Gone, Never Forgotten

This week I had to put my 19 year old cat Frasier down after a long battle with kidney disease. I’d brought him back from the edge several times in the past with doses of subcutaneous fluids and a special diet. But last Friday he started to decline and all of my old tricks weren’t working. By Monday he was obviously feeling bad and all the vet could recommend was more subcutaneous fluids, a heating pad, and an appetite stimulant.

By Monday night he had lost control of his bladder and was unable to walk. He spent the night caterwauling, letting me know he was in pain. Tuesday morning the decision was obvious. He was gone almost before the needle left his skin.

Regulars will recognize Frasier from his frequent blog appearances (notably here.) He had a lot of personality and after nearly 20 years together we had developed quite a friendship. We’d been through a lot together.

I got Frasier from a coworker back when I had a “real” job. He found Frasier at Shelby Park, hiding behind the tires of a parked car. When my coworker saw the car’s owner get behind the wheel and start the engine he ran screaming after her: “Wait! There’s a kitten under your car!” He saved Frasier’s life.

My coworker couldn’t keep him, so I bit. I’ll never forget the day Frasier came home. It was one of those unseasonably warm days in December; I watched through the window as my coworker carried him up the walk to my front door, just a tiny little ball of beige fluff. It’s no exaggeration to say I fell in love with Frasier instantly, through the window, before I’d even met him. My first words to him were, “Hi honey, you’re home!” I named him Frasier Fur after my Christmas tree. We were best friends ever since, despite his penchant for letting me know he was unhappy by peeing on things, like my bed.

Frasier and I went through a lot. Bad boyfriends. A move out of state to a lake in Kentucky ... and a move back to Nashville. Marriage. New cats, new dogs.

My favorite Frasier story involves his soul mate, Sylvie. Sylvie was a little fluffball who came into my life in a very long, convoluted way. The short version is that I got her from Metro Animal Control: she was maybe three weeks old and fit in the palm of my hand. She probably weighed under a pound, and that was mostly fleas and fur. I had to feed her kitten formula by hand her first few weeks with us. She was in bad shape: terrified, traumatized, and desperately needing a friend. Frasier was that friend.

One night I was awakened by a ... sucking sound. That’s the only way I can describe it. I turned on the light and saw Sylvie nursing on Frasier’s boy nipples. It cracked me up. Sylvie “nursed” on Frasier’s belly for months, and if it hurt, he never let on. In fact, she nursed on him so much that his boy nipples swelled and the fur fell off of his stomach. One weekend a neighbor saw Frasier’s belly and asked “oh, is she nursing kittens?” To which I replied, “HE’S nursing ONE kitten!”

Frasier and Sylvie were buddies for the rest of his life. You rarely saw one without the other, even right up to the end. Sylvie misses her friend, I can tell, and I suspect like any long-bonded couple she will be meeting him on the rainbow bridge soon.

I don't have too many Frasier pictures in a digital format, but here are a few:

Frasier On The Porch

Frasier & Sylvie

He Thinks He'll Keep Her

Wednesday News Fast

Going to try to stay away from the chattering classes today. So I bring you feline adorableness instead. Sylvie and Frasier have been snuggle bunnies for over 15 years; this is one marriage that will last:

Keyboard Caturday

It's a Keyboard Cat Christmas!

Etta's Newest Trick

So cute ...

More Sunday Cat Blogging

Regular blogging to resume tomorrow, I promise. I just thought this picture of Ella (on Mr. Beale's lap) and Frasier illustrated the new feline dynamic in our house very well.

...and then baby bear said, "Someone is sitting in MY bed and that someone is STILL THERE!"

Sunday Cat Blogging

Ella is fascinated by the underwater programming on HDNet:

Caturday

It's been a busy past few days and haven't had time to blog. But I did have time to capture Etta doing her new favorite thing: crawling under the dining room tablecloth. Etta is fierce, but she's also adorable.

She's also a perpetual motion kitten, which is why this photo is out of focus:

Caturday

Laundry day ... Etta kills 'em, we wash 'em ...

She-Devil

As I mentioned in my earlier posts, right before we went out of town we were adopted by two adorable kittens. One kitten is still adorable; the other is the spawn of Satan:



Yesterday morning I stumbled downstairs at 5:30 a.m. for my morning jolt of caffeine to find the house a veritable crime scene. As in: blood splattered everywhere. And I do mean everywhere. It looked like someone had a “Psycho” moment while we were fast asleep.

I was able to track down the source of the bloodbath: our poor kitty Como, who is declawed and basically defenseless (he came to us that way, we would never do such a thing). He had two deep lacerations on his front leg. The culprit? I’m quite sure it’s Etta, the psycho kitten who now rules our house with an iron paw. She’s a thug, streetwise and fearless. And she will. cut. you. up.

Free to good home: adorable white kitten. Possibly demon possessed. Spayed, has all shots. Needs exorcism.

Home Again

We are back from our travels and came home to find our new kittens fat, healthy and happy! Our friends who took care of the animals and house while we were gone did an excellent job. Kittens have recovered from their surgeries and their personalities are really coming out. Etta (short for Julietta), right, is feisty and hisses at everyone (even me). The other cats give her that raised-eyebrow "you've gotta be kidding me" look. Ella (sorta short for Little Sister), left, is the mellow kitten, snuggling with everyone and just being your basic love bundle.

And let me take a moment here to express how profoundly the weather in Nashville sucks.

That is all.

Hippie Heaven

I'm in Hippie Heaven, and yes, the weather is absolutely incredible. I realize this isn't the best photo, it was just a quickie I took before lunch. But trust me when I say I feel so sorry for you poor folks in that sweat lodge known as Tennessee right now. I already told Mr. Beale I hoped he packed a crowbar because he was going to need it to get me back to Nashville.

