Miska loves LaDiDa

I've never seen such an amazing dog. This one keeps on tune while she sings. If you can't see the dog in the video, click on the title and it will link you to youtube.
have a great day.
~a

Adrenalin

  Nothing gets the adrenalin going like thinking you are going to be responsible for losing the daughter's cat.
So baby M was having trouble sleeping, and J was thinking about going home tonight and just to allow her to sleep on the way, or be mucking about with her here trying to get her to sleep. She finally decided to just stay up with her and let her get her energy out, and I stayed up with her. We had a nice visit, and the end came, and we both headed off to bed. Door shut, covers arranged, snuggled into bed. . . meow.
not a quiet one either, it is demanding. meow.
Reminds me of a commercial
Barbara, are you up? BARBARA. . . are you up?
I'm up now, what do you want?
I can't sleep. This cold is bothering me. etc. etc
meow, Annie, are you up?
grrrrr
I get up, thinking he hasn't been outside for a while, so I venture out the door with a white cat and a white nighty. It's cold out there, and the white kitty sees, hears and smells too many things to want to get down to business. I sit on the raised garden bed walls and wait. Pretty soon he decides to go exploring. I follow.

the shop! Lets look in there.
(me) not on your life Chalk Dust, you come back with me
Chalk Dust transforms into a skill saw which has just been turned on. He lashes out at me when I try to pick him up, and he runs towards Mr. Russell's fence. He sits beside the fence. Maybe he will do his business. I wait. pretty soon I call to him. He moves farther down the fence line. I back off. I wait. Then I say a little prayer, and rush inside to get the canned cat food. I come back out, at first I don't think he is there anymore, but as I get closer, he is still by the fence.  It is a crooked picket fence, that if he stands on his hind legs, he can touch the top of the it, and he is ready to jump. I lure him with the scent of tuna, and he becomes a bit more friendly, although I feel him stiffen when I pick him up. He is not light. J says he is around 12 pounds.

We head back to the house, he gets tenser as we near his nemesis, Hobbs. (our cat). I try to calm him as I speed up my pace and get ourselves back in the house. I use my fingers to scoop cat food into his dish, just so I can get him to calm down.

I know he will come back to my door if I try to sleep, so I lock him in the bathroom with his food, water and a towel, bunched on the floor.

He is not happy.

I go to bed again, but the adrenalin is still pumping through the veins.

Trying to calm down and feel sleepy isn't working. As I do, the "what ifs" keep running through my head. I could just picture me, barefoot, not daring to let him out of my sight, as I try to scale the picket fence and follow him to who knows where, across the neighbor's sticker-infested driveway? It gives me the shudders just thinking about it now.

He was the reason for the visit in the first place. He had an abscess that was 2 inches in diameter and an inch high from a cat fight. J took him to a vet, who hedged around on a price and quoted $200, maybe depending on circumstances.

Sailor gave him a kitty tranquilizer left over from when we transported Stanley from Denver to Salt Lake to his new home. Then he took a huge syringe and needle and poked it into his very THICK skin and as he pulled it out, a river of puss and corruption flowed. J and I were holding the front end, the back end was wrapped in a towel and cuddled under Sailor's arm as he operated. Chalk Dust was NOT happy, even though he was a bit sedated, but as soon as all the gunk was out, J felt him purring. Sailor gave him a shot of penicillin in his hind end last night and one again tonight.

It would have been awful if after all that to have him run away. sheesh. I feel so bad.

Now as I sit here, I hear his protests coming from the bathroom. He is NOT happy to be locked in there. But you know what? I don't care. At least he is safe inside the house, and I am not running around the neighborhood in my white nighty and bare feet in the middle of the night in 30 degree weather. YIKES.

OK, now I think I can sleep. I think I will put in earplugs.

good night

~a

Memories

I just saw a facebook picture of a friend's cats eating watermelon. It reminded me of our cats.

When I was a little girl, we lived on a farm, well, mom still lives on that farm. Anyway, we had many cats. At one time, I remember counting the numbers and I think I came up with 27 cats. Most were wild and would not let us near, which was OK, they kept the mouse population down.

We had some tame cats. One was named Felix. We thought Felix was a boy cat but that changed when he/she had kittens. But anyway, she didn't have kittens right away, she had miscarriages which she brought to the door. They happened often and we really didn't like Felix very much. Needless to say, she lived to the ripe old age of 21. How can you not respect a cat who lived so long.

