Of Mice and Lizards

A couple of weeks ago, Satchmo caught and killed a mouse. He didn't eat it, but generously left the small furry carcass near the bedroom door, which was closed, so we would find it when we came out in the morning. Ron picked it up, using a few thicknesses of paper towel, and disposed of it in the garbage.

For a few days, Satchmo was on full alert, either prowling around for mice, or staking out a couple of places and sitting there, staring intently and not moving at all. One place is the laundry room; we think the mouse got in through the hose from the clothes dryer.

Yesterday when I got up, I saw a "blob" of indeterminate shape and color on the rug in the hallway, just outside the guest room. I hadn't put in my contact lenses yet, which is why the shape and color were so blurry. Once I had my contacts in, I took a closer look.

It wasn't a mouse; it was a lizard, about 5 inches long and of medium girth. Ron came and took a look, too. It hadn't moved at all, and we thought Satchmo the Sentinel had struck again.

But it was playing dead; when Ron reached out to grab it, again, with paper towel in hand, the lizard moved like a flash. I couldn't believe how fast it ran! It was like the roadrunner (from the cartoon) on amphetamines.

The lizard stayed out of sight for the rest of yesterday. Today it made a couple of appearances. The first was in the guest room (which is where it ran yesterday), but it disappeared again before we could catch it. The second appearance was in the living room; again, it played dead and when Ron tried to catch it, it ran away. But this time, Satchmo saw it and even pawed it a few times. So Satchmo is on alert again, but not full alert, not with the same intensity as he was with the mouse. I guess lizards aren't as natural a prey as mice are.

And if you're wondering how the lizard got in, he came in through the garage. Sometimes we leave the garage door open a couple of inches at the bottom. When you run swamp coolers, there always has to be an open window or an open door to relieve the pressure of the air that blows in.

He looks similar to the photo below, which is of a lizard called the plateau lizard.

Deja Vu All Over Again

This is the afghan my Great Aunt Mary made for me when I was a teenager. She had made a similar one for my mother, using up leftover bits of yarn, and I liked it so much, she made one for me. She surprised me with it when I went with my parents to New York for a brief visit.

Fast forward many years.

Our first cat Panther loved that afghan. She loved to curl up on it and sleep or sit on it and watch the world go by. We used to put it on the floor next to the sliding glass door so she could watch the birds in the backyard.

When we took her to the vet for the final time, to be euthanized, she was so weak we didn't bother with the cat carrier. I wrapped her in the afghan and held her in my arms while Ron drove the short distance to the vet.

Our kindhearted vet offered to have Panther and the afghan cremated together, but we told him we wanted to save the afghan for future cats. When we got home, we placed the afghan on what became the memorial shelf. It was where we gathered photos of Panther, placed the tin containing her ashes when we got them, and placed the tins containing ashes of other pets as the years passed.

Then a few months ago, we decided to bring the afghan back into the land of the living. We washed it and folded it into a good size and then placed it on the dining room table (one of the places the cats like to be when we're not eating (or even when we are, come to think of it)). It didn't take long for Satchmo to discover it. He curled up and went to sleep, looking happy and peaceful.

It was so great to see another cat sleeping on that afghan, especially a black cat. It was almost like having Panther back. Our other cat Princess discovered the joys of sleeping on the afghan, too. On one or two occasions, I saw the two of them sleeping side by side on the afghan, but usually if one cat is on it and the other one wants it, a catfight ensues.

After one too many catfights (more than just fur was flying), we moved the afghan from the table to the couch where it remains today, usually occupied by a large black cat.

Life is good. I think Aunt Mary would be happy to know that her afghan is still used and loved after all these years.

Champ's Story

Champ's integration into the family went much faster and smoother than we ever anticipated. He and Brutus sleep right next to each other sometimes and Wolfie has stopped growling every time Champ comes near him. We're giving all three dogs lots of love and affection and treats.

And Champ has made himself right at home.

Yes, that's a Queen size bed.

His original owners gave him up when they moved. The first couple to foster him had a problem. Right after they got him, the husband had to go out of town for a week for work. When he got back, the dog (then known as Cheup) had bonded with the wife so much, he saw the husband as a threat and was overprotective of her, giving the husband a nip. That didn't go over so well and they returned Cheup to the shelter. The next people to foster him raise chickens and they discovered he liked to chase chickens. Well, what dog wouldn't? As Ron said, if he were a dog, he'd want to chase chickens, too. But fortunately for us, those people didn't see it that way and they returned him to the shelter. So we got him, and we think he's fantastic. He's bonding with both of us equally and we don't have chickens.

