeply attached to me. (I think male cats form stronger attachments to their humans though they tend to be less bright than the females.) This was back when neutering tom cats was uncommon, and so he wasn’t. So attached as he was, he also roamed the neighborhood at night. I took advantage of his attachment to teach him tricks. He could even shake hands, though if I asked him repeatedly, showing him off, he would take the base of my thumb into his mouth as a warning not to ask again. Once I was going out on a date and saw him darting across the street -- right in front of a car. He ran off and we thought it was just a close call, but I found his broken body in our back yard the next day.
Then there was Lady Felicity. The U.S. Navy sent me to London for two years back in the sixties. There isn’t a base in London, so everyone was on his or her own to find a house or apartment. I found a place in a big old house converted to apartments in West Hampstead and commuted to Grosvenor Square via the “tube” or underground (subway to Americans). I started exploring England on weekends and one of my first trips was to the ancient walled city of Chester in Cheshire. I thought it would be fun to have a real Cheshire cat, so visited the local shelter and fell in love with a young female with a multi-colored tabby coat. I brought her home on the train. She was so beautifully mannered that when I opened her carrier box to check on her she sat up in it, peering over the top but not climbing out to flee or explore. She sat like that, perfectly still, the whole long trip back to London. She was a beautiful, quiet, gentle cat -- except when she was in heat. Then she’d pose obscenely in the French doors of the apartment for an audience of toms. Eventually I couldn’t bear the racket and would let her out. She’d be gone about fifteen minutes and some weeks later there would be kittens. She loved me to be there for their birth, rubbing her tummy and making encouraging noises. If I wasn’t there, she’d have them in my bed, under the covers. Fortunately, I never had any problem finding homes for them. Most of her kittens were orange, even the females, because her favorite mate was a huge orange tom with a bent ear and half a tail. She’d bring him home and share her dinner with him on the occasions when I left the French doors open and she wasn’t in season. She was a prodigious hunter, I never had a problem with mice no matter where I lived, but she went after birds, too. I brought her home to the States and got her neutered.
When one of my moves brought me to Madison, Wisconsin, there was a cat show in a hotel right up the street from me. They had a “house cat” judging and just for fun I entered Lady Felicity. I thought she wouldn’t appreciate the noise and strange cats at the show, but Lady sat in her cage and looked around with her usual aplomb: “Oh, see all the lovely people come to talk to me,” she seemed to say. She let the judge handle her with no fuss at all. The judge, hearing she was eleven years old declared that she wasn’t Lady Fellicity but Dame Felicity, praised her magnificent coat and attractive head, and announced that she was first runner up of all the domestic breeds.
There have been other cats in my life: Harley Quinn, Wobbles, Friday, Sophie. My current cat, Snaps, is a love magnet. An attention monger. A licker of cheek, and, especially, hand. He leaps onto the bathroom sink morning and evening, wanting me to turn on the water just a trickle so he can drink, even though he has his very own electric fountain. Often annoying with his demands for affection, especially when I’m trying to write, it has occasionally occurred to me that he and his kind surrendered many freedoms -- including in his case his claws and his fertility, to live in the safety of mankind’s shadow. So in honor of that I indulge him with a prolonged session of stroking and praise-words. (By the way, I didn’t take his claws from him, that was done before he came to live with us.)
I think it a curious and possibly unique trait of humans that we keep pets. I believe it started when we fell in love with animals useful to us, the dog, the horse, the camel, the donkey, the cat. We shaped them to our own needs, and in doing so removed their ability to survive independently. But it has gone beyond usefulness now, we love them for their own sake, and we think extremely poorly of those who injure or acquire and then neglect them. So be extra nice to your cat today.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Crochet Photos
A while back I got several emails from people suggesting I post photos of the crochet patterns included in my books on my website. Since there aren’t photographs of the finished products in the books, it did seem like a good idea. A good idea, but something I would have to focus on to complete, so I put it off.
The combination of my web guy saying he was going to Africa for six weeks and the fact that I was making some changes to my website finally got me to get it together to do the pictures. It sounds easy, particularly these days with digital cameras. Just snap a few pictures and upload them. Well, it isn’t quite that easy.
