639: Purr

Your throat is vibrating,

warm black furry weight in my lap. You prickle my tummy

with your pokey-sticky fingernails

when it gets good, that stroking. Big golden eyes, slow blink,

and a luxurious stretch, before abandonment

for now.

629: Relax

Kitties have little teddy bears on the bottom of their feets.

609: Untrustworthy

WHY is it absolutely necessary, essential even, that I be supervised whilst scooping the kitty litter box?

WHY?

425: In the Moment

I WANT to be joyously in the moment

stretching luxuriously, exulting in the feel of life as it

caresses my skin, sliding rapturously,

tantalizingly down the length of my body

all the way down to my tingling toes.

What I feel, in this moment,

is the frustration of rumpled, matted fur

as events and circumstances grate

across what sensitive nerves there are left

that are willing to feel any sensation at all.

Relaxed is what I want

and that is not what I am getting.

Mantras and deep breathing,

meditations, prayer, quiet and solitude

result in quivering tangles of anxiousness,

spinning feverishly into chaos.

Peace

and absolution,

sybaritic and sensual,

calm.

I choose calm.

 

411: To Adopt, or Not to Adopt?

I am a sucker for a mewling kitten. I know this from bitter experience. By the time I got a job in Panama, and we were packing up to move from Morocco, I needed to find homes for ELEVEN cats. I managed all but three by the time it was time to go, so at least I only had to book flights for three pets to Panama, and let’s not discuss how much that cost.

The trouble is, once I got to Panama, it took less than a year (only ONE kitten season), to acquire two more. The fact that two of my beloved fur children went to heaven during that time, so that the total number of fur babies remained constant at three, is neither here nor there. The question remains, should I adopt, knowing I will not be able to resist anyway, and also knowing that I will not be staying in this country for another 15 years or so, which is usually how long a cat lives, on average?

It is enough that they get several good years with me and then get another home, as good as I can provide for them? That is certainly better than life on the street would have treated them, because I take them to the vet, and neuter them, and care for them. Still, I know that changing families can be stressful for both people and pets, so am I being fair or unfair to them, loving them for a time, and sharing them with some other good family when I have to go?

 

401: Unconditional

(from: http://theilovedogssite.com/5-necklaces-dog-lovers-cant-stop-talking-about/)

382: Let It Be Resolved

I have shared my life with cats for as long as I can remember.

Except for the years I was married. I gave away my cats because he did not like them. I should have known from that alone. Worst trade of my life (and that is saying something).

The last few years we were married, before he died, I got a cat anyway, because by then I just did not care anymore what he thought. And I have had them ever since.

My children do  not have the same memories of their dad that I have, because they were children and I was wife. They don’t remember being cat-less. By the time they were old enough to remember, I did not care anymore, so I was no longer cat-less.

But I remember.

NEVER AGAIN – for ANYbody.

364: Off to see the Wiz—veterinarian!!

Monday this week, I called the veterinarian’s office and discussed with them bringing in two cats for neutering – one male and one female. I told them Saturday morning, since I am off work for a week and can stay home to give them their meds and be sure they are healing properly. I called this office because the e-mail I sent to the other vet I sometimes use was never answered. They told me an appointment for Saturday morning was not necessary (just come in), and how much it would cost, and that the meds were included in the cost, about 200 dollars for both. OK.

At 6:30 on Saturday morning, I checked with my neighbor who was outside already about a ride to the city – she was taking her dog to her vet for boarding, and could drop me and three cats in crates, too. This was a HUGE favor for a car-less person. Many taxis here in Panama won’t pick you up if you have an animal carrier, and neither will the city bus.  So, we arrive, unload the crates, and I discover once inside the store that the store’s veterinarian clinic is CLOSED FOR REMODELING. Not just that the vet is sick that day and can’t come in – oh, no. Closed for remodeling. And my ride is driving off…….SNIT.

