Ginger, semi-quarantined? Tommy, fat!

Is there such a thing as a semi-quarantine?  Well, there is now because I just invented it.  Last night, Ginger was following me around and I finally discovered what was bothering her.  There is a half dollar size patch of fur missing from her side.  Don't try this at home (Ginger is the gentlest cat I've ever encountered), but I grabbed her to examine the suspicious looking spot.  Sure enough, in the bald spot there were nasty looking puncture wounds.

Today, I grabbed her again, brought her up onto the screened porch and stuffed the frightened little cat into a carrier.  For the hell of it, I then grabbed Tommy and spent 10 minutes wrestling him into a carrier.  Yesterday I had noticed weird hard lump of fur sticking upon his back.  I was worried there might be something nasty causing it.  After both cats were caged, I hauled the yowling pair to Golddiggers' Animal Hospital.

Poor Ginger got her side shaved, her wounds cleaned up, was injected with a rabies shot and then was injected with an antibiotic shot.  I got a weird deja vu-ish feeling as the vet prattled on about a six month quarantine.  Yes, technically, Ginger's rabies shot was a couple weeks overdue.  I also got that deja vu feeling as I signed the paper stating that to my knowledge Ginger hadn't bitten anyone.  Keeping Ginger in until her wounds healed was also batted around.  Hmmmm.  I already have six cats in the house.  That would be one hell of a quarantine.  Maybe I could get Ginger her own apartment or a hotel room? 

Ah, decisions, decisions.  After Tommy, ginger and I got home, I sprang Tommy from the carrier.  Then I  I brought her home, blocked off a section of the screened porch and put her in there.  Then I dosed the poor cat with Front-line to eliminate her passengers, some vile little deer ticks. 

This is the second time in a few months that Ginger has gotten herself into trouble.  I suspect that her "surviving outdoors as a feral luck" is running out.  I really don't like orange cats and definitely don't want any more cats in the house.  But Ginger is an exceptionally a nice cat.  She's so gentle, she makes the indoor cats, especially Tommy, seem like hooligans.  So I will have my head examined and then try to assimilate her into the indoor herd after her wounds heal.  

The vet also examined Tommy.  She figured the weird thing sticking up on his back was a mat and shaved it off to make sure there was nothing nasty underneath it.  I didn't know a short haired cat could get mats, but leave it to Tommy.  She said he has a really thick undercoat, so instead of brushing, I should try combing him. Gulp.  Last time I tried to comb Tommy, he ate the comb.  I guess I'll have to get a sturdier comb.  And since Tommy now tips the scale at over 16 pounds, the vet suggested cutting back on Tommy's food.  Right...  But since the staff at the animal hospital were calling him Fatboy, maybe he's having trouble grooming himself.

I wonder how many calories are in combs.

  

If cats could talk

For a feral, Ginger is pretty tame.  She's been hanging around for over five years and is as docile as many  house cats.  She's certainly easier to work with than a relatively recently moved indoors type of feline hood named Tommy.

The problem with Ginger is that she's usually underfoot.  Under my feet, to be precise.  Whenever I step outdoors alone, Ginger is there.  I can't do much outdoors without Ginger's help.  I can call her any time of day or night and she usually comes running. 

But she didn't come to breakfast the other morning and then missed three more meals.  I expect this sort of behavior from the others occasionally, but never from Ginger.  I was afraid something bad had happened to her.

Ginger finally came back last night but she's not the same.  She was afraid to come up on the porch.  I had to coax her up to feed her.  I checked her over as best I could from a distance.  She didn't appear to be injured.

It was raining really hard this morning.  Usually when it rains, the feral girls hang out on the porch to wait for breakfast.  Ginger wasn't waiting this morning.  Instead, she was crouched under a car.  The owner of the car wanted to use her car, so she set off the car alarm.  The car alarm usually clears the vicinity of felines, but this morning Ginger wouldn't budge.  I finally had to poke under the car with a broom to chase her out. 

This afternoon, I heard some thumping on the porch.  I looked out a window and saw them all, including Ginger, waiting to be fed.  I stepped out with food and my old buddy Ginger looked terrified.  She finally allowed me to pat her and check her more closely for wounds.  I couldn't find anything.  But she kept gazing reproachfully into my eyes.  I know what that means.  She was trying to tell me something telepathically.  As usual, this thick-skulled human couldn't understand her.   But I suspect she was telling me that a human or two had frightened her badly.  She probably wandered across the stone wall and the same butt-holes that had terrorized Salem threw rocks at her.