First, I couldn’t find any of the Filet Bookmarks from By Hook or By Crook, so I had to make another one. Ditto with the Granny Square Washcloth from Hooked on Murder, though it went a lot faster. Where to take the photos was also an issue. I thought of a bench in my yard that gets nice light, but finally turned my dinging room into my photo studio. The three french doors with a southern exposure let in good light. Then there was the matter of how to display the projects. The bookmark and granny square were pretty easy. My son lent me a black fuzzy board that made a good backdrop for the smaller pieces. I wanted to get a dress form to put the Hugs of Comfort shawl from Dead Men Don't Crochet on. Well, I was looking for an excuse to get one anyway. Joann’s had them on sale, but when I went to the local super store expecting to buy one, I found out they are by order only.
I couldn’t wait for the dress form - remember my web guy is off to Africa next Monday. So, my dining room chair got to wear the shawl. I used the same chair to drape the Cuddle Blanket from By Hook or By Crook over. That was after I got my cat off of the shawl and cuddle blanket. He had rolled them together and was on the way to turning them into a cat coccoon. He left his mark on the black fuzzy board, too. Thank heavens for those lint remover wands.
I popped my memory stick in my computer and looked through the photos. The cat was in on that too. Fourteen pound Rocky has this habit of coming up behind me and jumping over the back of my chair and landing on my shoulders, then working his way into my lap where he does his best to get me to pay attention to him instead of whatever I’m trying to do. So, it took longer than it could have to choose the photos and send them to my web guy.
There was a lot of back and forth between us getting it straight what photo went with what book. Who could blame him? There are a lot of hooks in the titles and he isn’t a crocheter.
Now at last the photos are in the right order and connected with the right book and out there for everyone to see at www.BettyHechtman.com.
The combination of my web guy saying he was going to Africa for six weeks and the fact that I was making some changes to my website finally got me to get it together to do the pictures. It sounds easy, particularly these days with digital cameras. Just snap a few pictures and upload them. Well, it isn’t quite that easy.
First, I couldn’t find any of the Filet Bookmarks from By Hook or By Crook, so I had to make another one. Ditto with the Granny Square Washcloth from Hooked on Murder, though it went a lot faster. Where to take the photos was also an issue. I thought of a bench in my yard that gets nice light, but finally turned my dinging room into my photo studio. The three french doors with a southern exposure let in good light. Then there was the matter of how to display the projects. The bookmark and granny square were pretty easy. My son lent me a black fuzzy board that made a good backdrop for the smaller pieces. I wanted to get a dress form to put the Hugs of Comfort shawl from Dead Men Don't Crochet on. Well, I was looking for an excuse to get one anyway. Joann’s had them on sale, but when I went to the local super store expecting to buy one, I found out they are by order only.
I couldn’t wait for the dress form - remember my web guy is off to Africa next Monday. So, my dining room chair got to wear the shawl. I used the same chair to drape the Cuddle Blanket from By Hook or By Crook over. That was after I got my cat off of the shawl and cuddle blanket. He had rolled them together and was on the way to turning them into a cat coccoon. He left his mark on the black fuzzy board, too. Thank heavens for those lint remover wands.
I popped my memory stick in my computer and looked through the photos. The cat was in on that too. Fourteen pound Rocky has this habit of coming up behind me and jumping over the back of my chair and landing on my shoulders, then working his way into my lap where he does his best to get me to pay attention to him instead of whatever I’m trying to do. So, it took longer than it could have to choose the photos and send them to my web guy.
There was a lot of back and forth between us getting it straight what photo went with what book. Who could blame him? There are a lot of hooks in the titles and he isn’t a crocheter.
Now at last the photos are in the right order and connected with the right book and out there for everyone to see at www.BettyHechtman.com.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
The Face-Off
Okay, I admit that my pups Lexie and Mystie aren’t as well socialized as I’d like. They shy away from other dogs that we meet on walks. They acted nervous when visited by my older son’s exuberant Puli, and when my younger son brought a friend over with her two dogs. Still, they both were essentially gracious, though reluctantly so.