He's very smart and what he doesn't already know, he learns quickly. He came to us already knowing the commands "Sit" and "Shake." The other night, I saw he had a plastic jar lid in his mouth that he'd gotten out of the trash can and I told him, "Drop it" and he immedately dropped it. So either he already knew the command or he knew he shouldn't be getting into the trash can.

And of course he's quickly learning Guard Dog Duties from the other dogs. When they're all inside and they hear a noise outside, Champ is sometimes the first one to reach the sliding glass door, ready to go out and investigate. And of course he's learned tapping on the door to come in or go out.

He's very sweet and loves giving and getting affection. He's also very calm and laid back.

We've come to the conclusion that he's half Newfoundland and half Black Lab; Ron Googled pictures of dogs of that mix and they look exactly like Champ. Also Newfs and Labs tend to have very calm demeanors.

Satchmo is taking it all in stride.

Princess still spends a lot of time on top of the cabinets over the refrigerator so she can keep an eye on things.



Crackhead Kitty

For many years, we used canned milk instead of cream in our coffee (evaporated milk, not the sweetened condensed stuff). Then a few years ago, we switched to half-and-half; I’m not sure why we changed. Then several months ago, Ron decided he wanted to go back to canned milk; I think it’s a little lower in fat than half-and-half. I tried to switch, too, but I found that after using half-and-half, I couldn’t go back. I just didn’t like the taste of the canned milk anymore.


Satchmo joined our family during the time we both used half-and-half. He enjoyed the occasional spoonful or so of it, but he wasn’t demanding or anything. That all changed when Ron went back to canned milk. Satchmo had a little taste of it and he was an instant addict. It was like crack, or maybe meth; one of his nicknames became Crackhead Kitty. A cat can never have too many nicknames!

When anyone opens the fridge, if Satchmo is anywhere in the vicinity, he hops up on to the counter next to his food bowl and begins yowling incessantly. If Ron is getting out the canned milk or even if I’m getting out the half-and-half, the yowling becomes louder and more insistent. And of course, enablers that we are, we give him a tiny splash, a spoonful or so. When Ron is finished using the canned milk, he has to put it back in the fridge immediately, or disaster will strike. We use the type of can opener that leaves two triangle-shaped holes in the top of the can. Satchmo doesn’t knock the can over like the late, great Winston did (a less yowly crackhead kitty). No, Satchmo manages to pick up the can by the edges with his teeth and shake his head a few times, sending the milk flying. He licks up the damage, then takes a nap until he hears the fridge open again.

Satchmo Sleeping It Off

Animal Stories

After living with our animals for so many years, I know not to leave certain foods unattended on the kitchen counter for very long or they will disappear. It doesn't even have to be left near the edge of the counter; King is so tall he can reach anything in the middle of the counter. Remember the banana bread? Any kind of meat will be gone faster than you can believe. Butter? Forget it; King will gobble it down in three seconds.

But raw macaroni? Seriously? Yup. Thursday evening I cooked some macaroni and forgot to put away the bag containing the rest of the raw macaroni. When I got home from work Friday morning, the empty bag was on the floor in the living room, surrounded by a few stray pieces of raw macaroni. The rest, of course, was gone. I couldn't believe he (all the dogs are male, but I bet it was King; he's usually the culprit) would eat raw macaroni!

Yes, we feed the dogs dog food, probably a little more than they need. None of them are skinny. But when we first got King, he was emaciated with his hip bones sticking out. And that was after he'd been at the shelter for a few weeks, after someone rescued him from being caught in a bear trap, where he'd been for who knows how long. So I think that experience of starving had an impact on him and now, even after all the years he's been with us, he still wants to eat anything and everything whenever he gets the chance.

But raw macaroni?!?

Hummingbirds

Meanwhile, the hummingbirds are eating us out of house and home. Or at least out of sugar. Plus we've added a fourth feeder. Ron saw it in the clearance bin at WalMart and bought it. We didn't even hang it up for about a week, but when I realized how often I was refilling the three we had, we hung that one up, too. I think it just encouraged more hummingbirds to our house, because I'm still filling the small and medium ones every day and the bigger ones every few days.

They'll only be here for another few weeks and then they'll head south for the winter, flying along the Rio Grande. They'll probably be "stocking up" the energy for their flight, though.

Cats

The Hotel Where I Work is once again trying the cat solution to deal with the mice. Thursday night when I got to work and went through the kitchen on the way to clock in, a quick movement of black at my feet startled me. I thought it was a cat (or a very large rat), but I wasn't sure until a few minutes later, when I saw the golden eyes of a cat. At least this cat is skinny, which means it's hungry; maybe it can catch some of the mice running around the kitchen.

Speaking of which...