So, I go to the street and start flagging taxis. These two cats have been without food since last night to prepare for their surgery this morning, and I only have this week to be home to care for them as they recover. This has to happen NOW. The first taxi says no when I confess ‘tres gatos in cajas’ (three cats in boxes). The second taxi is more ratty-looking, and he says yes. Since I don’t know where to go, I tell him veterinarian’s office – and off we go. He takes me to Spay Panama clinic, and they have a line of about 50 people already (before 8 am), but the lady there kindly tells my driver another vet office, and off we go…again. The third office has the lady at the front desk selling the Science Diet, but no doctor is in. She comes out and tells my driver another office nearby. I go in to vet number 4 and praise God, I get a yes. It is going to cost more than twice what my original vet was going to charge, but this one is open, and this has to happen TODAY.

I return to the taxi and pay the guy 30 bucks for being so super in my emergency, which delights him so much that he gives me his phone number and says for me to call when they are done and he will take me home. I fill out papers, and leave two cats for neutering surgery, and one for a visit about itchy skin rash (Caruso, above). Then I go next door to the grocery store, and carefully and thoroughly peruse every single shelf, shopping to kill time (a dangerous proposition for me, let me tell you). Plus, the store has a nice, little, inexpensive cafe, and I also dawdle over a leisurely lunch of $3.00 chicken, rice and lentils, plus a doughnut and a slice of cake, with two large cups of some interesting sweet/tart fruit juice.

Then, having nowhere else to go, I tote the loot back over to the vet’s office and settle down to wait in their air conditioning. This is Panama, and I am not a total fool.  It is only 12:00.  I doze fitfully in the chair until 4:00, when the vet comes out and tells me they are fine, gives me the ‘recipe,’ as she calls it, of medicine instructions for all three. The meds are another sixty bucks, on top of the 370 for the two surgeries and the consultation about the skin fungus (as it turns out).

I call Jorge, the taxi driver, and when he arrives 15 minutes later, we negotiate a fee to return home, we load up my groceries and the kitties, and off we go, accompanied by a chorus of stressed-out kitty meows.  It’s been a long day, mom, and they discuss this with me (and Jorge) all the way home.

Part way there, I see a strange, moving lump on the side of the road, and realize it is a three-toed sloth crossing the road – when I exclaim “It’s a sloth!!” Jorge stops the taxi and backs up – I hop out and direct traffic around the sloth until another car stops, and a man with a cloth band hooks it around the sloth and hauls him/her to the other side of the road to safety, and we are all off again. Excitement over. It’s nice that everyone was protective of the sloth. I had never been that close to one before.

We get home, and I pay and tip Jorge and tote everybody and the groceries into the house. It is well after 5 pm, and everybody needs feeding, including me. Then, it is time to medicate everybody. As I do this, I notice that Cielo, the male cat that was neutered, has his tummy shaved as if he were getting the female spay incision – way up his belly and his sides – far more than necessary for the more simple, less invasive male procedure.  I guess the vet got busy shaving before they read the directions on the bottom of Cielo and figured out this one was the BOY, and it was the other one that was the girl!

As I type this, Dulce, the girl, is snoozing at my feet, after antibiotics, vitamins and pain meds, and a nice comfort session in my lap, getting stroked and petted like she likes it. Cielo hates the lampshade collar that prevents him from licking his sore spots with his sandpaper tongue, and he keeps bumping into me and everything else.  But everybody is cared for, and it is DONE!! Now, to get well!!

359: Opinion? Everybody’s Got One…..

…and, like most assholes, they are usually full of shit. Yeah, I know the old joke – that really isn’t a joke. It does appear that most people today ardently believe that other people’s opinions (read: other people’s opposing opinions that don’t agree, lock-step, with mine) are full of shit. Scatology aside, it is fair to say that some people are pretty crappy, and you would expect that their opinions would naturally follow suit.

Still, just because someone does not agree with your view of the world and the rightness of things in general does not, ipso facto, make them shit-carriers. It is possible *gasp* that they could actually have the right of things and YOU are the stinky one.