We have a large backyard, and both dogs beg to explore it several times a day. That’s partly because neighborhood cats come in to explore, leave their scents, and occasionally kill mice, which I don’t complain about much, or birds, which bothers me a lot.
But the cats who come here seem to have an unwritten rule: When dogs chase them, they run away. They always leap over the fence back into their own yards.
Except earlier this week. One large, fat gray cat that I’d never seen before came into our yard. When the dogs ran after him, he stood his ground. Squatted. Fluffed up his fur until he looked big and nasty.
That scared me. I’ve always had concerns about whether some cat might decide to break their rule and attack. And I wasn’t sure what my dogs would do in the face of a persistent feline that didn’t run. Would they attack?
Fortunately, my pups acted wisely. They barked but didn’t attempt to physically force the cat to leave. I, on the other hand, decided to confront the recalcitrant kitty and get him to go away, so he wouldn’t hurt the dogs.
Hah! He stood his ground with me, too. And meowed in protest at my attempts to run him off.
I immediately wondered--What would Kendra Ballantyne do? My pet-sitting mystery protagonist would have an answer that would get that darned cat outta there fast. She always seems to be able to deal with any problem.
Not I, necessarily. This time, I decided not to attempt to touch the cat, but instead looked for a stick with which I could poke it--gently, of course, but it would hopefully get the idea that I wanted it to move.
I found an appropriate stick and returned to the spot, my dogs barking the whole time. The cat had stalked his way up a hill. He soon headed into a neighbor’s yard, so I fortunately didn’t have to try poking him. This way, he saved face, leaving on his own terms, so it was a win-win situation for all of us.
I haven’t seen him since, which doesn’t bother me at all. A neighbor said he was a feisty old tom cat she’d seen in another neighbor’s yard, also annoying the dogs.
If he never returns, I’ll be okay with it. The other playful cats are most welcome, but not him.
But he, or a counterpart, just might show up in one of my mysteries...!
--Linda
We have a large backyard, and both dogs beg to explore it several times a day. That’s partly because neighborhood cats come in to explore, leave their scents, and occasionally kill mice, which I don’t complain about much, or birds, which bothers me a lot.
But the cats who come here seem to have an unwritten rule: When dogs chase them, they run away. They always leap over the fence back into their own yards.
Except earlier this week. One large, fat gray cat that I’d never seen before came into our yard. When the dogs ran after him, he stood his ground. Squatted. Fluffed up his fur until he looked big and nasty.
That scared me. I’ve always had concerns about whether some cat might decide to break their rule and attack. And I wasn’t sure what my dogs would do in the face of a persistent feline that didn’t run. Would they attack?
Fortunately, my pups acted wisely. They barked but didn’t attempt to physically force the cat to leave. I, on the other hand, decided to confront the recalcitrant kitty and get him to go away, so he wouldn’t hurt the dogs.
Hah! He stood his ground with me, too. And meowed in protest at my attempts to run him off.
I immediately wondered--What would Kendra Ballantyne do? My pet-sitting mystery protagonist would have an answer that would get that darned cat outta there fast. She always seems to be able to deal with any problem.
Not I, necessarily. This time, I decided not to attempt to touch the cat, but instead looked for a stick with which I could poke it--gently, of course, but it would hopefully get the idea that I wanted it to move.
I found an appropriate stick and returned to the spot, my dogs barking the whole time. The cat had stalked his way up a hill. He soon headed into a neighbor’s yard, so I fortunately didn’t have to try poking him. This way, he saved face, leaving on his own terms, so it was a win-win situation for all of us.
I haven’t seen him since, which doesn’t bother me at all. A neighbor said he was a feisty old tom cat she’d seen in another neighbor’s yard, also annoying the dogs.
If he never returns, I’ll be okay with it. The other playful cats are most welcome, but not him.
But he, or a counterpart, just might show up in one of my mysteries...!
--Linda
Thursday, February 5, 2009
On-Line Research
My post today is taking a slightly different turn from what I had originally anticipated.