Anyway, that is beside the point, she had lots of . . . shall we say, Cat-onality. She was very greedy and would be eating a piece of meat with paws on two other pieces of meat, growling all the while, keeping everyone at bay as she devoured more than her share of food.

We fed our cats table scraps and they were grateful for any tidbit that came their way. We gave them salads with tomatoes. They were so grateful for anything we brought them. It was amazing to watch them eat lettuce salads. That is why the one day they didn't eat what we offered them was so funny.

To be fair, I must preface this with the fact that my mom was a gormet cook. She could make the most delicious things. She could copy a dish from a restaurant. She had the knack for tasting and figuring out what spices and ingredients were in the dish, then she would make it at home to perfection.
But one day, Mom had made beans. I can't remember what kind or anything, but they were terrible. I think she had burned them. No one in the family wanted to eat the beans and Mom was offended. After much discussion, she allowed us to give the uneaten portions to the cats. I remember coming outside and scraping the bowls onto the ground. We never had a cat dish, they just ate from the ground.

Felix wasn't around at first and the cats present sniffed and looked up to see if there was any other offering. No one would eat. Then came Felix, the greedy cat who ruled the trough. She trotted up and took one sniff, looked up, sniffed again, then began to bury the beans.

you know what cats bury, don't you?

This cracked us up so bad. We just laughed and laughed. Poor Mom was offended, and we laughed ourselves to tears.

Having animals really adds a great dimension to our lives.

hope you have a happy day
~a

yuck

I feel like c**p today. Notice my biorhythm on the right hand side of the blog? Everything except intellectual are all below the mid-line and heading south.

Funny thing. I never check my biorhythm until I am feeling just awful and then it all makes sense. Speaking of intellectual, guess what I have been doing today instead of getting ready to drive to Salt Lake to choir? I have been having great fun studying and ordering stuff from this site.

I have been looking into replacing the shades in our bedroom for quite some time. I have a beautiful quilt that I made for this room. I received the purple "Sweepstakes" ribbon at the local county fair a long time ago when I made it. When I purchased the fabric, I had absolutely NO idea how much you need to purchase, so I have an orange box filled with the left over fabric.

Today as I googled "hand made window shades" and among other sites I found the one in the link above. It seemed to have all the answers and most instructions. I had no idea how much it would cost me in the end, but with the left over fabric on hand, it should cost less than custom made ones. I even purchased some drapery lining fabric which is a light-blocker. How cool is that? We live in the city limits and the street lights shine so bright, you can walk outside practically without stubbing your toes. I found I sleep much better with no light. For instance when I am at my mom's home, I sleep like a baby. She lives in the country and no light comes into the room except if an animal pass the motion sensor light. Also at the hotel last week we had such a nice dark room, I slept so peacefully. So I guess this is a good investment. Now, how do you block the barking dogs or the train a block away as it sounds its lonely horn when passing through the intersection? See why we are still looking out in the country for a place?

I looked into custom made blinds and they quoted me $300 a piece. Are You Kidding Me? For teeny tiny little inconsequential windows like the ones in my "master" bedroom?

So I guess I will design my own. I am so excited.

But in the mean time, I just took the old roll-up blinds off and replaced them with a piece of cloth the same with and length with serged sides and top, and a hem wide enough to hold the wood pull. I replaced the tape with new double-stick tape and adhered the cloth to the roller. It looks better than sheets or cloth draped over the top.

This cold gets me down, but my mind is working overtime.

Last night something weird happened. The cat decided he could climb my screen to get to the lattice roof. I was NOT happy. Scared me to death to hear that, then look out to see this large animal climbing my screen. YIKES. I opened the shade and he jumped down, only to start again when he thought the coast was clear. grrrrr. I yanked the shade and knocked it off trying to get at the window, so I could open it and spray water on him, but he had accomplished the dastardly deed and was on the lattice. I'm AWAKE NOW. Couldn't go back to sleep for at least an hour. Sailor says he will put a piece of board over that part of the lattice so he can go nowhere when he finishes climbing. I would love to make some sort of moat for him to pass through to get to my screen. What a stupid cat.

I started coming down with a slight sore throat on Sunday. I didn't believe it. I never get sick in the summer, but I did live on the edge last week, staying up late for several nights in a row. Yesterday I sort of lounged around, but still exercised in spite of how bad I felt. I reasoned that if I got my blood circulating, that the bad stuff would be washed out, eh?