This past Monday morning, when I was cleaning at home, I discovered the fresh remnants of a mouse that one of our cats (my money is on Satchmo) had killed and partially eaten, leaving only the head, the tail, and a bit of fur connecting the two. It had to have been one of the cats; a dog would have swallowed the mouse whole. The rest of that day, Satchmo walked around the house, looking like he was on the prowl for another mouse. That's why I think he was the culprit. Good kitty.

That Darn Cat

Or should I say Those Darn Cats?

Both of them!

First there's Satchmo.

He looks so sweet and innocent, doesn't he? No trouble at all. Just a calm kitty. Yeah, I thought so, too. Then on Saturday I was sitting at the dining room table drinking my first mug of coffee. Satchmo was lying on the table about a foot away from the coffee, calm as can be. All of a sudden, with no warning at all, he reached out a paw and knocked over the mug of coffee!!! It wasn't scalding hot, but it was three-quarters full and it went all over my lap and all over the tablecloth, and then on to the floor. We quickly cleared off the table (which was in desperate need of being cleared anyway) and put the tablecloth in the wash and wiped coffee off the floor. Then I poured a fresh mug of coffee and kept Satchmo away from it. I'm going to start discouraging him from lounging on the table like that.

Then there's Princess. Formerly known as "the good one."

Formerly.

Lately she's become obsessed with bread. And buns. And English muffins. And bagels. Any type of bread product.

She'll chew open little holes in the plastic bags the bread (etc.) is in, chew a few little pieces off the bread (sometimes more), and then lose interest. It could be a couple of days before we discover it, by which time the bread has gone stale.

While we search for the perfect breadbox, we're making do with the rectangular plastic storage boxes by Ziploc, Gladware, etc. The first time I put some bread in one of those boxes, Princess watched me. I snapped the lid on and told her, "OK, let's see you get into that!" Sure enough, a little while later, I saw her trying to get into the box. I wish I'd had my camera with me to capture her desperately working with her paws, trying to open the lid. She never did figure out how to do it, so the bread is safe.

Yes, they look like angels, don't they?

Warning: Looks can be deceiving.

Things Are Tough All Over

Even cats are losing their jobs.

Yes, it's sad but true. The hotel cats were laid off/fired. Apparently they weren't doing the job for which they were hired -- catching mice. Of course in my opinion, it didn't help that they were being fed plenty of cat food. That took away their incentive to catch the mice. Plus they weren't given much of a chance -- only a week and a half before they were fired.

They were replaced with mousetraps. At least they weren't forced to train their replacements.

And the cats are being given new opportunities; the general manager took one home and one of the desk clerks took the other one home.

Cat Tales

Natasha's beloved, beautiful cat died a few days ago after a long (but still too short) and happy life. Here is a picture of him in all his furry glory that she sent to me a few years ago.




I started thinking about the cats we have now and the cats that came before them. A new cat never replaces the previous cat, but it fills up part of the hole left when a cat dies.

I've noticed some interesting thing. Winston filled up part of the hole that Panther left in our lives and hearts when she died. Of course the two never met, but we always say that Winston has Pantherisms. He loves to sit or sleep on the back of any of the motorcycles in the garage, just as Panther did. He's very vocal, especially in the morning, when he wants his breakfast, just as Panther was. There is one huge difference; Winston loves the dogs and loves curling up with them. Panther hated the dogs and loved to torment them even when they hadn't done anything to her.

Then there's Princess, who filled up part of the hold that Shadow left when she died. She has Shadowisms. When Ron is reading in bed, Princess loves to get up on the bed and plop down on the magazine or book he's reading, just as Shadow did. None of the other cats have ever done that. Then there's the fried chicken; Shadow loved fried chicken, to the point where she would try to take the piece out of our hands while we were eating it! Princess loves fried chicken, too, although she isn't quite that rude. She just tries to take the piece off of the plate when we put it down. She's more "chirpy" than "yowly" in her meows.

Cats are so great! I'm so glad they share their lives with us; it would be so empty without them.

A Tale of Two Kitties

It's the height of hummingbird season again, with the usual swarms (also known as "an infestation of hummingbirds"). We have all three feeders up, of course -- small, medium and large -- but the small one still sometimes gets emptied in less than a day.

We have another visitor who is very interested in the hummingbirds -- one of the next-door neighbors' cats. He sits on top of the wall directly under the hummingbird feeders, hoping to get lucky. Ron found a few tiny hummingbird feeders stuck to one of the perches, so the cat either got one of the birds or almost got one of the birds.

He looks exactly like Winston, except leaner and with golden eyes instead of green. In fact, last year when I saw him under the feeders for the first time, I thought it was Winston and I freaked out, wondering how he'd gotten outside, until I saw Winston curled up sleeping on the bed.

