Friday, March 10, 2006 , late at night

Manipulation

The little emotional terrorists, Bing and Scampi, were extra-clingy all night.  They sat on laps, they yawned, they cuddled, they gazed up adoringly, they cooed and purred and made squeakly little sounds like “bip” and “eeep”, and then, when we thought they could do no more cuteness, they brought out their biggest weapon—Scampi’s paw pads.  Look if you must, but try not to stare too long, lest you have trouble pulling away:

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Posted by Leigh-Ann on 03/10 at 11:07 PM
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Thursday, March 09, 2006 , lunch time

Moment of truth

When we first took in our foster kittens, we had many people express interest in adopting them when they were old enough.  As the kittens grew, though, one by one those potential adopters lost interest or had other priorities.  It started to look like we might end up keeping all the kittens ourselves, which wasn’t our original plan (and actually wasn’t even conceivable to me when they came to live with us), but they assimilated themselves into our household very nicely, and I found that caring for seven cats really wasn’t much different than caring for four cats.  I actually look forward to watching TV in the evening because it means “kitten time”—they come out of the woodwork to play and snuggle with us, and it’s just wonderful.  I can truly say that I don’t have a “favourite”, either—I love them all for different reasons, Tie for his affection, Bing for her adventurous spirit, and Scampi for his “little old man within”.  Last week I reached the point where I felt good about having them spend their lives with us, even though it would affect my abilities to take in any more older cats.

Yesterday, we bumped into one of the people who’d originally expressed interest in adopting one of the kittens.  We hadn’t seen her in weeks and didn’t have her phone number, so we just assumed she had also changed her mind about adoption.  Well, she was working yesterday, and as soon as we walked into her store she immediately ran over to us and asked if we still had the kittens.  She said she still wanted to adopt one, and wasn’t even put off when I said that because she works two jobs, I’d feel more comfortable if she adopted two kittens so they’d have each other for company.  We had the kittens in the car because we’d just come back from the vet, so she came out to see them, and I was somewhat impressed by the fact that she didn’t really care what they looked like—she just trusted us that they had good personalities, and that was her main concern.  I’ve been reading horror stories on the Tails and Tales blog about people who shop for cats as if they’re shopping for furniture (i.e., it’s all about what the cat looks like and not about personality), so I was happy that looks weren’t an issue.  The woman agreed that she’d keep the cats indoors, that she’d provide them with a cat tree or two for them to play on and scratch, and that she’d have them spayed and neutered in four weeks.  She also agreed to give the cats back to us if she couldn’t keep them for some reason.  We’ve known this person for quite a long time on a professional basis and I know she’s responsible and easy-going, and I think the kittens would be great company for her.  I’ve honestly got no qualms about letting her adopt, but I have to admit I’m having a tough time dealing with the reality of letting go.

When I first started fostering the kittens, I thought about them as “someone else’s cats”, and that helped me accept that they’d be leaving us eventually.  I was saddened by the thought of it but prepared for it.  Since then we’ve had a couple of ups and downs with adopters changing their minds, and it’s been an emotional roller-coaster of wondering if they’re staying or going.  Now, just when I’d finally accepted they’d be staying, it looks like two of them might be going, and I feel very conflicted by it.  I’m happy that we’d be keeping one kitten, Tie, because he gets along so well with our adult cats.  However, I also feel sorry for him and wonder if he’ll miss his little playmates.  As for the two who could be going, I can’t help but anthropomorphize a bit and worry that they’ll think I’ve abandoned them, or that they’ll miss us, or that they’ll miss their brother, etc.  Gah, the things I put myself through!  I know the right thing to do is to let them be adopted, because it would leave us space to adopt a needy adult cat if one came our way in the future.  However, it’s awfully difficult to prioritize them that way, or to even rationalize why I feel an obligation to some nameless, homeless cat I’ve never met.  I truly love our three little kittens and we have a unique bond that I might never have with another cat, and a large part of me doesn’t want to deny myself the opportunity to continue enjoying that.  I don’t know what it’s like to raise kittens to adulthood, especially siblings who sleep wrapped up together, paws wrapped around each other.  I don’t want to give that part away.

So you see, I’m quite torn.  I’ve got a day or two to decide, but will have to live with the decision I make, perhaps literally.  It’s a tough one.  Future foster kittens may have to have guaranteed homes found by other parties before I’m able to care for them, because while I love looking after the kittens, I’m having trouble shouldering the adoption responsibilities.

Posted by Leigh-Ann on 03/09 at 01:29 PM
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Not funny

I feel sort of silly for getting upset about a comic strip, but here I go anyway.

