Kitty Cat Chaos

 - Long cat post incoming  - 

It is not lost on me that I’m doing an entire post about cats right here as I close in on my thirty-sixth birthday. While I’ve never seen any realistic reasons to scoff at a “cat lady”, the closer I become to earning the title, the more concerned I am that I’m not seeing what’s happening, that perhaps there is some strange reality to “cat ladies” and I’m falling into that fuzzy, comforting pit. But maybe my concern neutralizes the cats? Awareness counts for something, right?

This is all to say that we’ve acquired a third house cat. Now to recap, we never set out to have any house cats. Did we both grow up with plural numbers of cats in our homes? Yes. Do we both enjoy a biscuit-making, fuzzy friend? Of course! Did I secretly want one around? Absolutely. But I’m reiterating that we were normal. 

Then we bought our house and found sickly Ferguson in the bushes. 

The progression of thoughts was:

We can’t feed him.

Ok, we can feed him but he can’t come inside.

Fine, he can come inside but he’s not staying the night.

He can stay the night but we aren’t getting a litter box.

He was neutered and treated for fleas shortly after. Not long into his tenure as a house cat, he brought his girlfriend around. We know her now as Nora. Nora was a nervous wreck so we didn’t have to have conversations about her coming in, because she wouldn’t get anywhere close to me. 

Six months later she was sleeping inside.

Then Brett went out and bought a litter box because Nora tinkled on a pile of dirty laundry. I saw it as a one-off accident and was not ready to commit to a litter box but those cats immediately loved the sandy digging opportunities and then we couldn’t take it away. He won’t acknowledge it, but the litter box is Brett’s fault. Ferguson and Nora go on to become and bonded pair and it is genuinely wonderful to watch them care for each other. Brett won’t acknowledge it, but he hustles over when I say, “Quick, go look at the cats!” 

Meanwhile, outside, Ned showed up. 

The broken arm made us sad so we fed him. He also had fleas and a sizable head wound - we thought he was going to die soon, so it was the least we could do. Ned would show up with a new life threatening injury every week or so and we marveled at his ability to beat the odds. Then he brought his girl, Clara, around. 

We wouldn’t have fed her but she caught us feeding Ned once and then sat on the stoop and waited for her plateful. When it didn’t come, she began arriving with Ned so that she could eat his breakfast. He needed the fuel to recover, so fine, we put out a second scoop. 

And then somehow, this other cat, Stacy, found out about the sweet deal taking place in the driveway and she just pushed right on in. She was bossy about it too. 

At this point, Brett and I had to have a family meeting. “We can’t feed anymore cats. They are multiplying.” 

“I agree.”

“Good.”

“But…”

“No.”

“It’s too late. They’re expecting it. How to you look them in their little faces and tell them to starve!?”

We agreed that Stacy was the last cat I could feed. Brett even had the nerve sometimes to not feed any of them even though they showed up on time for breakfast and dinner everyday. Not too long into her tenure as a driveway grifter, I found Stacy dead in the backyard. Stacy was my favorite of the strays but the upside was that we seemed 

one-less-cat crazy. 

Just as we settled into our two indoor and two outdoor cat reality, Ned and Clara had to go start a family, and that’s how we wound up with Cameron and Barkley. 

Look at the family having breakfast.

Back inside the house, Ferguson and Nora were living the dream. I’m honored to say that both of them sleep next to me (Ferguson usually on my head) and come to me for cuddles and love-time. Earning trust from Nora is one of the more satisfying accomplishments in my life. (No need to read into that.) The two of them would play together after breakfast, nap in the sunbeams on the floor in our bedroom, and then spend the afternoon outside, before coming back in for dinner and cuddles. 

Clara kept Cameron and Barkley tucked away for months and when she finally brought them around to see us, they'd all stay out of petting range. At some point, maybe a few months, Barkley stopped turning up with the rest of the family. We have assumed the worst based on his status as a tiny kitten. Again, sad, but one less cat? At about six months old, Cameron’s curiosity about me got the better of him and he and I became friends. Clara watched all of our interactions from a safe distance. Six or seven more months of driveway meals brings us to present day.