We've started calling the other cat Twin Kitty. A few days ago, Twin Kitty was in his usual Sphinx-like position under the feeders. Then Winston jumped up on the couch to look out at the hummingbirds, as he likes to do. Then he saw Twin Kitty! He stared at Twin Kitty, completely fascinated. Then Twin Kitty saw Winston; he, too, was fascinated. They stared at each other for a minute; it seemed like longer. Then Twin Kitty gave up on the hummingbirds; he jumped off the wall under the feeders into the courtyard to get closer to the window. Again, they stared at each other. Then Winston moved to the tall narrow window next to the front door and Twin Kitty moved to the front porch, just on the other side of that window. They stared at each other -- no snarling or hissing or caterwauling. Just total fascination.

Eventually Twin Kitty left and Winston resumed watching the hummingbirds.

Paraskevidekatriaphobia

Happy Friday the Thirteenth!

The nearly unpronouncable word "paraskevidekatriaphobia" means "fear of Friday the 13th." In my family, 13 has always been lucky. One of my sisters was born on February 13 and my parents were married on June 13. When I was younger, I sometimes told people my parents had gotten married on a Friday the 13th, just to see the reaction.

Some people hold on to superstitions. When I was working at the vet clinic, one of the vets was out on medical leave for six weeks, so the schedule for surgeries became very backed up. In late April when people called to schedule a non-emergency surgery, I looked ahead in the computer and told them, "The earliest opening I have is . . . Friday the thirteenth." Most people chuckled, a little nervously perhaps, and agreed to schedule it for that day. But one woman was quite insistent that she would NOT schedule a surgery for that day.

I don't have any superstitions. And as most of you know, I think black cats are the best and luckiest of all cats. I really miss having a black cat.

My idea of a perfect Friday the 13th would be this: a black cat walking under a ladder, stepping on a crack in the sidewalk, and breaking a mirror.

What other superstitions can you add to this scenario?

Princess

Princess is the latest addition to our family. She joined us in October, right after Shadow died. I wanted to wait awhile after she died before we got another cat, but Winston had other ideas.

Poor Winston. He was miserable without Shadow. To make matters worse, the day after Shadow died, Ron and I went away for a long weekend with some friends. It had been scheduled for months. That left Winston all by himself (we put the dogs in a kennel). Poor Winston, I say again. He must have thought we'd taken Shadow with us. He was happy to see us return, but he obviously was looking for Shadow. He kept calling for her (step, step, meow, step, step, meow). He was pitiful.

The next day I went to our vet clinic to talk to one of the vet techs. She does cat rescue and cat fostering and I hoped she would know of a cat who needed a good home. She did! Princess had been brought to the vet clinic, rescued from an abusive home by a neighbor. The woman brought her in, but never came back and ignored repeated phone calls. Poor Princess. She had numerous injuries, including a broken pelvis. Most of her tail had to be amputated, too, leaving her with a little three-inch stump.

When I talked to M, Princess had fully recovered and was living at M's, but M was glad to see Princess go to a good home. A few days later, I brought her home. She's a beautiful cat with long reddish-gold fur, big reddish-gold eyes, and the longest whiskers I've ever seen on a cat. She's so sweet, too, very affectionate. The best part is that she and Winston are so happy together! They're both young and playful. They wrestle in a playful (not fighting) way. Their favorite game is chasing each other all through the house at top speed. There's nothing like the sound of galloping kitties! It's such a happy sound. It lessens the pain of missing Shadow and Panther.

Winston the Wise

I love this picture of our cat Winston. He has such a wise expression on his face.

Of all our animals, Winston is my favorite (except when he's whining because his food bowl is empty). We have a bond that I don't have with the other animals. I can talk to him about things and he looks at me with an expresson on his face that seems to say he understands.

He's a lap cat, with me at least, and has been from the very beginning.

He was rescued from the streets of Santa Fe. His owners were moving to Florida and couldn't take him along, so they just put him out on the streets to fend for himself. He wasn't very good at it and got in fights with other cats. A mutual friend took him in, but she couldn't keep him and was about to take him to the shelter. That would have been certain death for him, since people go to the shelter wanting cute little kittens, not an adult cat, even a one-year-old with huge green eyes.

So Ron brought him home, surprising me. We needed a second cat. Our beloved Panther had died a few months earlier and we wanted Shadow to have another cat to play with.

Ron came home from Santa Fe one evening and without any warning, plopped Winston into my lap. Completely delighted, I petted him and loved on him and welcomed him to the family. He settled down and made himself comfortable in my lap, curling up and going to sleep. He stayed like that for about two hours and would have stayed for longer, but finally I had to get up. That was a little more than three years ago and I'm still completely delighted to have him in our family.