I saw a news clip on TV a couple of nights ago night about a cat who’d been up in a tree for quite a while, and no one had been able to coax her down or rescue her in any other way. I thought I’d blog about that stubborn and scared cat, using her as an analogy to our lives these days. Many people, these days, are up proverbial trees economically--aware of how they got in perilous positions but unsure of the best ways to get out of them. The news commentator finished up the story by saying that the cat would probably find her own way down in the next few of days, since rain is expected in the L.A. area. Will she make it safely? Let’s hope we all do!
I wanted to view the clip again on the Internet, but I haven’t been able to locate it. I checked the websites for the TV stations on which I watched the news that night but couldn’t find it there, either.
I’d imagine I’ll run into the story again, probably after I get this posted. But I also want to express frustration that is born of our technological lives today.
Yesterday morning, when I turned on my computer, my Internet access wasn’t there. I did the usual rebooting, unplugging and plugging my modem back in. Nothing. We’ve had problems now and then with the company we use for our Internet service, so I called them. I’m still not exactly certain what the problem was, but the very nice lady at the other end (in some foreign country, I’d imagine, although her accented English was quite good) put up with my grumping, checked whatever she was able to check, gave me some additional instructions for turning things on and off, and--voila! It came back.
But I didn’t find the story I sought. Also, yesterday, I tried to look up the name of a particular employee at a government agency to confirm the spelling of his name and couldn’t find it on the agency’s website. Years ago, I wouldn’t have even considered trying to watch a TV news story again, unless it was rerun on the same channel. And I’d have looked up the government agency in the phone book, called its number and asked my questions about the employee. All potentially time-consuming.
My conclusion: The Internet is spoiling us! We get so much from it that we expect even more.
I saw this week that Google Earth is now launching Google Ocean, so we’ll not only be able to zero in on even small buildings at most locations on this planet, but also see undersea mountains and formations and sealife as well.
Talk about being spoiled!
What are your favorite things about the Internet? Your least favorite?
--Linda
I saw a news clip on TV a couple of nights ago night about a cat who’d been up in a tree for quite a while, and no one had been able to coax her down or rescue her in any other way. I thought I’d blog about that stubborn and scared cat, using her as an analogy to our lives these days. Many people, these days, are up proverbial trees economically--aware of how they got in perilous positions but unsure of the best ways to get out of them. The news commentator finished up the story by saying that the cat would probably find her own way down in the next few of days, since rain is expected in the L.A. area. Will she make it safely? Let’s hope we all do!
I wanted to view the clip again on the Internet, but I haven’t been able to locate it. I checked the websites for the TV stations on which I watched the news that night but couldn’t find it there, either.
I’d imagine I’ll run into the story again, probably after I get this posted. But I also want to express frustration that is born of our technological lives today.
Yesterday morning, when I turned on my computer, my Internet access wasn’t there. I did the usual rebooting, unplugging and plugging my modem back in. Nothing. We’ve had problems now and then with the company we use for our Internet service, so I called them. I’m still not exactly certain what the problem was, but the very nice lady at the other end (in some foreign country, I’d imagine, although her accented English was quite good) put up with my grumping, checked whatever she was able to check, gave me some additional instructions for turning things on and off, and--voila! It came back.
But I didn’t find the story I sought. Also, yesterday, I tried to look up the name of a particular employee at a government agency to confirm the spelling of his name and couldn’t find it on the agency’s website. Years ago, I wouldn’t have even considered trying to watch a TV news story again, unless it was rerun on the same channel. And I’d have looked up the government agency in the phone book, called its number and asked my questions about the employee. All potentially time-consuming.
My conclusion: The Internet is spoiling us! We get so much from it that we expect even more.
I saw this week that Google Earth is now launching Google Ocean, so we’ll not only be able to zero in on even small buildings at most locations on this planet, but also see undersea mountains and formations and sealife as well.
Talk about being spoiled!
What are your favorite things about the Internet? Your least favorite?
--Linda
Sunday, October 5, 2008
A Work of Art for My Ezine
I send out an ezine (an online magazine) quarterly at least, and I'm trying to send it out bimonthly. It's always a lot of work, but it's work that I enjoy, and the discipline of sending it out keeps me exploring new ideas.