In a positive turn of events regarding our neighborhood status as “that house with all the cats”, Ned, Clara, and Cam began showing up for meals sporadically. They’d leave for a few days and maybe one or two of them would come by for breakfast, or often no one at all. Two weeks passed without seeing any members of the driveway clan. A lady down the street told me they’d been hanging around her house. She was feeding them.

It seemed to us that we finally shook off the opportunists and had a perfectly respectable number of pet cats in the house. Another week passed. “I think we’ve done it!” A month went by. “We’re normal.”

Then one morning Brett shook me awake. “Cam is here. He doesn’t look good.” There on the stoop was my littlest friend. He was way too skinny, had patches of missing fur, was covered in fleas, and was barely using either of his back legs. 

Here, a 4-5 day saga of finding vets to help him took place. I got a referral from one place. X-rays at another. He was turned away at a third, and finally admitted to a fourth. In the interim time he was living in our hall bathroom and purring about pets and gobbling up any plates of food he could drag himself up to. 

The diagnosis - he was likely hit by a car. He has a broken femur on one side, a broken hip on the other, and a crack or two in the pelvis. The one vet said amputating the broken leg after a surgery on the hip might be the best way to go. “You can keep him inside right? He can't go out anymore. He won’t survive.” I had never considered having a third cat, let alone one that never left. 

“I was actually wondering if the best thing to do would be to put him to sleep.” I sheepishly admitted.

“Oh no, he’ll be fine. Lots of kitties live long healthy lives as tripods. He's so young. He'll recover.”

My precious, secret-softy husband accepted the news immediately. 

(Ole Dead-leg Cam)

While the threat of amputation lingers, Cam is back home under a “strict bed-rest” to see if parts of his bones knit back together. He goes back in six weeks for new x-rays. Meanwhile he’s hopped up on drugs and is living his best life. He follows me from room to room with his John Wayne/ Dancing Elvis saunter, sleeps on his back with all his legs akimbo, and heartily partakes in three meals a day while we try to put some weight on him. He spends mornings and evenings lounging on the screen porch and recently discovered the (slightly more sedentary) thrill of a Skitter Critter. This seems sweet doesn’t it?

Well Ferguson and Nora are furious. 

Not only is that grifter inside but he’s drinking from our water bowl!

Ferguson growls and hisses at Cam whenever he staggers by. Cam tries to sniff and submit but Ferg isn’t having it. Ferg often runs away grunting. Meanwhile, Nora is somewhat tolerant of Cam (mostly ignores him) and is being surprisingly mean to me. She will not let me pet her. She will not come into the house. She took a retaliatory dump in our closest. She turns away when I call her name. Sometimes Ferg turns on me when he sees Nora being mean and suddenly remembers that he is mad about the interloper.

In fact, Nora has spent so many of the last nights outside, that she came in yesterday with a huge, open wound on her back. (We’re too exhausted to take her to the vet. It will heal on its own, right?) (I go to the vet so often they joked about putting me on the work schedule.) 

As of today - two weeks of Cam living in the house - Ferguson will mostly ignore him, so this is good progress. Nora will let Brett pet her and will sometimes come in, but only if Brett is the one who opens the door. I’m shocked that sweet precious Nora is capable of vindictive thinking. Pippa, by the way, is entirely indifferent about the new cat and has even patiently worked around the fact that Cam took over her preferred dog bed. 

But the bit that bothers me is that Cam is always off by himself. Imagine living a wild, adventurous life outdoors with your family, and then you get kidnapped and kept inside and suddenly have no friends. I know he's lonely. Do you think he's sad? I'm also put-off by the idea that he might "fall asleep" one day and wake up without one of his legs. How do you explain that to cat? 

Anyways. We have three house cats now. But no driveway cats - Ned and Clara haven't been seen in two months. Ned may have finally made it through that ninth life. 

So there goes Cam's family. We're happy to be his new family (We got him some little stairs so he can get onto the couch with us.) (I know.) but we can't compete with the sociable, intrepid life he was living. A Skitter Critter can only do so much.

Current Cat Status:

Back To Normal

Now that everyone is home and settled in, I can continue with my everyday dulldrums reporting. Dad scampers around town. Ellen and Lee wrangle children. Mom and I look for a purpose in life. Brett taps away at his keyboard and spontaneously leaps through the living room to excite Pippa and scare off Ferguson. Brett has decided that Ferguson doesn't bring anything to the table.
We've had a couple Sunday Dinners, one much needed rainstorm, and Nick received a harrowing haircut from his mother. A true right of passage in childhood.