I can't always understand cat-speak and cats can't always understand me.  Or maybe cats can understand but they choose not to listen.  Because if they did listen, they would know to keep away from those Butt-holes.  Those Butt-holes are...well, they are butt-holes. 

Ticks and Lyme disease

Note tick under Angie's right eye

On the local news recently, an anchor person claimed about 80% of deer ticks now carry the bacteria that causes Lyme disease.  Deer ticks are the tiny ticks that are often difficult to notice.  Sometimes, their bites hurt.  Other times a person doesn't even know he's been bitten.

Experts say you should wear long clothes and spray yourself with a Deet repellant.  I don't know how well the repellant actually works.  Unfortunately, ticks can be found just about anywhere on my property.  I don't spray myself every time I go outdoors. 

I do know that after you have been outdoors, it is important to check your clothes and yourself for ticks.  It is probably best to take a tape roller to your clothes.  I have even used the rollers on my hands and arms and actually captured ticks this way.  I suppose this could be unpleasant if you have hairy arms.  But don't count on the washer and dryer to kill ticks.  I've heard tales of ticks surviving a laundering.  I wouldn't be a bit surprised.  These creepy little bugs are pretty indestructible and hard to kill.  

If you find a strange little black speck on yourself, it could very well be a tick.  The longer the tick stays attached to you, the greater the chance the tick has of passing the Lyme bacteria into your blood.  That is why it is important to remove the whole tick as soon as possible.  Don't fool around by applying Vaseline and waiting for it to drop off.  This supposedly takes hours.  I don't know if Vaseline  really works because when the tick is done drinking your blood, it will drop off anyway.  This is too long to wait.  

Lyme disease can manifest in many ways.  If you were bitten by a tick that carried Lyme disease you could get a bull's eye rash.  But instead, you might get a weird painful rash that keeps getting bigger.  Or you might not get a rash at all.  You could also get flu like symptoms or just feel under the weather.  Or no symptoms.  Many people have it and never even know.

Lyme disease is diagnosed by a simple blood test.  Unfortunately, even in an area where Lyme disease is common, doctors often don't think of administering the test.  I know this from personal experience.  I got a painful rash that eventually covered an area  bigger than the size of my hand.  It was Doctor #5 that finally thought of Lyme disease and and gave me a blood test. 

A couple years later, although my husband didn't get a rash, he wasn't feeling well.  This time, we asked for the blood test.  It came back positive and he was treated.

There is much unknown about Lyme disease and even among doctors, the theories are conflicting.  They do know that once you have had Lyme disease, the antibodies will always show up in your blood tests.  Because of this, I'm not sure how they can tell if you contract it again.  Nobody knows if having it once will protect you from a repeat experience.  Some doctors don't even believe in Lyme disease.  These doctors shouldn't be practicing medicine.  Some doctors think the twenty something days of antibiotics will cure it for good.  Others doctors claim it should be considered a chronic disease because it can flare up again.  I suspect it's chronic because my rash has since flared up a couple of times.

To sum things up, if you have the misfortune to have a tick attach itself to you, remove it as soon as possible.  Don't freak out and throw the tick or let it go.  Instead, drop the little bugger in alcohol or smash it.  Keep in mind, it isn't easy to smash a tick.  So if a bug is difficult to crush, most likely, it is a tick.  This is gross, but once the tick is bloated from drinking blood, it is easy to crush.  And finally, when in doubt, don't be afraid to ask for a blood test.

 

Tis the season for removing ticks

Ticks are every where.  They will find you when you're doing yard work, taking a walk or just sitting out doors.  Pets that go outdoors are also good a way to come in contact with ticks.  If your pet has picked up one of these evil hitchhikers, all the pet has to do is brush up against you to transfer the dangerous and creepy passenger.

Dog ticks are usually big enough to be seen.  Deer ticks can be as small as a pencil dot and are easy to miss.  Bites from either kind can be painful.  Removing the miserable things from your flesh once they've attached themselves is extremely painful.  Either kind of tick can transmit diseases.  The tiny deer tick is notorious for transmitting Lyme disease. 