The ezine always includes freebies--downloadable art or patterns. Plus, a layout or two, and a project.
Recently I saw an online tutorial in how to use colored markers. I was inspired by the blended color effects the instructor could get, but I still am, um, colored marker challenged. They are typically too dark for me to use well.
However, I love water-color pencils. I like how fluid they are, and how well I can shade with them. Most often, I sketch the design in pencil, color with the water-color pencils, let the image dry, and go back over it with regular colored pencils and pens.
Here's one of the images I created this weekend, a black cat. I hope you like him! If you want me to send you the Adobe file, email me at savetales@aol.com and put CAT in the subject line. I think he's perfect for use on a Halloween page or a Halloween card.
What do you think? Is he the cat's meow?
That said, I wanted to create some seasonal images because I'm getting together
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Me and My CAL
This weekend marks the end of summer. Maybe it’s not the official end of summer, but the mental end. Though to me September always feels like a beginning. After the languid days of July and August, everything seems to start up again.
Some people think spring is full of promise. For me it’s the fall. I think of crisp days and changing leaves. That’s really a throwback to growing up in Chicago. In L.A., September is actually the hottest month and instead of looking for changing leaves, I’m still planting flowers.
I’m having a hard time getting a flow going on this blog entry. One of my cats, a huge black and white one named Rocky, keeps pestering me and knocking things around. Any second I expect him to come over the back of my chair and start hugging me. Yes, he does really hug me. He puts his front paws around my neck and purrs in my ear. He prefers it when my hair is loose. He likes to stick his paws in my hair and flip it around. He’s an unusual cat, at least compared to the other cats we’ve had. We adopted him along with his “sister” last March. He’s seven, she’s ten, so their already pretty set in their ways.
This isn’t supposed to be about my cats or my dog who was sick last week, but is now recovered. Or the blind dog that showed up in my driveway. Luckily, she had a collar with a phone number on it. The point I was on my way to was that I did start something. I joined a CAL. What’s a CAL, you ask? I didn’t know either the first time I saw the letters. Eventually I figured out it means Crochet Along. It seems like it should really be CA then, but I guess CAL looks better. Even knowing what the letters stood for, I still wasn’t sure what it was.
I noticed a group that meets in a library back east had done a Crochet Along with HOOKED ON MURDER. In that case, it appears the members all used the instructions for a granny square wash cloth I included in the book. Then they posted some of the final projects. I was pretty cool to see what they had made and know it came from my head.
The Crochet Along I joined is online through the Lions Brand yarn site. They showed a photo of the Crochet Along project which is a lovely afghan made up of squares. The whole thing is done in one color, but the stitches in the squares vary. I liked the idea of squares. They are portable and when you finish one you have a sense of accomplishment. Since I’m going to Chicago on Wednesday and like to crochet on the plane, the afghan squares seemed perfect.
They asked that you introduced yourself by leaving a posting. I left a posting the other day and the number next to it was something like 167. Now there are over a thousand postings of potential CALers. I read a lot of them. It turns out that many of them were already altering the kind of yarn and don’t plan to use the Fisherman’s Wool that I spent the afternoon looking for. Since it’s my first CAL, I didn’t know that you didn’t have to follow the rules or apparently the pattern either as some of the posters were going to change that, too.
Actually, there don’t seem to be any rules for the Lions Brand CAL. We all more or less make the same thing and then at the end there’s a chance to post a photo. During the CAL, there’s a chance to aks questions. I’m not sure with over a thousand people how that’s going to work. But it should be interesting. Many of the people who joined seemed to think it would give them the incentive to finish something. I guess I’m not the only one with a room full of unfinished projects. Uh oh, the cat is sitting behind me and looks like he’s getting ready to jump.
As a last thought - I will post a photo of whatever I have done of the afghan at the end of the CAL. I just hope it is more than one square.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Need a Good Night's Sleep? Read this...
The Over-Stimulated MindI've learned the hard way not to read a scrapbooking magazine before bed. The ideas buzz 'round and 'round in my brain and I don't drop off to sleep. Has that ever happened to you? Ever get so wrought up about a project that you can't sleep? And I don't mean worried. It's not that...it's more like creative overdrive. The ideas fly around like popcorn in a ripped bag in the microwave.
