Category Archives: The Kids

I sense it, Daddy

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A close-up of Grendel as he lay in front of the patio doors with sunlight streaming in behind him (205_0534)

Change is on the wind, Grendel, and you do sense it, your predator skills attuned as variations and transformations develop around you.

A storm cries out in a sky full of tumultuous writhing, clouds parting briefly to reveal a sun pouring energy into an atmosphere defined by chaos.

A shift in life as we know it grows nearer, more powerful, ready to control our destiny in ways we cannot understand.

A move from known to unknown breeds concern for the familiar we will leave behind in search of the unfamiliar we seek.

A distress for that which we cannot control but which controls us becomes palpable, a heavy thing on the air that clings to each of us like a parasite.

I feel it too, Grendelkitty.  Ah, I feel it like a flame against the skin, a moth brushing my cheek with its wings, a terror and a joy wrapped together in one defining moment.

Let’s hope we have the strength we need to survive such frenzied times.

Apprising

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The wound has healed nicely.  Fur now grows back atop his head—almost as though nothing happened.  Amazing how care and attention work magic in such cases.  Still, one need only look closely to see the old damage, the scars, the somehow misshapen contour of his skull.

His overall health and demeanor have improved.  Stable food and water, reliable affection, and constant shelter seem to bring out the best in life, seem to empower the recovering essence within every living thing.

He defends the patio as though it were his personal domain.  But only from violent interlopers.  Psiwa comes and goes at will, unchallenged.  Their gentle natures appear complementary.  The same is true for others, some as yet unnamed or unintroduced, but only those with kindred spirits.

He struggles with simple things despite his improvement.  A shake of the head, a movement altogether common for most animals, renders him unstable, sometimes falling, sometimes held upright on legs threatening to splay in all directions so as to leave him flat upon the ground.  Stretches?  They work sometimes; other times they present a form so uncontrolled as to be laughable—were it not so heartbreaking.

I speak of al-Zill, of course.

Although I’m on call this week, something that makes my schedule unpredictable at best, I believe my first opportunity to capture him will come this weekend.  Let’s hope so, for these times are few and far between.

al-Zill sleeping in the cat carrier on the patio (20080224_02358)

[he rarely stays in the carrier when I’m on the patio; normally he rushes to greet me, giving me head butts and rubs and all manner of love, purring all the while as he talks to me as though we’ve known each other for decades; the first opportunity I have to grab him in this state—when I can then dash him off to the vet for treatment and examination—must be seized with fanatic fervor]

Weirdo

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Larenti has some of the weirdest sleeping habits I’ve seen in a cat.  Sure, he sleeps on his back from time to time, but so do Kako and Vazra.  Lots of cats do that, which makes it anything but unusual.

I’m talking about positions that don’t even look comfortable, let alone restful, positions that seem accidental rather than intentional.  You might remember seeing one such pose last November while he was still living outside.

I thought at the time that he looked as though he was taking a bath and fell asleep before he finished.  Now I know that really happens.  Like this:

Larenti sleeping in the same position he was in while taking a bath (IMG_0018)

And this:

Larenti sleeping in the same position he was in while taking a bath (20080126_01650)

I’ve seen him do that regularly all about the house.  It starts innocently enough with normal feline hygienics, but somewhere in the middle of the process he grows tired and simply goes to sleep.  Without lying down or changing position.

I can’t claim this Buddha Belly demonstration resulted from the same mid-bath unconsciousness, yet I do know he wound up propped against the bed rolled forward such that he had to hold himself up with his front paws—while he slept!

Larenti sleeping while propped up against the bed with his front feet holding him up (IMG_0036)

All I know is that this cat is a true weirdo.  He certainly came to live in the right house…

Considerations, intentions, dispositions, and formulations

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From an e-mail I just sent to Mom:

On the subject of my shadow, al-Zill, I intend to rescue and adopt him.  […] I now feel confident that he does indeed have neurological damage.  I suspect it’s from a coyote attack, although I could be wrong.  A car might explain the wounds and problems.  Then again, maybe not.

His wounds have healed with a great deal of effort and care.  He still might need additional treatment depending on the severity of the damage, but I can assure you the infection is gone, the wound is healing nicely, and he’s in much better condition now than he was six weeks ago.

I said on the blog that I don’t need seven cats.  Nevertheless, I can’t ignore the situation.  He won’t survive without intervention.  And I won’t leave him behind knowing the fate bearing down on him without my protection.  I can’t do it.  I can’t be that callous, that heartless, that uncaring and unnoticing.  So I’ll mess up my finances even more by tending to his needs, getting him healthy, and giving him a home.

He’ll cause more chaos with the other six cats, I know, but I consider myself an expert at this now.  I can do it.  He’ll fit in fine, he’ll make friends, he’ll be safe, and I won’t carry the scars of inhumanity that haunt me for every life I can’t save, every bit of mercy I fail to show.  That’s not the person I am and it’s not the person I want to be.  So I sacrifice, I give in to my better nature, and I curse those who look at me crosswise simply because they can be vile and ghoulish without blinking, they can be selfish sans a bit of care for those hurt along the way.

That’s just not me.  It hasn’t been, isn’t, and won’t be.  Ever.

From a recent telephone conversation with xocobra:

xocobra: “What if he’s critically wounded?  What if he can never be healthy and happy?”

Me: “Then so be it.  I’ll give him the life he can enjoy while he can enjoy it.”

“What happens if the doctor says he needs to be put down?”

“I’ve always erred on the side of quality versus quantity.  If he can’t have a comfortable, happy life, I’ll make the decision that needs to be made.  I’d rather he wallow in some goodness for a short time than suffer through agony for a long time.”

“Thank you.  Thank you for saying that.  Thank you for being that way when it comes to what matters.”

Truth be told, however, I fear for what Randy said in his latest missive:

And at the same time, I think you know that you are perilously close to having someone […] show up at your door for harboring too many animals.

How so very accurate an observation.

Seven?  Too many?

Perhaps.

But I can’t ignore compassion.  Benevolence is my way, I’m afraid, and I must do what I must do.

Scheming and plotting a capture now appear the necessities of the day.  To secure, to evade, and to provide.

I’ll go from there.