No post?

Abishag and I are baffled. We wrote a special memo about Global Cat Day, October 16, 2020, and thought we set it to ‘post.’ But – nothing happened. It wasn’t there the next morning.

We apologize. We’ll have to do something for National Cat Day coming up October 29. Maybe Abishag will wear a party hat. And whales will fly.

Abishag’s list of books to write

Biography of A Mouse

How to Hunt Moles

Team Mole-Hunting Championships

Stealth Is The Best Hunting App

Music Is A Necessity

Autobiography of Me

“Abishag? Are you going to write ebooks or print?”

“Does it matter?”

“Well, ebooks generally can be published much more quickly.”

“Good. Ebooks it is.”

“Abishag?”

“What?”

“Are you going to dictate your books or use my keyboard?”

“Me miss a chance to boss a hooman around? Silly. Of course you get to take dictation.”

“You do know I type rather slowly. Or I can type really fast if you don’t mind lots of mistakes.”

“Nope. No mistakes.”

“OK. When do we start?”

“It’s too late to start tonight. See you tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Six pound, 10-ounce terrorist

Got to the veterinarians’ yesterday and found I’d have to retrieve my cat myself – barely six months old, and not weighing even seven pounds, Sis (nee Cisco) had backed down the entire tech staff. She was scared, in pain from being spayed, and was NOT coming out of her cage with all those dogs around. Revenge has claws and knows how to use them.

It didn’t help that in her reaction to the caged dogs’ presence, Sis had bared her three-inch fangs and hissed like a furious cobra. I didn’t blame anyone for not reaching their hand into her cage. (I had a few hesitant moments myself.)

But it ended well; we talked her into being a little calmer and after I carefully gathered the towel from her carrier around her tiny body, she let me pick her up gently and place her in the carrier for the trip home.

Above is her photo during breakfast this morning, when she was telling me all the details. I confess, I’ve got some (guilty) pride in her not backing down, no matter the odds or the size of her fellow patients.

You’re one tough little cookie, Sis.

 

In the interim

Abishag seemed to be feeling poorly again, so off we went to the vets’ last week. (Reelfoot Animal Hospital has the best doctors and front desk people anywhere!) Dr. Crews checked her over – heart sounded good, lungs okay, arthritis noted, no cataracts after all (!) but he was concerned with her weight loss. She’s severely underweight.

So now, after a week or so of a high protein supplemental food, lots more attention than she’d been getting, and being back home upstairs – with no room mate – and her music … Abishag is doing better. She looks as if she’s gained an ounce or two already! She’ll have to have blood work and tests in the future, but for now, the two of us are encouraging each other to eat, enjoying long conversations once again, and making plans.

She may be sweet sixteen, but as Mehitabel always said, “There’s a dance in the old gal yet.”

A demon strikes again

Four or five of the Kibble Kids had romped off with Uncle Fred to the far perimeter of the farm, happy to be in the cool grass after a terribly hot day. The mockingbirds were diving, swooping down to try and peck them, and I was threatening the birds with a stick and equally futile words.

Sundown was approaching. Too early for owls to be hunting, and too late for hawks to be out. But just the right time, apparently, for an evil from hell to be watching and waiting a chance to snatch a five-month-old kitten. Big, brave coyote, to pick on a kitten I could still pick up in one hand.

I shouldn’t have walked back from the perimeter, thinking they’d follow me; they were having too much fun jumping, pouncing on and chasing each other. The mockingbirds kept me busy as I tried to retrieve each kitten, and Uncle Fred was outrunning or outwitting the dive bombers most of the time. I got everybody into the building in which they spend the night … and then realized Annie hadn’t come with us.

We’re all still in shock after the loss on Monday, July 27. Animals grieve too, don’t let anyone tell you they don’t. Fred hunted for Annie until dark, just as I did, and Uncle Pete kept watch all night for a tiny little all-black body to slip into the yard and curl up with her wooden pillow.

Annie Rose, you were named for your grandma, Mama Rosa, and for Annie Oakley. You were a very personable little character, with legs a bit shorter than your brothers and sisters – just like your father, Vader, from the neighboring farm. We on this side hope and pray you’re at the Rainbow Bridge together, and we expect to see you again someday. God bless, sweetheart. We love you.

Annie Rose Oakley: Feb. 25 – July 27, 2020

 

Abishag’s illness; then a tornado?

Abishag had been unable to eat much the first days of July. (May have been the heat and humidity.) She got a bit better last Saturday, eating normally and back to being philosophical.

Which philosophy came in quite useful, as either an EF-1, or an EF-2 tornado, or a very destructive straight line wind hit on Sunday.

My opinion is it was a tornado brushing past, strewing debris and uprooting large trees like the one in the photo.

Abishag was unflappable during and after the storm, even when the power went out. I had to take my cue from her – couldn’t let a little elderly black cat out-brave me, could I?