I mentioned this to my sister, Jane. She works in a sleep lab. Honest! Her job is to help people figure out the reasons behind their insomnia. According to her, insomnia is a national epidemic, one that never happened until our nation went to 24/7 television.
At http://sleepcompass.blogspot.com/ she's posted a list of great tips for getting a good night's sleep. One being never to use your bedroom for anything but sleep and sex. (No idea books allowed.) She shares her blog with another sleep tech and a doctor who specializes in sleep issues. Visit them for all sorts of ideas on sleep--gleaned from decades of working with the problems that keep us from catching those much needed ZZZZZZs.
Here she writes about Courage, her delightful Chihuahua and what we can learn about our sleep from his...and how what we think about can give us--or keep us from--a good night's sleep. (The lovely young lady in the photos is my gorgeous niece, Lexie.)
The Courage to Sleep Like a Dog
And he does, bless his heart. He's a happy boy. Cheerily dragging one of my nieces' Beanie Babies down the hallway, through the kitchen off into the netherlands of the laundry room. Checking out the cat's food and ignoring his own. Pouncing on Spike, the only 20 lb cat with claws in the house, eager to play. When he wants to play, he does, when he wants to eat, he does and when he wants to sleep, down goes the eyelids on those huge Chihuahua eyes. Wherever there's a bed, he lays his head. 18
0 count sheets or 500, Ralph Lauren bedding or Dora the Explora, 11 o'clock in the morning or 11 o'clock at night, down he goes. He never has "one more thing to do," one more email to check, one more deadline to meet.
0 count sheets or 500, Ralph Lauren bedding or Dora the Explora, 11 o'clock in the morning or 11 o'clock at night, down he goes. He never has "one more thing to do," one more email to check, one more deadline to meet. Courage trusts. Courage believes. Courage has no fear. That when he shuts his eyes, he'll sleep, opens his eyes, he wakes.
All this is nice and poetic and politically correct. But in my heart of hearts, I know there is another reason why sleep comes so easily to him. He has a clean soul. (Spike sleeps well too, but clean slate? That's another story.) Courage is a little furry piece of Paradise dropped down from heaven in the form of a very, very small dog. Yes, I know dog=God spelled backwards. And so must he. I look at him wonderingly as he sleeps, paws pointed heavenward and know, just know, he's never lived with regret. No "what ifs" and "should haves." He never has a day where he hates himself or life or when he has to convince himself the purpose of it all. He shuts his eyes and sleeps and as I rub his ears or stroke his fur when he snuggles up against me, he shares with me his Peace.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Is there a reason why we become “cat people”?
I know I creeped out a few people last week with my post about corpse brides.
If it makes you feel any better, this week it’s my turn to freak out. That’s because I've learned that a strange parasite is trying to get cozy with our cats. And the bug might be capable of affecting human behavior.
I discovered this odd bit of news when I spoke to my daughter, who is doing some research into the Toxoplasma parasite. Toxoplasma is excreted by cats. The parasite can be found in cat litter. (It’s the reason why women shouldn’t clean the cat box while they’re pregnant.)
It turns out that in most infected people, the Toxoplasma parasite is fairly benign. Which is a good thing, because up to half the people on the planet carry the parasite’s tiny cysts in their brain (ugh). But Toxoplasma causes birth defects in fetuses, and I’ve also heard that it can cause blindness if the parasite migrates to your eye (so much for being benign).
Cats are the natural hosts for the parasite, which gets very crafty in its attempts to reach a feline. Research has shown that when a rat is infected with Toxoplasma, the rat’s brain is altered so that the rodent loses its fear of cats. The infected rat becomes much more likely to get eaten by a cat, and then—voila!—the parasite has reached its target host.
Some research I read about suggests that even human behavior can be affected by the Toxoplasma parasite.
A parasitologist (who knew such a field existed?) once reported that women who are infected with Toxoplasma tend to be more extroverted and caring—to what end, is not known. My personal theory is that perhaps the parasite is trying to make us take better care of its feline hosts.