Today I am worse. Just one of those things, in spite of all the stuff I am doing, including OTC drugs, nothing seems to get me better. Sailor called to see if I would like him to drive me up to choir tonight and just be there to listen, even if I sat away from everyone and recorded. My heart wanted to do this more than anything, but my body rebelled. I told him, I would see how I felt by 3 pm. As soon as the Dayquil wore off, I was back to yucky. He called around 2 to say that he, too, was feeling down.in.the.dumps. And was aparently rescinding on his offer to drive me. That was fine by me. I was ready to tell him "thanks, but no thanks, not going."

So the two of us "sickies" will just chill tonight. Hopefully not getting chills, but rather just veg instead. Going to bed at a decent hour and resting. I have already consumed about a gallon of liquids and my throat still feels dry. Glad I didn't have this last week. That trip was SOMUCHFUN!

Luckily you, the reader, can't get anything contageous while reading this post. I hope your day is happy and you are NOT sick. Now I am going to open the windows and try to smell this wonderful rain.

Onto happier stuff. It's raining. I LOVE the rain.

Oh I *LOVE* the RAIN! Bring it on, I could take this kind of rain every.single.day.

God Bless,
~a

Glory II

Some days just don't turn out as you planned them. Yesterday was just one of those days.
When I heard my sweet Sailor was going to trade his Monday off in order to come with me on Tuesday to choir, I was so thrilled. Having traveled that 300 mile round trip alone for most of the 5 years I have belonged to the choir, I rejoice when he wants to come. It makes for a very long day and I welcome the company. Especially him.

Our plans were to leave early so we could accomplish all the things on our list. Leave at least by 7 am. I requested we vote first. Agreed. As the day dawned, I realized he had let me sleep in, and I awoke by 7:30. He said he wasn't in as much of a rush as he originally had been. We probably would be able to accomplish all the errands.

Number one priority was a new-to-us transmission for the VW Golf he is fixing up as a commuter car. One was located in Orem. He was also looking for a generator as a back-up for the house if electricity went out.

He made me a delicious breakfast. I have been feeling pretty tired lately and cannot explain why. So I decided to make my smoothie with LOTS of spinach, hoping this would perk me up. I waited for result which never came. Without getting graphic, I also realized I had an infection and talked the nurse into letting me leave a specimen and my phone number. I realized that was why I was dragging and had been for several days. I was fighting an infection. After many errands, Subway lunch, voting, trip to the library and one trip back to the house for something forgotten, we were finally on the road.

Along the route is a rest stop, and because of all the liquids I had been consuming before we left, I requested a stop. There in the parking lot was a very friendly yet desperate dog. She reminded us both of Sailor's dog he had once when he was in High School. She was a registered Springer Spaniel he had named Glory Hallelujah. He spent every morning before school training her and she was a very good and obedient dog. Her demise is another story, but suffice to say, after we got married we were living in student housing which didn't allow dogs, so she stayed with the folks on the farm. One Sabbath morning, they came home to find two calves legs laid out on the front porch. She had tasted the placenta and decided this was a great breakfast, albeit her last. Sailor's dad did what any cattle farmer would do, he shot her.

This dog at the rest stop had some Springer Spaniel in her. The freckled nose gave her away. She must have had some lab in her as well, for her coat and ears favored that breed. She was soaked and cold from the previous rainy night. She was so thirsty that when Sailor turned on the water, she drank out of his hands for a very LONG time. She seemed to be a young dog, about 8 months, Sailor thought. There was no place nearby for shelter and she was thrilled to see someone had come to rescue her. She was a very good dog. He had her trained not to jump up on us in a matter of minutes and she already knew the "sit" command. But she acted like she had not seen people for so long, she was beside herself with joy at finding us. The new suckers who might rescue her. We knew she was coyote fodder if we left her behind if she didn't freeze to death first, yet we had no desire to own another dog. We had both decided when Blondie died that she was our last dog. Besides we have 7* dogs next door and that is PLENTY.

*we used to have 9 dogs next door, but they gave one away, and one died.

But our hearts and compassion got in the way of our resolve and eventually after much indecision, we just couldn't drive away and leave her there to the elements. So Sailor helped her into the back of the truck which is covered with a shell.