To remove a tick once it has attached its self to you, grasp it up against your skin and yank it straight out.  I have actually done this with my long fingernails.  There is also a device called a tick key.  This device works well on bigger ticks but doesn't really work on the tiny ticks.  For small ticks, using tweezers is probably the best method. 

It is very important to remove the whole tick.  Once the tick is removed, make sure the head is still attached to the body.  Unfortunately, sometimes the tick's head will remain lodged in your skin.  It should be removed as soon as possible, by a doctor if necessary.

Some people coat the attached tick with Vaseline and wait for it to drop off.  This can take hours.  I wouldn't advise this.  The longer the tick stays attached to you, the greater your chances of contracting a tick borne disease.  There is also more of an ick factor with this method.  Personally, I couldn't stand the idea of knowing the thing is still attached.

I don't think there is a safe way to keep your pets from bringing you ticks.  That well known stuff that's applied to the nape of the pet's neck theoretically will kill the tick after it bites the pet.  But that stuff will not keep ticks from getting in your pet's fur and then on to you.  It is best to inspect your pet when he or she comes in and carefully remove any visible ticks.  I put the ticks on tape and wrap them in it so they don't get loose again and get me.  I hate it when that happens.

Baby deer ticks like to attach themselves on cats where the fur is thin, especially around the eye and ear areas.     

I have learned the hard way that it is nearly impossible to spot ticks on black or dark clothes.  Save the black clothes for winter.  It is also nearly impossible to spot ticks on black cats or cats with black markings.  Sometimes, if you get really lucky, in bright sun the tick will show up as reddish against black fur.

Happy hunting!      

    

Shedding time

Ah, spring.  Outdoors, the air is scented with lilacs.  Indoors, everything, including me, is covered with cat hair.  It's that wonderful time of year, shedding time.

Golddiggers Animal Hospital classifies most of my felines as domestic short hairs.  They've even stooped so low as to accuse Salem of being a domestic short hair with...."tabby markings".   Salem is very offended by this cruel labeling.

Maybe these cats have "short hair", but when this hair is covering the carpet and stuck to my clothes, it really doesn't look so short.  After I pick a cat up, the fur left on my clothes makes my garments resemble a gorilla suit.

The cats get a daily brushing.  Lately, when the brushing is done, I'm standing in a "haystack" of hair. 

The only cat of mine that actually likes to be brushed is Angie.  If she hasn't been brushed by a certain time each morning, she'll start nagging.  The problem is she's always switching the time on me.  Sometimes I'll be in the middle of cleaning litter boxes when Angie decides she needs to be brushed.  And when Angie decides she needs to be brushed, she yowls until I stop what I'm doing and brush her. 

But Angie isn't the worst shedder.  The queen of shedding just happens to be a domestic short hair with "tabby markings".  Once I finally catch her, she will let me brush her.  And lately, while brushing Salem, the fur has really been flying.

Brushing the rest of these felines is like wrestling a pack of gators.  And even though I brush them after they've had breakfast, Tommy, the king of shedding, still tries to eat the brush.  That guy has an incredible appetite.    

 

Fetch this, Fido!

If some nitwit threw a stick and wanted you to fetch it, would you?  Hopefully, not.  Although maybe the  the stick should be retrieved and used to beat some sense into the stick tossing nitwit. 

If somebody commanded you to sit and then when you did, he handed you a dog cookie, would you wag your tail?  Or would you tear the jerk's arm off?  Keep in mind that tail waggers would probably also hold still for bows, bandanas and doggie diapers.

Claims that obedience is a sign of intelligence are extremely misleading.  Sure, Crazy Dog Men do use traits like train-ability and obedience as tests.  But what these tests are really designed for is to ensure the dog isn't smarter than its owner.  This innate canine intelligence is probably why so many good dogs wind up in shelters.  No stupid human wants to be outsmarted by a brainy animal.  It makes the human look so bad.

Did you ever notice how many dogs and their humans resemble each other?  Like attracts like.  It's obvious a drooling, slobbering, jowly human would be seriously out-classed by a sleek brainy German Shepherd.  And no explanation is needed as to why a person would be drawn to one of those obnoxious little yappy dogs complete with mange.