I’m freaking out about the possibility that the bug might affect human behavior, because everyone in my family loves cats.
As a clan, we like dogs just fine. But we’re nuts about cats. For example, I have an aunt who has nine indoor kitties. She also feeds and takes care of dozens of feral cats.
My sister is another fierce protector of all things feline. She has appointed me executor of her estate on behalf of her two cats. I have precise instructions for where and how they’ll be cared for if they outlive her (her will even includes funding for a long-term kitty haven).
Then there’s me. My husband calls me a “cat whisperer.” When I see or hear a cat on the street, I’m magnetically drawn to it. I’m strangely drawn to it, I’m thinking now.
Our familial tendency to adore cats and care for them makes me wonder—could it be that we’re all infected with the Toxoplasma parasite, and we’ve been passing the bug down through the generations? Maybe the parasite has altered our brains to make sure that we take excellent care of its host, Mr. Cat.
Bottom line: Is a bug pulling our strings?
Technically speaking, I’m not even sure that a parasite is a bug (science teachers, help me out here). But I’m sure it looks like one under a microscope. I’ll bet it looks really disgusting, too.
The whole thing makes me think about some signs my relatives have hanging all around their houses. The signs say things like:
“The cat owns the house. We just work here.”
Things may be worse than they know.
We might all be working for a damned bug.
If it makes you feel any better, this week it’s my turn to freak out. That’s because I've learned that a strange parasite is trying to get cozy with our cats. And the bug might be capable of affecting human behavior.
I discovered this odd bit of news when I spoke to my daughter, who is doing some research into the Toxoplasma parasite. Toxoplasma is excreted by cats. The parasite can be found in cat litter. (It’s the reason why women shouldn’t clean the cat box while they’re pregnant.)
It turns out that in most infected people, the Toxoplasma parasite is fairly benign. Which is a good thing, because up to half the people on the planet carry the parasite’s tiny cysts in their brain (ugh). But Toxoplasma causes birth defects in fetuses, and I’ve also heard that it can cause blindness if the parasite migrates to your eye (so much for being benign).
Cats are the natural hosts for the parasite, which gets very crafty in its attempts to reach a feline. Research has shown that when a rat is infected with Toxoplasma, the rat’s brain is altered so that the rodent loses its fear of cats. The infected rat becomes much more likely to get eaten by a cat, and then—voila!—the parasite has reached its target host.
Some research I read about suggests that even human behavior can be affected by the Toxoplasma parasite.
A parasitologist (who knew such a field existed?) once reported that women who are infected with Toxoplasma tend to be more extroverted and caring—to what end, is not known. My personal theory is that perhaps the parasite is trying to make us take better care of its feline hosts.
I’m freaking out about the possibility that the bug might affect human behavior, because everyone in my family loves cats.
As a clan, we like dogs just fine. But we’re nuts about cats. For example, I have an aunt who has nine indoor kitties. She also feeds and takes care of dozens of feral cats.
My sister is another fierce protector of all things feline. She has appointed me executor of her estate on behalf of her two cats. I have precise instructions for where and how they’ll be cared for if they outlive her (her will even includes funding for a long-term kitty haven).
Then there’s me. My husband calls me a “cat whisperer.” When I see or hear a cat on the street, I’m magnetically drawn to it. I’m strangely drawn to it, I’m thinking now.
Our familial tendency to adore cats and care for them makes me wonder—could it be that we’re all infected with the Toxoplasma parasite, and we’ve been passing the bug down through the generations? Maybe the parasite has altered our brains to make sure that we take excellent care of its host, Mr. Cat.
Bottom line: Is a bug pulling our strings?
Technically speaking, I’m not even sure that a parasite is a bug (science teachers, help me out here). But I’m sure it looks like one under a microscope. I’ll bet it looks really disgusting, too.
The whole thing makes me think about some signs my relatives have hanging all around their houses. The signs say things like:
“The cat owns the house. We just work here.”
Things may be worse than they know.
We might all be working for a damned bug.