Actually, packing a crowbar wouldn't have done much good as American Airlines lost his bag. I keep saying American Airlines sucks and yet we still fly this airline, which is ridiculous. So really we have no one to blame but ourselves. Anyway, his bag finally showed up a day and a half late, just in time for us to leave Victoria, B.C. and move on to our next destination.

[ADDING .... Caught a "travel expert" on one of the morning news shows advising people to FedEx their luggage four days before departure. And I ask you: who is this solution practical for, save Federal Express? I'm sorry, I have two of some things but I don't have two of everything. I don't have two jackets and two pairs of running shoes and two sets of my favorite jeans and also if your travels involve more than one destination -- we are making three stops this week -- then really you haven't saved yourself much. On top of which, it's not like FedEx never lost a package. Just my luck our bags would end up on that island with Tom Hanks in "Cast Away." And he'd be the dufus who didn't open that package and find everything he needed for a 10 year exile in the Pacific. No, I have an idea: how about instead of making people pack and ship their bags a week ahead of time, how about you people in the airline business figure out how to not lose our fucking bags, mm'kay? How about that?]

Anyway, it's absolutely incredible where we are, and as usual I'm saying we need to move here. I'm even looking at real estate info. But no fear, I do this all the time. My threats are empty.

Four days before leaving on vacation we were adopted by an adorable little white and gray kitten. She'd been hanging around the bushes outside our house and I finally was able to lure her in with a plate of food. She was seriously malnourished and also very, very friendly: a trip to the vet confirmed that she was in heat. Ruh-roh. So four days before we left for our trip I had to schedule her to be neutered spayed so that we didn't have even more adorable white and gray kittens on our doorstep in a few months.

Anyway, pre-surgery we were keeping her separate from the other animals on our screened porch when Mr. Beale looks up and says, "Oh my god, there's another one." Sure enough, our little kitty whom we'd named Etta has a sister. Smaller, scrawnier, and way more active. So now we had twice the fun, and twice the vet bills. Here they are, and if they look a little woozy it's because this picture was taken after they'd both been neutered spayed :



We were prepared to adopt Etta but as many of you know, we have a lot of cats and dogs. Adding a second kitten is not in the cards. If anyone would like to adopt the kitty we are calling Little Sister, please give me a shout-out. She's had her shots, is negative for feline leukemia, and has been neutered spayed. She's also cute as the dickens.

In the meantime, we have two very wonderful and undertanding friends housesitting for us while we embark on our travels, taking care of the dogs and cats and making sure Etta and Little Sister assimilate into the family.

And that's the latest from .... where are we again?

Caturday

Because sometimes you just need to watch a cat with a paper bag on its head.

Caturday

Busy weekend, so Frasier (left) and Sylvie will have to handle the blog for me today. They love their wonderfully soft new blanket Mom brought home from Montana; they've already puked on it once!

Busted!

I've been too busy to work up a blog post. But I took this picture of Sylvie and Frasier on the porch this evening and I thought it was hilarious. They've been snuggle buddies for over 10 years now, but I love how they both always get this guilty look on their faces when I catch them in the act.

Caturday

The cats love open porch weather! But they hate it when mom pulls out the camera. Jolene watches the birds, chipmunks and other critters scampering around outside. It's like Cat-TV.



Here Jolene revels in her adorableness. Work it, girlfriend!

Caturday

Jolene revels in her adorableness, and demands we all do the same.

Baby Pictures

Going through some old photos this weekend we found one of Quinn's baby pictures. He's adorable, isn't he?

Quinnie is our kitty who now has a nasty skin rash and must wear baby clothes. This picture was taken right when we got him from the shelter.

Some babies never grow up!

Caturday Quinnie Pants

Quinn got a new onesie! As you can see, he is not amused. A little pissed off, actually.

In truth, he’s sorta embarrassed.



But he’s taking it all in good humor. Poor fella.

(For those of you who don’t know the story of Quinn and why he wears pants, read here. Pants must be worn until his allergy clears, which we’ve now learned can take up to a year.)

Human: 1; Feline: 2

So, yesterday while live-blogging the TVA hearings one of the cats started acting up, picking fights with another cat, making a lot of noise and basically being a giant pest. So I picked him up and threw him outside.

He was not pleased.

First he climbed up on the roof above my office and proceeded to howl at the top of his lungs, “poor pitiful me I’m stuuuuck heeeeeelp me.” Being the superior species with the giant brain and the wiggly-waggly thumbs I see this for what it is: a blatant attempt to make the human do ridiculous things like struggle with a ladder or try to climb a tree. I’ve been here before. I’m not a sucker. So I told him to knock if off, get off the roof on his own, or stay outside and freeze his tail off. He glared at me in defiance.

I went to lunch, and when I came back he was still on the roof. When he howled some more, I ignored him. About 20 minutes later he was at the door asking to be let in.

Success! I win! Ha ha you furry devil, I say. Just try to beat my superior intellect, sucka!

Alas, my celebration was premature. Cat promptly gorged himself on food, then vomited it all over my router. Okay, I said, we’re even. Let’s call it a draw, kiss and make up, eh?

No can do, human, was his response. And then he took a giant whizz all over the dog bed.

The problem is that I had forgotten the secret weapon in every feline arsenal. Oh, the humanity.

Which just goes to show, in the battle of Human vs. Feline, Feline always always always wins.

Friday Cat Blogging!

Moses puts the ol' kitten death grip on Julius. Julius knows it's all in fun, but he'll swat Moses away with a mighty paw when he's tired of these shenanigans -- in 5, 4, 3, 2 ....

And by the way, this post should not be construed as an endorsement of Scoop Away. We don't use the stuff.

We just use the plastic bin to hold our cat food. Reduce, reuse, recycle, y'all.

And Happy Friday!