Here is a grainy photo of the UniBartonHauers after a Top-Golf birthday celebration for Papa U. Popples U isn't a big fan of his birthday. We find this absurd, because what a human to celebrate, you know? But he doesn't want to make a big deal of things, so we all played it cool this year and did some family golfing. This was Ellen's first experience wielding a golf club and my first experience watching Lee's sense of competition. As the less experienced players, it was fun for us girls to watch the fellas really whacking the balls with masculine intention.

 

Watching the very tense Champions League final. 

Ellie's Etsy shop has made it through the busy season, so my precise packing practices are no longer required. I have enjoyed spending time over at their house when it has not been polished the way we do when friends come over. They always have spotless floors and few knickknacks laying around, but not in real life. In real life they don't fold their couch blankets or wipe down the island after breakfast. Its nice to be reminded that we are all slovenly when left to our own devices. 

Look at that rainbow!

I do have pet and occupational news but I don't have time to type it right now. We've had a bustling few weeks with lots of moving parts and I haven't had time to sit and consider them for storytelling purposes. I know everyone says time goes faster as you age and it's no joke. I didn't really even realize it's June already. I thought maybe it was April.

As you may know, it's World Cup season so we've had the tv on constantly, which is particularly luxurious in the daytime. You feel like you're breaking a rule. It's been fun to have the TV on while Brett and I are in our offices and when we hear the announcers' voices get loud, we both come rushing into the living room to watch the replay. I've always thought soccer was a fun sport to watch, but since hooking up with EisenEars who tells me the back-stories of all the players, well I always fall in love with them and then can't look away. What lovable (and sometimes loath-able) characters. 
I understand why you might watch other sports if you were rooting for a particular human.

We've been just standing here a lot lately.

My last tidbit for now: When I was working over at the pet shelter, there was one dog in particular that I adored. He is big, strong and has "scary" eyes, so no one ever wanted to meet him or take him for a doggy-day-out. Most of the staff assumed he was difficult because he was surrendered to the shelter for growling at a kid that would come mess with his food bowl. So sure, maybe he's not great with kids, but that's no reason to treat him like a risky, bad-apple.
I like a big meaty dog, so I went out in the yard and wrestled with him right away, and that's how I found out that he loves really high bouncing bouncy balls and ticklish belly rubs. He is THE sweetest and I would sit in the yard with him during my breaks and he'd just snuggle up next to me. 

The whole time I was there, only two people wanted to meet him and even though both of them said they'd come back to get him, they never did. It sincerely crushed me both times. As the shelter got more and more crowded, I worried about him being sent to the county shelter (where you only get so many weeks) to clear space for puppies and "more desirable" dogs. I'll tell you that I spent a lot of time advocating for him. Everyone on staff heard my plea, so when I left earlier this year, I had to hope that they'd keep giving him a fair chance. 

Today, after eleven months, bored and overlooked in the shelter, my sweet baby boy Jasper was adopted - and my coworkers made sure to send me this picture of him headed out to start his next chapter. 

I love this dog and I love those women. It made my whole day.

The Big Italian Wedding

The long-awaited destination wedding of Uncle Tootie and Aunt Hea-Hea finally arrived, and all the friends and family members (and about half of Folly Beach's food and beverage staff) packed their bags and made their way to Sorrento. Aunt Georgia and I (and Brett) stayed home on pet and plant patrol, so the details I have about the trek have been gathered from brief text messages and occasional Facetime calls from Ellen. The consensus from the Union family is that it is the nicest wedding they've ever been to. Everyone looked and did great. I hear there were a couple days of partying on either side of the wedding day. Jordan, Margie, Uncle Dave, and Lee stayed up until the wee hours of each morning, huddled around a tiny table on the patio, surrounded by bougainvillea and lemon trees. The house they stayed in had an exciting garden. I believe this is my precious foursome standing in it - note Mom's purse that seems to have been hurled into the yard in an effort to keep it out of the photo.