Mind you, I'm not judging Crazy Dog Men for sticking to their own kind.  It gives one an instant excuse: 
 "That smell?  Oh, that's just Rover.  He always gets a little gassy when I drink beer."
"Why is my chin and the front of my shirt wet ?  'Cause Fido always drools at company picnics.  Must be the heat or something.  Hey, Fido, pull my finger!"

It isn't really ethical to put a dog in a shelter just because his IQ is higher than yours.  Still, these Crazy Dog Men might be on to something.  I am owned by a cat that is much smarter than me.  And possibly life might have been easier if I had been the brainy one.  But there are no fetch-sit dumbness tests for cats.  With cats, you just have to take your chances and hope that if the cat is the brainy one, he or she will be a kind owner.      

Tapping in to one's inner feline

Accessing one's inner feline.  It's more complicated than gnawing on the occasional dead mouse.  Cats are wise creatures.  Humans are just big.  Because we're so big and destructive, we don't have to develop wisdom.  So most of us don't.  But we can learn from our feline companions.  They're more than happy to smarten us up. 

To access one's inner feline, one has to develop it.  It may seem like male humans have the advantage because most of them easily tap into their inner tomcat.  They'll chase anything and spray anywhere.  But that's just the superficial stuff.  We're not talking about biology here.  Even amoebas have a grasp of that stuff. 

Cats are in the moment creatures, masters of being present.  They won't spend sleepless nights worrying about what they should do tomorrow and whether their fur and nails will look just right for whatever.  They sleep peacefully and just deal with whatever comes along whenever it does.

Cats are innocent and open.  They trust their instincts and senses.  No scientist or pundit will jam their frequencies by telling them what they perceive is wrong.  Cats know what they know and don't second guess it.

Crazy Dog Men complain that cats are independent and hard to train.  Well, of course they are!  Cats are too smart to do whatever stupid thing some moron tells them to do.

"Hey, you threw that stick, Buddy.  Now go fetch it yourself."

Right about now, humanity could use some good, old fashioned, feline common sense.          

Mischief Inc.

Contrary to popular opinion, cats are extremely dependable.  If there is mischief to be gotten into, you can count on them to find it.  This feline dependability makes for some fine photo ops.

Don't want your cats to get into something?  Don't bother putting it up in a high place.  They'll find it.  Put any foreign object out in plain sight.  They'll still find it.  Putting the object of interest behind closed doors isn't always a solution, either.  If a door isn't properly latched, they'll find it.  Salem has a knack for opening improperly latched doors and a weakness for clean towels.  It didn't take her long to teach the whole family to firmly close that flaky linen closet door.

 Cats love an occasional bouquet of flowers.  First they innocently sniff the flowers.  Turn your back and they start casually plucking them out of the vase and dragging them around.  But the thing they enjoy the most about flowers is spilling the water. 

Contrary to the old tales that claim cats don't like water, cats find water quite entertaining.  I've seen Ginger go right into a little pond to catch frogs.  There's nothing as fine as seeing a fat little cat coming towards you with a pair of frog legs dangling from her mouth.  It's possible that the frogs don't enjoy this sport but I've never heard any complaints.  This could be because the frogs don't usually live to complain about it.

Some cats also love to play in snow.  I have a few that go wild over it.  After a snow storm, Leo will nag me until I bring some snow into the house.  Then I have to toss little snowballs around the kitchen floor so the cats can chase and tackle them.  They love this game and will play until the snowballs are puddles on the floor.  Then the cats rest up for their next escapade while I mop up the puddles.

My cats don't like strangers or visitors.  They especially seem to dislike my mother-in-law.  I can totally relate to this.  As soon as the cats hear footsteps on the front stairs or a doorbell, they stampede and dive for cover.  The "Hoff" seems to be the exception.  When they found him on "their" sofa, they attacked and swarmed all over him.  But when they started to chew him, I had to take their new playmate away.

Cats also like to sew.  Whenever I use the sewing machine, I get more help than I need.  Some will directly confront the machine.  One tries to steal the spool of thread.  But Frodo sneaks up on it by crawling across the top of a tall bookcase.  From there, she will attempt to leap down upon the evil machine.  Since I'm in her line of fire, I usually intercept her before she springs.  Occasionally, a family member will hear me cussing and suggest I close the door.  Right.  I wasn't born yesterday and I'm not falling for that trick.  If I close that door, they will just find something else to get into.  I figure it's better to know what they're up to than to get surprised by it later.   