As soon as we were within phone range, I began to google humane society and animal shelter. You send a text message to "googl" or "46645" with the business name or key word and the town and state. Almost immediately we received three leads: several Sheriff and Police departments that had pound facilities and Humane Society in Salt Lake. We called all three. One answered and said they only stay 3 days then are euthanized. We decided before we sentenced her to a 3-day death sentence, we would rather keep her. I had found one Humane Society in Salt Lake, but just had to leave a message because no one answered. I left my phone number. By this time I had decided I just didn't feel up to the whole choir night and opted to go home after we got the transmission.

But now we had a dog in the back of our truck. When he picked up the transmission, he checked her. She was shivering and wet, so we decided a trip to thrift store for some rags to dry her off and rugs for her to sleep on was necessary. We were on our way when I received a phone call. It was the Humane Society returning my call. She said they would take her. So we turned around and headed to Murray. About that time the Doctor's office called to say that I did indeed have an infection and they would call in a prescription for me. We agreed to a Walgreens that I knew of on my route home.

At the Humane Society they told us that they will keep her for 3 days, and if no one claims her and she has shown good behavior (no aggression or meanness), they send her to surgery. She will be spade and given shots, given time to recover and then put up for adoption. We had decided if no one adopted her, we would tell them to call us. But after all the paper work which surrendered her to their custody, they told us that they couldn't contact us.

It felt right though. It was a pain to drive that extra 30-45 minutes out of our way. I hadn't picked up my prescription and was beginning to feel terrible. But we felt we had done the right thing. It has bought her some time.

Before the Humane Society had called back, we had decided to keep her. She reminded us so much of Glory. Sailor is really great with dogs, he is an excellent trainer and loves working with dogs, but, on the other hand, we also were discussing that we were officially "empty nesters" and that she would rally hamper all our freedom. We had given away the dog house, we had torn down the dog run. As we drove, we discussed our options. We made plans where a new dog run could be. I pictured all our shoes, gloves, and everything else getting chewed up. Dog mines in the grass (there goes the dandelion leaves diet). Buying dog food, worrying about who would watch her when we were away, and all the other responsibilities that come with owning a dog. But we pretty much had made that decision, in a moment of weakness by the rest stop, by inviting her into the back of our truck. Now we must "soldier on."

The clerk asked us if we wanted to keep the leash. We informed him it was Sailor's belt. He came around through the door and put a leash on her and took her to her new life. I hope somebody who likes to hunt (she is a good hunting dog) will come along and give her a happy home. It gives me a new understanding of my neighbor, who cannot turn away a stray. But to drive to Murray or to commit ourselves to 15 years of being a semi-reluctant caretaker, I think we made the right decision.

You Go, Glory II. May you live a long, happy and fulfilling life. Good Dog.
~a

How does this happen?

Yesterday Hobbs was just fine. Last night he greeted us at the truck (he doesn't usually do this) when we got back from the store. I noticed he was holding his tail weird. As I fed him, I petted him. He was really sensitive about his tail and I felt a bump right about where it is bent.
How does a cat break his tail?
Today he just holds it out back, not up. I am sure it hurts to hold it upright. Poor kitty.
hope your day is going better than his.
~a

I've heard of. . .

I've heard of deer trails




cow trails


but I have never heard of







cat trails!