The following are the beautiful photos I seemingly received in real time. Dad's photo updates in particular made me feel like I was included in all the fun. I was at Ellie's house packing her Etsy orders as the photos came in and I kept running from my duties to show her my precious family. I was just SO excited for everyone. 

I never got a clear photo of Alston and Halee but those will be coming.

Meanwhile on James Island, I kept myself busy creating my first in-ground garden. I went to Alston's everyday to feed his cats, Carolyn's every couple days to water plants, Ellen's house to let in the cleaners, and Mom and Dad's house to move some cars around. Those jobs mixed with my Etsy packing efforts kept me entirely busy the whole time my family was gone. I barely had time to lament their absence. 

Marcia kept Nick and Liv for the week and then brought them back into town in time for Livvy's Kindergarten graduation, and then I took over the babysitting until Ellen and Lee came home that night. I had to entertain them for just six hours - a mere moment of their lifetimes - but I felt every minute of that six hours because I am not accustomed to the lacking mental stimulation of such undertakings. I love those kids - would take a bullet for them - but gracious watching them for an afternoon is dull. You're really trapped and cooped because leaving the house is too much trouble. So there you sit, in a slightly damp spot on the sofa, while both of them talk at you at the same time. Nick threw a tiny tantrum each time I wouldn't let him eat candy, and I couldn't get either of them to eat a real dinner. Neither of them wanted to wear anything except their underwear and Nick understandably became frustrated when he lacked the dexterity and brain-power of Liv, so then there would be more crying. I'd thought ahead and brought some really big cardboard with me and that did a great job keeping them busy for a while. 

What I did enjoy about the experience was watching Liv manipulate Nick. She is entirely in charge and when things don't go her way because of Nick, she comes up with clever but cruel ways to make him do right. "Well Nick, if you're not going to do it, I might have to take away that toy I gave you last week." Even when they played out make-believe scenarios, it was really just Liv telling Nick what to do. "You're a dog, so you barked when you saw the bad guys... bark Nick." and then Nick would bark. "But you miss your Mommy so you started to cry... you have to cry Nikki." So he would play cry. 
"Why are you walking? You're a dog, they crawl."
I think we all can see how this relationship will work until the end of time.

Other tidbits: Bubbs and I have moved into our favorite season - porch season. We have a magical, nearly year-round breeze in our yard, so we just about live on the porch all summer long. It's my all-time-favorite thing. 

Cameron, the surviving kitten from the Cameron and Barkley pair, has taken to butt-scratches and suddenly understands the benefits of the house-cat life. He has recently begun stepping inside to inspect things for an hour or so before darting back out into known safety. He loves to dine in the threshold between outside and in, and will alert you to desires for pet and scratches. Brett tells me we can't have a third cat but I frequently catch him trying to lure Cameron into the house. Mostly Cam hangs out on the porch or watches me flounder around in the new garden. He's a chatty little guy - makes both of us laugh.

My Chicken Group

Earth Day is in April. I don't pay attention to the various days of acknowledgement printed on our calendars but I do like Earth Day. I'll accept a little praise for nature. I also enjoy watching people who exist entirely indoors tentatively tiptoeing into nature to appease one of their more earthy friends. I like the corporate "greening" of otherwise man-man, sterile goods and services. It's a hateful enjoyment you see. Like Valentines Day.

I digress. As the leader of the local animal group here, I have to pay attention to these cutesy things in case of overly-enthusiastic group members feeling an opportunity was missed. But Earth Day is different. I like Earth Day. The premise of Earth Day (protecting and celebrating nature) perfectly coincides with the premise of my chicken group (ethical, healthy systems for critters) so instead of having a single Earth Day event to celebrate and educate, I, and my co-conspirator Tessa, decided on a full month of actions - Earth Month - because she and I have lost touch with reality.

We organized four Saturday morning opportunities to volunteer with aligned local organizations doing good things for plants and animals. Huzzah! Opportunities included a trash sweep, weeding and planting at the park, harvesting produce to donate to the hungry, and finally, the big finale, monitoring the critters over at The Goatery during a joggers marathon of some sort. Tessa and I were pleased with our work, for we wanted to participate in all of these things. Who wouldn't?