Update on treatment
I had a question from Sheila about treatment for toxoplasma. There are treatments available for the parasite (primarily with antibiotics), but--and this news won't reassure too many people--the treatments may not cure "latent" cases, where the brain cysts are just hanging out, biding their time. Also, some species are evidently exhibiting immunity to the treatments. Here's more from Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toxoplasmosis#Treatment
Friday, February 29, 2008
Charlene
I know it’s not my usual “beat” to blog about pets, but I wanted to mention that it’s been a very sad week, because my oldest cat passed away. Her name was Charlene.
She had cancer, and was beginning to have physical difficulties that interfered with comfortable living. I made the difficult decision to have her “put to sleep” by a veterinarian. Even though it was a peaceful, quiet passing, I felt terrible about it.
Before taking her in for the procedure, I called the ASPCA, which has an 800 number that connects you to an animal psychologist. I expected to get a voicemail because it was the weekend, so I was amazed when the psychologist answered the line. She spoke with me about end-of-life management issues for animals, and reassured me that I was doing the right thing for my pet by letting her pass away without undue suffering. She also mentioned that I should stay her until the end. This was very hard to do, but I’m glad I did.
Yesterday, I was touched to receive a sympathy card from the veterinarian about the loss of Charlene. She said that I had made the best decision for my pet.
I found this picture of cats silhouetted against a sunset, with a cosmos of hanging toys to bat around. It made me hope that there’s really a rainbow bridge, and that Charlene and I will meet again someday. She was a good kitty.
She had cancer, and was beginning to have physical difficulties that interfered with comfortable living. I made the difficult decision to have her “put to sleep” by a veterinarian. Even though it was a peaceful, quiet passing, I felt terrible about it.
Before taking her in for the procedure, I called the ASPCA, which has an 800 number that connects you to an animal psychologist. I expected to get a voicemail because it was the weekend, so I was amazed when the psychologist answered the line. She spoke with me about end-of-life management issues for animals, and reassured me that I was doing the right thing for my pet by letting her pass away without undue suffering. She also mentioned that I should stay her until the end. This was very hard to do, but I’m glad I did.
Yesterday, I was touched to receive a sympathy card from the veterinarian about the loss of Charlene. She said that I had made the best decision for my pet.
I found this picture of cats silhouetted against a sunset, with a cosmos of hanging toys to bat around. It made me hope that there’s really a rainbow bridge, and that Charlene and I will meet again someday. She was a good kitty.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
A Big "Shout Out" to Cat Lovers!
"What should I put on my website?"
That's a common enough question. Cathy Clamp polled more than forty thousand prospective readers for answers. The respondents included readers of romance, science fiction, fantasty, mystery, horror, literary works, non-fiction, biographies/memoirs and even...gulp, Westerns.
Amazingly, 17% said they'd liked to see photos for the authors' cats. As Cathy added, parenthetically, "Weird, huh?"
Maybe not.
We've all noticed how this site gets a lot of comments when we write about our dogs. Maybe we've been, uh, barking up the wrong tree. It's furry, it's four-legs and a tail, but...we've missed the mark.
With those readers in mind, I dug through my many, many boxes of unscrapbooked photos to unearth pictures of my two favorite cats: Stanley and Seymore Kitty.
Seymore's mother was a Persian, and I still think that this little grey-striped guy with his adorable pink nose and white blaze is the most beautiful cat I've ever seen. He single-handedly--uh, single-pawedly--turned me into a major cat lover. I chose him from a litter of pure white cats because...I thought him lovely. He was a sweetheart, too.
Stanley's real name was Stanley Cup. He was dropped off at the pet shop where I worked. Unwanted. Well, I fell for him. He has the distinction of being the smartest cat I ever owned. So smart, in fact, that he taught himself to urinate in the toilet. One night my mom got up, stumbled into the bathroom, pulled down her panties and started to sit--only to discover a furry feeling, um, down below. It was Stanley. And he was already busy. Yep, she thought she was dreaming, but it happened again and again.
Both cats have since gone to kitty-heaven. I have discovered I'm major league allergic to cats, which is a real shame because I absolutely love them.
Apparently I'm not alone.
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