talented pets

This cute video reminded me of my own talented Parakeet, hence the post:
Once upon a time our family had this darling parakeet named Snowflake, who used to say 20 things.
He lived from July 24 1991 to 19 May 2000. He was named Snowflake because his wing feathers were white, but his breast was a most beautiful turquoise blue.
I got him when he was only 1 week out of the nest, which meant he was 5 weeks old. I allowed him to get used to the environment for a week, then I began to talk to him. I gave him a 10 minute lesson every day where I would time myself and just get near his cage and say, over and over, "pretty boy"
We had a neighbor who loved birds and had taught a parakeet to talk, and in November of that year, he babysat him for us while we went to my folks for Thanksgiving. When we got home, he informed us it sounded like he was talking, saying something like "pretty boy or pretty bird."
As we continued to teach him more words, he was quicker at learning. He learned "Merry Christmas" and "Happy New Year" and "Happy Birthday" pretty quickly and was saying them by the holidays.
He also imitated the squeak of the doors and drawers. Just as an aside, I was talking to my son on the phone the other day and opened a drawer, and he asked if I had another bird, he thought he heard one. I told him it was our drawer squeak.
To learn the squeak, he would fly over to the drawer and listen whenever it was opened. So I would oblige and open the drawer and close it back and forth a little ways while he rode on the edge listening to the squeak and learning how to imitate it.
He learned to imitate a sneeze and would make that sound almost as quickly as someone breathed in to sneeze. He would sneeze with you.
I wish I could have gotten these cute things on video. I got a few, but not everything.
He liked my fingernails because I had a shiny polish on them. He could see himself and would land on my fingers, pull on the tip of the nail as though looking in a mirror, since the nails had polish, and begin his repertoire.
His favorite were: I love you, I love you, I love YOOOOUUU. drawing out the last you was done with a change in his tone. He loved to say je t'aime making a whistling sound with the "je"
He liked to whistle the first part of the Andy Griffith's show.
He did wolf whistles and loved to finish it if you would start one. Then he would reverse and whistle the first half and wait for you to finish. He liked to play this game back and forth.
I got him to say "I tot I saw a puddy tat"
here kitty, kitty, kitty

("I love you" came in four languages including english)
jag alskar dig
ich liebe dich
and sometimes he would mix up the last word and say jag alskar dich and ich liebe dig
We even got him to say "No Worries Mate" in an Australian accent.
I guess my forth child was the one I picked on because he shouted her name a lot.

He loved to be in the middle of anything you were doing, whether it was eating spaghetti (he would have orange around his beak and all over his face after one of those feasts) or quilting a quilt. He loved to land on the quilt and pull out one of my straight pins, carry it over to the edge, drop it off then cock his head look at it with one eye as it sat on the floor. He loved the mirror in the bathroom. We left the light on in there so he could talk to himself. There were little kiss marks where he had admired himself.
He loved being with me so much that he would come looking for me. Usually he would not come into my bedroom unless he was riding on my shoulder, but Once when I was sick, I could hear him flying all around the house. I slept all day, and every once in a while, he would come in and check on me, sit on my blanket and sit there, as though he sensed something was wrong.
On the other hand, I would panic if I couldn't find him. I would whistle and call to him. His favorite places were in the bathroom, the computer chair, the sewing room, sometimes on the radio antennae sometimes on the sewing machine. Sometimes he liked to be in D3's room by the mirror, and sometimes on a chair near the hutch. Again he could see himself in the glass. He wasn't fond of flying downstairs or being there, so whenever someone would get him down there, he would find a way back up.
He loved when someone would come in the door and would chirp loudly as if to greet them. If he was in his cage he would scold telling us he wanted out. He always loved being where our hands were. Once he dove into the dishwater. It terrified me, but he spluttered and was OK. I was afraid he would try to go into the boiling water and we kept him caged up when we were doing dangerous things. Once he found me in the bathroom in the shower and came to join me. He was NOT happy about getting wet.
When our oldest left on his mission, I taught him to say
Where's S1?
He learned "come here" because we would say that to him.
He said "I'm Sorry and Its OK"
He also said lots of words all jumbled together without making sense when he was talking to himself in the bathroom. It would go like this:
You're so cute, cute, cute, little birdie, you're so sweet, sweet, sweet! Hi baby, Hi Sweet Pea", and D2's favorite "Hi Pea"
One of my favorites was when D1 helped to teach him to say "Gimme a Kiss!" then he would reach over with his beak and make a kissing sound on your lips. He liked to do this over and over, making a dramatic swoop with his whole body after he would kiss you, and coming back to kiss again and again.
One day I couldn't find him. After looking everywhere, I finally found him in D3's room. There was a basket of dolls on the floor. One had red lips and he was sitting on the front of her and kissing her mouth over and over saying "Gimme a Kiss!" "Gimme a Kiss!" "Gimme a Kiss!" We got that on video.

He got loose twice into the great outdoors. The first time he rode out the door on one of the kid's shoulders. We could hear him but he wouldn't come back down to be caught. I could hear him all over the neighborhood, and I would walk around and call to him and he would answer, but not come. He was gone 27 hours that first time. I was frantic, and went to the local pet shop and told them if they heard of a found bird, to let me know.
Sure enough, she called me the next day in the afternoon. He had flown over a mile away and landed in someone's open shed. The little boy who caught him had convinced his mom to take him to get him a cage and food. The pet shop was where they went to get the supplies. I went to their place and paid the little boy $25 to supply him with his own cage, food and parakeet.
Only in a small town. Had we been in a larger metropolis the new owners would have had a choice of pet stores and I may have never heard of his capture.