The point is, I spent my April weekends out being a do-gooder, albeit one that did a poor job making solid connections with the leaders of these aligned organizations which was one of the purposes of our doing this. 
But here's a few of Charleston's happiest crap-catchers. 

What I'm most excited about was the morning we spent at the goat farm. Post marathon, runners were able to come into the animal pens to pet the critters, and my little group was in charge of seeing to it that everyone was gentle with the baby goats. A dream job - because people are naturally gentle with baby beings.

Not to brag, but the goats loved me. 

A second highlight that day; I got to visit Natalie Snortman. Remember this little cutie? Well she has grown into a bossy troublemaker. The farm folks said she rules the roost and all the other pigs have to do what she says. I was excited to see her - she's gotten so big - and because pigs are smart creatures, I secretly hoped she'd remember me. She did do a kind of double-take with her snout when she first sniffed me, but I don't think she recognized me. I was only slightly offended.

A third highlight that day; the farm needed someone to wear an inflatable goat costume for the runners to pose with for photos. I'd brought Ellie and Brett along with me for this day and when I heard they needed a court jester, I signed Ellie up for the task. She played it cool but I know she was excited about it. 

Overall, Earth Month was sparsely attended by our group members. We know we deviated from our normal activities but Tessa and I don't understand why most folks didn't want to roll around in the dirt with us. Over the last five years as the ringleader of this group I have noticed amusing trends about volunteers. What everyone in our group has in common is a desire to help animals, and what's funny is how it manifests. Some people volunteer because they want to be the type that volunteers - it does not come naturally to them and they seem to have to fight themselves to come participate. Some are fair-weather advocates; they want to help, but only if its an activity they enjoy or its not too far from their houses. Some are so wholeheartedly devoted to the cause that they have lost a sense of humor about anything and can't move through a day without it hinging on their belief system. Some people are normal - and those are our best allies. In an environmental/animal rights world, there are a lot of mystical, beaded-curtain, smoldering incense types and those folks are not great ambassadors for getting regular people to take you seriously. 

There are the virtue-signalers, the distracted college students, the wannabe group leaders, and a few elderly singles finally dipping their toes into a pool they've always wondered about.

Learning how to mobilize and utilize the different personalities is fun, cringeworthy, and incredibly slow. I've talked to some other volunteer group leaders and we all have the same problem: the hardest part is getting people to follow through. I know they are busy and sleepy. It's hard to do all the things you have to do and then try to add in things you want to do and then add in things you want to do but don't really have to do because probably enough other people will be there to make sure it all works out. 

That's why sticking it to The Man is a slow process. 

But we do win eventually. 

Recent Internal Musings and A Photo Update

Why do we like nuts in our desserts after 35? What's that about? I remember deep bewilderment as a kid when I saw adults put walnuts in their brownies. Why would you sully perfection? I get it now, and I don't understand why. 

Here's a photo from Halee's bridal shower earlier this month. Gigs and Dave put together the most beautiful, cheerful, lemon-themed celebration in preparation for the Big Italian Wedding. Just moments before this picture was taken I accidentally dumped my drink down Mom's back. It's Margie's fault - she hit my arm. I stand by it!

Why do men put their wallet and their keys in their pockets as soon as they wake up in the morning, even when they have no plans to go anywhere? Every morning I watch from my pillow as Brett pulls on his britches and slips a wallet into his back pocket, keys in the front, only to go make a cup of coffee and sit at his desk. Sometimes he takes the wallet out of his pocket and puts it on the table next to his desk, but usually not. The wallet comes out of his pants pocket after dinner, sometimes even later, like bedtime. It just rides around in there all day for no reason. The keys come and go throughout the day - which is why he usually can't find them. He also keeps a knife in his pants all day, and while that makes more sense to me than the wallet, it's significantly more uncomfortable. I know this because I get jabbed with it anytime I sit next to him or give him a hug. Being that he works from home, there is an abundance of knives and scissors (and saws and yard utensils) at arms length at any moment, so I don't understand why you would keep a real live knife in your pants. I know lots of dudes carry things in their pockets all day, but my dad has always kept his crap in a bowl by the door for when he needs to leave the home-base of inventory, and that just seems much more sensible.  