Our local “prize” of a newspaper, the Las Vegas Review Journal, recently dumped a comic strip I enjoyed, Sherman’s Lagoon, and replaced it with a new strip called, Over the Hedge.  It’s apparently hot stuff right now as Dreamworks (makers of “Shrek”) has made a movie based on the strip which will be released in May.  Thes strip itself is described as “freshly skewed look at suburban living from the perspective of the animals who lived there first”, and while that sounds fine, something about the comic seemed “off” to me when I first read it.  The animals in the strip keep referring to their human neighbours as “tree huggers”, especially the humans who seemed concerned about habitat issues.  The “tree huggers” are of course fat and slovenly and protrayed as rather stupid.  The animals—a couple of raccoons, turtles, and a squirrel—are constantly complaining about the interference of humans in their lives.  Rather than protesting their loss of habitat from urban sprawl, though, these animals are angry because “the tree huggers” are trying to deny them things like plasma television and gas barbeques.  I understand how the premise is supposed to be funny, and sure, I agree that raccoons probably do love having access to the dumpsters at McDonalds.  However, I think it’s pretty creepy that there’s an entire comic strip devoted to trying to convince us that wild animals just LOVE habitat loss, and that they hate the humans who are concerned for the environment.  I’ve seen three strips now and haven’t found anything funny about them, I just think they’re offensive to those of us who do feel saddened and responsible when we see a dead rabbit at the side of the road, or a turtle crushed when trying to cross a freeway.  Normally I love a good sarcastic comic strip, but something about “Over the Hedge” bothered me from the first moment I saw it, and then I found this notation on their website: “Over the Hedge won the Religious Communicators Council’s 1998 Wilbur Award for “excellence in the communication of religious issues, values and themes.”  Well, I guess that reinforces my suspicions.  I know there’s a small group of evangelicals who are actively working to protect the environment, but for the most part I think the religious-right feels the earth is here for them to take from and use up as they please.  A comic strip like “Over the Hedge” just reinforces that idea, and tries to tell readers not to feel guilty about environmental changes—the animals just *love* what we’re doing to them!  I can’t wait for the “Over the Hedge” strip which portrays a wild duck being roasted on a spit while smiling and proclaiming how toasty warm he feels and how he loves working on his tan.

Posted by Leigh-Ann on 03/09 at 01:08 PM
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Monday, March 06, 2006 , late afternoon

Teenagers

I haven’t posted too many kitten photos lately because frankly, they’re in an “awkward” stage.  They no longer pose cutely for photos, and when they do sit still, I end up pictures of the kitten-equivalent of sullen teenagers.  Look, this is what I mean:

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Bing is giving me her best “get out of my room” look in that picture, and then below, I caught a shot of Scampi about to throw a gang sign.  If there was a thought-bubble above his head, it would say, “Yo, yo, yo”:

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They’re still adorable in personality, I’m just having a temporary problem finding a photo which conveys that.  All the adult cats love them except for Chelsea, who finds them OFFENSIVE no matter what they’re doing.  They use their scratching posts properly and have good litterbox habits, and they enjoy eating whether the food is in their bowls, in the adult cats’ bowls, or on our dinner plates.  They’re also quite fearless, which is a bit unfortunate, as they just wander into the master bedroom without a thought, and then end up cornered by the little dogs, Phoenix and Cricket.  Phoenix and Cricket are easily dissuaded by the adult cats with just the wave of a paw with claws, but the kittens don’t know this and their strategy is to “play dead” if Phoenix corners them.  I don’t think Phoenix wants to hurt them, but she does attempt to “mouth them”, and they make no effort to defend themselves.  I don’t relish the thought of taking Phoenix to the vet with a scratched eye or bloody nose, but really, I’d like the kittens to smack her once or twice so she’ll back off.  It will also be good when the kittens have grown a bit larger, because I think that will make them seem more like “real cats” to Phoenix, and I’m sure she’ll lose interest in them.  All in all, they’re good kids… it’s fun to have cats which are so affectionate and loving.  They have their third and final set of vaccinations on Wednesday, then we’ll be counting the days until they’re large enough to be spayed and neutered.

Posted by Leigh-Ann on 03/06 at 05:45 PM
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Saturday, March 04, 2006 , late evening

It’s all good

Well, it’s not all good, as the Leafs lost yet again and it looks as though they won’t make the playoffs.  Other things are good, though.  My arm is fine—it’s black and blue, but hurts very little and the few open wounds have healed rapidly.  I realized after a bit of thinking that if Dante had truly bitten me I would definitely have ended up in the emergency room, so what he did is probably better described as “grabbing” me.  He’s very large and very strong, so his firm “grab” is enough to cause a lot of bruising, but an actual “bite” would have been very damaging.  It makes me feel better about my relationship with him, as I do believe that when he realized what he was doing, he was willing to let go of me on just a verbal command.  He’s been very well-behaved since, and I’ve tried to be diligent about making him follow a command before he’s given any treats or allowed in his crate.  There are no more, “treats for just being cute”.