The other time was when S1 was heading on his mission. That very morning. He was riding on Sailor's shoulder right out the door when he went to feed the dogs. The Stake President had admonished us to kneel in Family Prayer just before we left for the Mission Training Home, so that would be how our son remembered his family. Instead he remembers the whole family sitting on the roof, flashing mirrors, rattling bags (he loved that sound and couldn't imitate it, so he would come to listen) and calling "here birdie, birdie, birdie"
We finally left him in the Lord's hands and drove away to drop our Missionary off. When we came back, he was in the tree across the street and we were able to catch him by whispering. He couldn't whisper and this drew him very close, beak to lips to hear how I did it, and he was in this position when we put him inside the cage and slammed the door. He had had fun with us just before his capture flying high and diving low near us, singing with delight as he did. He was thirsty in the end and very happy to eat after his long adventure.
He lived 9 years, a very long time for a tiny parakeet. He was a delight and I still really miss him.
PS. My daughter talked to a vet the other day, and she mentioned how much she loved our parakeet. The Vet was very negative about parakeets, because they don't live long and usually die of malnutrition. She told him ours had lived 9 years. He asked her what he had eaten and basically we said everything we did. I guess that is why he lived so long. Little did we know. What we thought was social eating, was really survival.
RIP little Snowflake
a

Miss Fortune

We have had a lot of pets in our lives as a couple. We started out with a mouse named Raynelda Mouse. There was a anchor on Channel 4 who was named Raynelda Muse. We had a dog, Goldie Hahn, a cat named Meow TseTsung and presently an orange striped cat named Hobbs. We had two for a while.

Miss Fortune came into our lives one fall morning lurking under the truck by the trash cans, close to the fence. I have no idea where she came from, but she was one big matt of hair and yowl. She was a long-haired calico, and looked and sounded like she hadn't had a decent meal in a long time. She introduced herself to us with a scolding, telling us that we didn't have any food out back. At first I tried to discourage her by spraying her with water, telling her to go back where she came from, but Sailor has a much more tender heart, and come to find out, as I was chasing with the hose, he was feeding her in the back. So what is a Mudda to do?

She got friendly enough to let us touch her. She was deaf as a post, probably infested with ear mites, no telling how old she was, she had missing teeth. But if you picked her up, you would discover she was nothing but matted hair and bones. She was surprisingly light as a feather for as large as she looked with all that matting.
We figured she wouldn't make it through the winter, and indeed we had a rather severe winter, but every morning, Miss Fortune would yowl at us.

She got so she didn't yowl anymore, and was always there when the food was put out. Hobbs and she didn't much like each other, but she was scrappy enough to hold him at bay where food was concerned.

Hobbs was jealous of Miss Fortune. We had put a large couch cushion out for her, since she had no padding. It had been there before she showed up, but Hobbs was not interested. He preferred to sit up high somewhere or in the shop. We knew Miss Fortune could not jump that high, so we put the couch cushion inside a trash can, tipped on its side with a rug covering most of the opening. When we showed the new bed, she graciously accepted. But when Hobbs saw this, the next thing we knew, Miss Fortune was sitting on the rug and Hobbs was reigning in the trash can.

She seemed contented just to have her daily kibbles and water. Sometimes we would mix a raw egg with some milk, which was lapped up eagerly. I decided at the beginning of the summer I would try to have a pet groomer cut her hair, but had never made an appointment. Last week, I told our neighbor girl, who watches the house when we are gone on vacation, that the next time I went, I would pay her extra to make an appointment and get Miss Fortune groomed.

But that was not to happen. Today, I noticed she was licking herself by the base of her tail, and seemed to have a great abundance of flies bothering her there. I heard her familiar yowl, something I haven't heard in a long time, and went looking. She was hiding down at the bottom of the stairs that leads to the basement, her tail tucked as tight by the door and flies still pestering her. I brought her some kibbles and water, which she ate and lapped gratefully. I figured she would never get back up those stairs. But later I found her hiding behind some boards propped by the back door. She had squished herself as far as she could and was still crying for help.