 

Degrees of feral

There's feral and then there's FERAL.  When I was growing up, some neighbors thought my family was a touch feral. 

There were some neighbors down the street my family thought were feral. 

To this day, I'm almost certain a couple of my siblings are feral.  One of them I wouldn't trust with my wallet.  The other I wouldn't trust with my life, sad but true.  It all boils down to trust.

"Feral" cats don't always need, like or trust people.  Many of them probably have damn good reasons for their caution around humans. 

Friendships between humans and other animals can be as complicated as friendships between humans.  Some wild cats easily learn to like humans.  To others, it comes more slowly.  Their trust has to be earned.  And I've met a few cats that just don't like humans and never will.

Even among the cats living indoors with me, there are varying degrees of feral.  A friendly feral had a litter of kittens on my porch.  After she disappeared, her children eventually became most of my house cats.  I have handled them since birth and they sometimes think I am their mother.  They trust me and I trust them, even Salem.  I can handle them, groom them, sort of medicate some of them and even put them in evil carriers to take them to the vet.  But even after several years iindoors, they're still feral enough to be reserved and wary of the other humans living in the house.  It sometimes occurs to me that this is a little odd.  And when company comes, most of those cats go into hiding.  They don't like strangers.

Tommy is a whole other story.  We have some mutual trust issues.  Although we've been buddies for a long time and he's moved indoors, his latest injury seems to have changed his personality.  He is wary of being handled and I am wary when handling him.  I pick battles with him carefully.  He will climb up on a chair and cuddle, but when he does, honestly, it makes me a little nervous.  If I want him to do something he doesn't want to do, he's like wrestling a gator.  Although he finally seems to be mellowing somewhat, he will still approach other family members and act friendly.  Then he'll suddenly swing or snap.    

Outdoors, the felines come in varying degrees of feral.  For one to be handled, she'd have to be trapped.  Another is borderline friendly.  She'll occasionally allow a pat.  There's one that is affectionate when she's hungry, but get too fresh by wrestling her into a carrier and you'll have a few scratches to show for your efforts.  And then there's Ginger.  She's more gentle and trusting than indoor Tommy.  Without fear of injury, I can pick her up and carry around.  I do this because she's extremely pesky and tends to get under foot.  When necessary, I can grab her and shove her into a carrier for a vet visit. She's a joy to handle.  So why isn't she indoors?  Probably because she drives me insane.  There's actually such a thing as too friendly.  Humans.  Go figure.       

 

  

The black whole of animal control?

It's been over a month since I trapped a badly wounded Darryl, had him treated at considerable expense by a vet and turned him over to an animal control officer for quarantine.

About ten days after the animal control officer took custody of Darryl, she did bring me back my trap.  At that time, she told me that Darryl was a disagreeable bugger.  I already knew that but was happy to hear he was back to his old self.  She also said he was really entertaining the people at the animal shelter and that he needed a few more days for the wounds to heal.
 That was weeks ago.

I've got to admit it's been fairly peaceful without him hanging around.  And if animal control had found him another home, I wouldn't exactly be heart broken.  Still, I'd really like to know what happened to him. 

Apparently, unless it's to cause trouble, animal control officers make themselves very scarce.  It's almost impossible for the general public to contact these folks.  It is also interesting how "considerate" our "public servants" are to the tax payers that are paying their salaries.

I would think long and hard before turning another animal over to them.  If instead of pesky Darryl, one of my "pets" had disappeared in their custody, I'd really be freaking out.

Another thing that worries me is what if after a couple month's absence, they suddenly drop Darryl back off here to resume his fighting.  Gulp....        

Mewsical super group

Four of my cats have been thinking of starting a band.  Two of the proposed names for the band are Angie and the Alley Cats, and Leo and the Lions.  Salem wants to call the band 666.  Tommy doesn't care what the band is called as long as nobody calls him too late for supper.

Here are brief summaries of the band members.   

First, there's handsome Tommy, a cross between Mel Gibson and a Furby.  Tommy's got Mel's piercing gaze and Furby's nasal voice.  His deep nasal vocal stylings are quite unique. 