I think my bruising is barely noticeable, but Flippy says it’s more obvious from a distance.  We went out to Target today to pick up a few things, and the cashier was just horrified at my arm and asked me what happened, so I told her.  She immediately started to tell me how bad it was that my dog bit me, and how lucky I was that it wasn’t another person, and how I should go to the hospital and get shots and antibiotics, etc.  I appreciated her concern, but really, it’s not the end of the world.  One time in almost six years my dog snapped at me, and he did it after provocation.  He’s never been aggressive with the vet or any strangers (he loves the people who infrequently come to do yardwork), and he’s a wonderful patient when I’m doing things like cleaning his sore ears, checking his post-surgical incisions, or examining between his toes for lumps.  I can bathe him and clip his nails and clean his ears and there’s never, ever been a problem.  I don’t want him labeled as “dangerous”, although I’ll accept that he’s moody and can be possessive if not approached properly.  I would never recommend him to be around small children.  There are many dogs who fit that description, though, and it doesn’t make them bad dogs.  If anyone else asks about my arm I’ll tell them Flippy hit me, heh.

There’s been a definite lack of kitten photos lately, but that’s because they don’t stand still long enough for me to take pictures.  They alternate between being cute and annoying, and insist on trying to stand on our plates while we eat dinner.

Posted by Leigh-Ann on 03/04 at 10:36 PM
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Friday, March 03, 2006 , late evening

Dante And The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

If you are related to me, you must either stop reading this now, or you must put your hand over your heart and solemnly swear to never repeat what you’re about to read to my mother.

Okay, are we good now?

Flippy and I were at a convention on Wednesday and Thursday, and we attended a seminar each day.  The scheduling was unfortunate, as our Wednesday class ended late in the day, but our Thursday class started at 8am, and in-between we had to tackle Las Vegas traffic in both morning and evening rush hour.  We were home for fewer than 12 hours between Wednesday evening and Thursday morning, which was pretty stressful on the pets.  Thursday I was torn about what to do with Eli and Dante, as Dante is crated when we’re not home, and I didn’t know if he’d want to be crated for six hours more after sleeping in his crate through the night.  I decided it was better to crate him than to leave him outside, though, and made sure he was up for an hour to “do his business” before we left in the morning.  He didn’t eat or drink anything that I noticed before we left at about 6:30 am.  Unfortunately, our day ended up being very long, and it was a full 8 hours before we dragged ourselves back home again.  I wasn’t too worried, as Dante will sometimes sleep in his crate for as long as 12 or 13 hours at a time (he loves his crate, and I just let him out when he asks), but when we got inside he was standing up and had peed all over his bed.  It was just a massive amount of urine, soaking his entire bed, and making me think that he hadn’t peed at all when he’d first gotten up in the morning.  I felt really badly as I could tell he was upset, too, but luckily we had a new dog bed in the garage and I was able to just throw his “pee bed” out in the trash.  Still, he spent the night very subdued and acted depressed.

I was obviously pretty tired, too (traffic is exhausting… how do you people do it?), and when I put him to bed on Thursday night I was feeling sort of groggy.  I put his new bed in his crate, then put him in and closed the door.  I then realized I’d forgotten to put his crate tray back in (I’d taken it outside to wash it off), so I went outside to get it, and opened Dante’s crate again so I could replace the tray.  He came out, I started to pull out his new bed, and he made a grab for the chewable Rimadyl which I’d left out for Eli.  Something in my head went on auto-pilot and I thought, “That medication isn’t his and it could be harmful to him”, even though I know it’s just Rimadyl, but I think I’d read the warning label so many times about Rimadyl being lethal to cats that my main thought was, “Don’t let any animal eat the Rimadyl except Eli”.  That was really dumb.  I grabbed at Dante’s collar to stop him from getting the Rimadyl, knowing he still wasn’t in the best mood about his day, and he whipped around and went totally ballistic with me, the way he does with Eli over food about once a year, but in a way he’s never done with me in the five+ years we’ve had him.  I’m totally blank on the next two or three seconds, but we ended up a few feet away from his crate, me standing, and him with his jaws around my left forearm.  At this point I remember everything, and I was very conscious of not wanting to back down to him because I didn’t want this to be the start of any dominance issues.  I didn’t feel in “danger”, and his mouth was around my arm but the situation wasn’t escalating, so I yelled “No!” at him about four times until he let go.  I then told him to “go outside!” and although he reluctantly went out the door, he did go.  I put the panel in the doggie door so he couldn’t come back inside, at which point Flippy came downstairs with a questioning, “Is everything okay?”