This was it. I knew it, so I told Sailor.
We loaded her up in a box and put her in the back of the truck. Guns are not allowed in the city, so we drove to the prettiest part of the desert, overlooking the river, and there, with me on the other side of the truck, eyes squeezed shut, ears plugged (coward that I am) saying a prayer for this sad little scrap of life. I heard the shot, and I began to cry. We buried her at sunset in this great "pet cemetery" and drove home.

Sometimes you don't get to choose your neighbors or even your pets, but it is how you choose to treat them that will determine how you are remembered. I am glad my husband has a kind heart.

Phoebe

NOTE: This was written many years ago. We had a long-haired black and white mama cat named Phoebe. She has since died, but I liked this entry in my journal and decided it needed to be part of my blog.

Phoebe is our mother cat. She is skinny and trying to wean the last batch of little kittens. But it is her 1 1/2 year old grandson, Two AM* that I worry about. *Two AM was so named by my cleaver husband who says all black cats are named Midnight, so why not Two AM? That should be even darker, shouldn't it?
He is at this awkward stage in his life. He is now old enough to make improper advances on his grandmother, but still is thinking in his adolescent mind that he should be taken care of and be provided nourishment from her as well. She is getting irritated at all this attention and took to laying on her belly for protection from all seeking food. I heard constant fighting and would look out to find her with ears pricked back in a fighting mode fending herself off from would-be milk-seekers. We finally decided now that she is weaning them, it was time to take her to the vet and be neutered. The vet requires her mammary glands to be dried up, so our plan was to board her for a week to dry her up, then they could do their duty.

But the secretary said to just go ahead and schedule her for surgery on Tuesday and they would make the decision then. So we did. We took her in on Monday afternoon and almost immediately our cell phone rang. The receptionist at the vet's told us she was pregnant. We thought she felt like her tummy was a bit solid, but not large or anything. Good grief. She had just given birth to those kittens, it seemed. They were just barely weaned. I didn't think that was possible.
Now that I think back, I remember some male attention coming her way about two weeks after the kittens were born. I assumed it was some sort of scent she gave off from having just given birth that was being mistaken for an amorous scent, because she was NOT receptive. I assumed she was keeping everyone away and protecting the kittens.
Even the receptionist at the vet's did not believe it. I assumed that since I never saw any encounters, that those guys hanging just around wanted to see the new neighborhood additions and perhaps kill off any future competition. She was constantly defending her little nest of kittens. But somehow, when I wasn't observing she must have had some amorous encounters, because they found 5-6 kittens when they opened her. I felt bad ending those lives like that, but if she was so fertile, that fact would have eventually killed her. She was so skinny from having kittens and feeding them, I couldn't see how she could continue to give birth AND nurse. It was a losing battle for her, and I decided we had better end this Kitten Producing Machine right now.
So now an even skinnier Phoebe recovers behind the counter in the dining room on a cushion and licks her wounds, eats, drinks huge amounts of water and sleeps. The cats outside, meanwhile all greet me with many complaints about the service and food. They miss their milk vending machine and pine away for her without any knowledge that life, as they know it, will never be the same. She is asking several times to go outside, but doesn't protest too loudly about getting pampered inside. The vet told me to wait about two days. All her stitches are on the inside, so she won't need any other special treatment.
It cost us a pretty penny to fix a pregnant cat and get her shots. I look at our little skinny $100 feline and wondered if I should have spent that much on an alley cat. Then I peeked through the curtains at the cruel world outside, awaiting her return and realize that she would be at peace finally, and it made it all worth while.
Post log:
Phoebe and Two AM were both chased off by an orange striped neighbor cat who had been demoted from House cat to Yard Cat by her offended owner when he decided to do his business in her house plants and the final straw, the piano keys! He adopted our yard but NOT our cats. We found Phoebe about 6 months later, dead under the apple tree down the street. She looked perfect. She had been well fed and taken care of. There were no marks on her, as though she had been in a fight or run over by a car. She was just dead. I buried her in my flower garden in the front, because it was the ONLY non-frozen dirt in the yard. We saw Two AM several times in the shop, and he cried to us like he wanted to be friends, but was too frightened to come. No amount of coaxing would convince him to come to us.
Hobbs (the orange cat) was neutered, and recently a very scraggly calico long-haired mother cat began to yell at us from the bushes. Of course, The Sailor took pity and began to feed her, so now she resides in our back yard as well.