Then there's the soft-spoken heart throb, Leo.  Don't let his airy falsettos fool you.  Not since Ginger Baker has there been such a powerhouse of a drummer.  The big difference between them is their choice of instruments.  Ginger Baker's instrument of choice was the drums.  Leo prefers to rattle doors.   Not only is his door rattling musical, it is also a very effective technique for waking humans.  He has honed and perfected the door rattling technique to  sound like a large gorilla kicking the door in.  In between door rattlings, he squeaks in anguished falsettos.

Poor Salem doesn't exactly understand Sheryl Crow.  She thinks Sheryl Crow is famous for making crow noises and has been trying to copy her.  Salem's crow calls are a recent addition to her already impressive vocabulary.  Several times a day now, she walks up to me and dazzles me with a riff or two of caws.

Little Angie has already had some success in the musical field and her vocal ability is much admired.  Her audience is often stunned by her ability to project her voice to fill a room or building without any artificial amplification.

The problem is, the band members rarely rehearse together.  If they ever can put their personal differences aside long enough to work together, they'll have a monster of a hit on their paws.

Morning madness

My cats are so sweet when they are sleeping.  Actually, they're sweet most of the day.  The exception is mornings.  Morning really brings out the animal in them.

As soon as the sun begins to rise and my feet hit the floor, I am plunged into feline purgatory.  The six house cats swarm me.  The outside cats begin storming the windows.  Even if I've only slept a few hours, they think I've been away for a week.

I can understand the outdoor cats' frenzy.  They are probably genuinely hungry.  Food can't be left out at night because it attracts other critters, like skunks, racoons and oppossums.   

But I haven't a clue why the indoor cats turn into morning lunatics.   They always have access to dry food, water, and bathroom facilities.  This doesn't matter.  They think they've been deprived.  Every morning, I fight my way through them the midst of them, tripping over them as they howl at me.

They all have different agendas.  One or two usually want to go out on the porch.  Tommy must have some kind of tapeworm because he's constantly hungry.  While he's underfoot howling for a snack, Frodo's bouncing from one counter to the other and chirping.  I can't move fast enough for either cat so Frodo starts tossing things off the counter, like my watch and a few pens.  While Frodo is cleaning off the counter, Angie's in another room howling for treats because that's all she usually eats.  If there was a chandelier in the kitchen, Salem would be swinging from it.  I can't see Miss B., but I can hear her hacking a hair ball up somewhere in the house.  Tommy rubs up against my leg which infuriates Leo, because I am Leo's human.  So Leo begins to beat up Tommy.  As I go after the boys to break up the fight, I hear my watch hit the floor again.  I get the boys separated and step on Miss B's hairball on my way back to pick up my watch.  While saying very bad words, I clean Ms. B.'s mess and put my watch back on the counter, only to turn and trip over Tommy.  I hear the watch hit the floor again.  Then Leo goes after Tommy.  By now, I feel like clobbering Tommy so I let Leo rip.  Angie continues to howl at the top of her amazing lungs and I can hear the outside girls clawing at the screens.

I manage to get several food dishes lined up on the counter and open a can.  Pushing Frodo's head out of the can, I take the lid away from Salem.  The boys keep battling behind me and smacking into the back of my legs.  Angie is still howling and Miss B. is hacking again.  As soon as I get food into a dish, Frodo dives into it, right on the counter.  This is the only time and place Frodo will usually eat canned food, so I let her.  Next I put Tommy's dish on the floor.  Although he will eat may times a day in any place, thankfully, he is out of my way for a few minutes.  I put more dishes around where ever I find Salem and Ms. B.  I even offer Angie a little spoonful, just in case. 

Now that five of them are busy, I can finally give Leo his asthma inhaler and then his breakfast.  He prefers salmon for breakfast and insists on being spoon fed.  While I am feeding Leo, Tommy begins sneaking around, trying to steal food from the girls.  He usually doesn't get past my guard.

Within ten minutes, the indoor cats' morning madness is over.  They will be docile as pussycats for the rest of the day. 

I rush to the front porch to feed the outside cats.  They pick at the dry stuff for a few minutes and then go to the back door to mooch for the good stuff.  They know if they are really persistent, I will get tired of the mooching and give them a can.  These girls are gourmets.  They refuse to eat bargain brands.

At least once the morning feeding frenzy, the morning clean up doesn't seem so bad.          

Happy Mother's Day