I wasn’t sure if everything was okay or not.  My arm hurt.  I thought it hurt in a bruised kind of way, but then I looked at it and it was bleeding quite a bit—I later found some of my blood outside on the patio, I guess from where I closed the door after sending Dante out.  I tried to be very calm as I ran my arm under water for a few minutes to flush it out, and then we got a towel and an ice pack to wrap around it (nothing will make you want to go on a diet more than seeing little globs of yellow fat protruding from your arm, blech).  After a few minutes I put the ice pack down, let Dante inside, and put him in his crate again.  He was fine, and seemed to me to be submissive and “sad”.  Flippy and I finished up things like loading the dishwasher and making tea, all while I had the ice pack on my arm, and with her insisting I go sit down or something.  I think I was totally encompassed by adrenaline and endorphins, though… I was crying, not out of fear, but out of anger at myself for being complacent around Dante (who’s always been headstrong, but never aggressive towards us), and for not being sensitive towards Dante’s edginess after his bad day.  I was also very worried that my bite was bad enough to require a trip to the emergency room, where I wondered how much information I’d have to give about the bite, and whether or not Dante could be punished in some way for it by animal control.  I don’t know what the laws are, here—I envisioned being forced to tell animal control what dog bit me, of having him taken in for “assessment”, etc.  I was very, very scared that my own carelessness would result in Dante being harmed.  Luckily our quick action with the flushing/ice combo made a big difference, because while I have an amazing bruise (about two inches wide, around the circumference of my upper forearm) and a fairly deep laceration (like a tear), my arm feels good today and there’s minimal swelling.  I have a bit of seepage from the laceration but it’s sealing up on its own—last night it looked like it would need stitches.  I’ve been putting antibiotic cream on it, and with no hot spots or any signs of infection, I think I got lucky and it will heal up on its own.  Oh, but it’s not pretty.  It will be 70 degrees here for the next few days but if I go out I’ll need to wear long sleeves.

Dante has been a very good boy today in the aftermath.  He seems contrite, he’s been very “cuddly”, and he’s voluntarily been sitting and waiting for commands.  I’ve made sure to run him through some “sits” today before doing things like having treats or even going in his crate, and he’s been great about it.  He’s always been a tough dog to work with—he’s an unusual breed which still has a lot of “wild dog” running through it, and we’ve noticed that he runs more on instinct than our other dogs do.  If it’s cold outside, he’ll dig himself a den in the yard rather than come in—that’s how strong his instincts still are.  We’ve always known that he’s more like a wild animal than a regular dog, but we try to respect that, and he’s been giving training and good daily routines to try to keep order.  As he weighs about 100 lbs., I’ve always been very conscious of maintaining a leadership role with him, and he’s never been fed from the kitchen table, allowed up on the sofa, etc.  Last night I just didn’t keep my awareness up around him, and given his tendency to be possessive of things, I should have known better than to try to take a treat away from him suddenly.  He’ll surrender food in a controlled environment, but me grabbing at his collar suddenly didn’t do anything but set off his instinct to guard his food.  I take full responsibility for what happened, and I’m lucky that the lesson I learned wasn’t more damaging.

So, I’ve got my first official dog bite, and I hope it never happens again.  It will make me a better and more alert owner, I hope.  I notice it seems to have triggered my fibromyalgia, as I’m sure the sudden shock wasn’t good for my already stressed system.  I can barely move my neck and shoulders tonight, and my entire body aches—everywhere, it seems, but where I was bitten.  I’ll be spending most of the weekend sleeping, if you need me.

Just for the record, he’s current on his rabies and I’m current on tetanus, so I think we’ve got all that covered.  And seriously, I wrote this out because I think it’s a good cautionary tale for other pet owners, but I thought about keeping the incident to myself.  Do not tell my mother or she’ll worry for an eternity.

Posted by Leigh-Ann on 03/03 at 10:30 PM
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Wednesday, March 01, 2006 , evening

Shameless

I was trying to put the pets to bed early tonight, as we have to be down on the Strip tomorrow morning for an 8:am seminar (yawn).  Both Eli and Dante, the big dogs, were outside in the backyard.  I noticed Eli was just getting into position to poop, so I thought, “Okay, good—Eli can finish pooping, and I’ll get Dante in here and give him his meds before bed.  By then Eli will be finished, and then I can finish pilling her as well.”  So, I opened the back door and gestured to Dante to come inside, thinking Eli would ignore me because hey, she’s in mid-poop, all crouched over.  The next thing I know, ELI runs past Dante into the house, trying to get the tiny dog biscuits I’m holding in my hand.  Her tail is sticking up a bit, because out of her butt there’s a big honking piece of poop halfway out.  I yell at Eli to get outside (something along the lines of, “Oh my god, are you crazy?  Get your filthy ass outside!”), but she ignores me and keeps trying to push up against me to get the little dog biscuits I was holding.  I finally had to go outside, put the cookies on the ground as a bribe, then go back inside and quickly block the doggie door to force her to finish pooping.  Which she did.  Look, I love to eat too, but I draw the line somewhere.

Posted by Leigh-Ann on 03/01 at 09:47 PM
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