Here I snuck a picture of this cute guest-lecturer that gave me a personal presentation on high-severity situations, critical security emergencies, and assorted safety assessment hubbub when it comes to structural failure after natural disasters. Brett is teaching a course on this soon and I have the distinct pleasure of being the practice audience. 

(That's only lightly sarcastic. I don't really mind, but it does make me sleepy.)

Isn't it wild that humans routinely wander into restaurants we've never heard of and let people we've never met make food for us, and then we just eat it? I only had this thought last month when Brett and I spotted a taco spot we've never noticed. We had gone Downtown to get ice cream for dinner but when we saw the taco place we said, "If we eat a taco first, we can pretend that's dinner and then we will have earned the ice cream." as well as, "I could go for a taco!" So Pips and I waited outside while Brett went into get 'dinner'. 
I unfurled the paper wrapper and peered into what was the only "vegetarian" taco on their menu. It looked...wet. "So what is it?" I asked Brett as he took a bite of his easily identifiable pulled pork. 
"It said onions... and potatoes... I can't really remember." 

I ate it, because that's what people do, but I never noticed any potatoes and it had an overall flavor to it that can be best describe as 'verdant.' My brain whispered a gentle suggestion of food poisoning, just so I could be aware that any doom I might experience would be self-inflicted. This is when it occurred to me that we all just trust people to do right in their kitchens. I said as much to Brett who momentarily reassessed his taco and said, "Yeah. It is crazy," and then inhaled his final bite.

We both had stomachaches all night and we don't know whether to blame the tacos or the ice cream. My vote is the wet grass taco.

Brett says I sit and lay in "crash victim" positions. I didn't get it until I saw this.

Is the sky as high as the ocean is deep and our lives are just a smear of butter between two slices of bread?

Mom and Dad left for a brief Honbon Reunion (HonUnion) so Beans and I got some quality time. Her enthusiasm about life had me in stitches. I've never met a dog so earnest.

In other news, it has become delightful outside with the caveat of the drifting yellow dust that irritates throats, eyes, and nasal passages. Small price, if you ask me. Brett has been in a duel with the pollen, neither of them ever gaining ground on the other, leaving both parties in a state of malaise and ennui. Brett gurgles and hacks, but to no tangible effect. The pollen gets wiped away only to return a few days later. We know the pollen will lose the war but at the moment, the battle is at a stalemate. 

The flowers are blooming and the pups are out frolicking in the neighborhood. I have been enjoying the annual "I didn't know you lived here" experience, when all of the neighbors without dogs or exercise regimens come out of their houses to enjoy the nice weather for a few weeks before it gets too hot. Then they will all recoil back into their homes and we won't really see them again until next Spring, leading us to spot them through our windows and say, "Who is that? I've never seen them before." 

I've been helping Ellie frame and pack her Etsy orders as she prepares for a trip to Ireland. April and May are busy months for her shop so she's working ahead to clear out the orders before she leaves. I go over and pack for four or five hours three days a week, and still never make it to the end of the orders for the day. Last week, I clocked in and found this. Am I lucky or what?

In celebration of his 60th birthday, our favorite neighbors Jim and Kim (the ones who helped me chase the pig I bought off Craigslist) had a big, backyard celebration. That party proved that turning 60 doesn't have to be any different from turning 20. There were oysters and hotdogs, cake and beer, beer-pong and piñatas - all the classics of young person celebrations. Jim disappeared into the house and came back out giggling in his dress blues. (They were a little tight.) His friends were rowdy partiers and two of Jim's sons arrived with their own entourages. And while Brett and I left around 10, the party raged on. When we saw Jim the next morning, he had a black-eye and a huge grin. "I think it's awesome," he said, "Who gets a black eye at thier 60th birthday party?" He told us he ran into some furniture, but when Kim joined the conversation she said, "What did you tell them happened to your eye?"

Here we are with the two of them.... long before Jim took a tumble going to the bathroom. 

I spent most of my party time talking at our across-the-street-neighbors. I say talking at because they are such polite listeners that you can't really tell if they want you to leave them alone or not. Additionally, Nick there on the left, kept egging me on by asking questions and being engaged in my rantings, so I couldn't exactly stop and run off. 

But when they left for the night, Brett said, "Oh, I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to talk to you." and Mrs. Cassandra said, "Don't worry, Laura talked for the both of you."