I commented on Facebook lately to a former student, now grown into independent adulthood quite well, thank you, that he was flogging a dead horse by trying to convince a liberal DemocRAT to change their opinions by presenting them with facts and logic. Liberals recognize nothing that is not on their previously conceived and accepted agenda – all facts to the contrary. They call you ugly names for even trying. And the worst part of it is that they are very, very similar to radical Muslims.

Don’t throw rocks at me. I know Muslims who are decent, hardworking family-oriented people. In fact, praise God, I don’t actually know any Muslims who are not reasonable, rational people, but I read about them all the time in the news, unfortunately, so I do know that not all Muslims are the sort I know. And liberal DemocRATS are like the WORST sort of Muslims. They are rabid about their agenda like fanatical Muslims are about any imagined slur towards the Koran or the prophet Mohammed – and behead all unbelievers.

Notice how violently, aggressively and rabidly the liberals and their complicit cronies, the liberal-oriented press, attack and vilify anyone who has any criticism whatsoever of officially accepted liberal policies or leaders – or who has anything to say in support of what used to be thought of as traditional American values. OFF WITH THEIR HEADS!! This is fanaticism of the worst sort – that refuses to believe that the opinions (morals, values, ethics whattheheckeveryacall it) of others have any validity at all…not even based on the right to be human and think for oneself. Heck no – behead the unbelievers!!

It is tough enough thinking for yourself without someone who supposedly believes in the sacredness of the individual berating you for doing it. Stand your ground, and persist. Be the boulder in a liberal’s path, and make them GO AROUND. You are important, and so are your opinions…articulated aloud or not.

 

 

352: Murderer

I am a murderer, responsible for the death (an agonizing one, not clean and quick) of a creature I loved very, very much. The prickle of tears is starting again as I confess this unpardonable sin, and it is only right that I should flagellate myself this way….my babies depend on me to care for them, and I let Fluff-man down in the most awful way.

I had to leave Panama to renew my tourist visa, because document thieves stole my FBI Criminal Background Check document in Miami, and this document is required to begin the months-long process of getting my work visa. Without it I cannot apply, and replacing it has been a nightmare of delays and waiting.  So, I booked Costa Rica to renew my visa over our school’s Christmas break. Because I have been robbed here in Panama twice already (once in my home and once in the street) I was not willing to give a key to my house to the next door neighbor who agreed to care for the cats while I was gone. Instead, I fixed a place in the screened metal security door where the cats could come and go, and I placed a large metal crate over this opening, so they could exit the house (into the crate) to access their potty, and the neighbor could tend it without actually entering the house. Belongings safe, right? No dogs have access to the cats, either, right?

Then, I took all six kitchen table chairs and placed one heavy chair in front of each and every door inside my house, so that the wind (which occasionally is pretty strong) could not possibly blow any inside door shut, which might trap a cat. Then, I filled each and every pan and bowl I owned with kibble or water, and placed them all around: kitchen, living room, both bathrooms. I even put one bowl in the bathroom sink and left the tap dripping into it, and filled both sides of the kitchen sink for good measure.  Secure in the knowledge that there was super-abundant water and food available, and access for the kitty potty, I headed off on my visit to Costa Rica to renew my six-month tourist visa.

Well. The best laid plans of mice, men and kitty mommies aft gang agly. The chair I placed in front of one bedroom door did blow shut. The wind just pushed the heavy chair aside, and when the door shut, Fluff-man was inside. The food and water bowls, so many of them, were all in other rooms. The neighbor heard Fluff meowing after some days, and they took out the window glass to get him out of the room. However, because he’d had no water, he was dehydrated…and when you are seriously dehydrated, you lose the desire to drink. They did not know to force-feed him water, and they did not know to take him to the veterinarian, and Fluff died the next day.

I loved that cat, and would not have harmed him for the world – and I harmed him to death. I’d rather they had robbed everything left in my house than to have hurt that kitty boy, but hurt him I did. I am so awfully sorry that he paid for my mistake with his life, and it has been a horribly hard lesson for me, too, even if I am still living.