Multi-directional cat

North

East

South

West

Homewrecker

I've been calling the cat-with-no-name "Beau", which rhymes with "NO!"

Some days, Finn and Beau get along fine. Other times, I think Finn is going to kill Beau, pinning him to the floor and administering some punishing bites. And yet, Beau keeps coming back for more.

Beau is an indoor cat, so Finn gets respite by going out most nights. I put them in separate parts of the house when I am going out. But I wonder what will happen when Beau reaches his full size.

A cat with no name

I don't miss having a dog, but I do miss Betsy. Finn is a wonderful cat, but he stays out all night and sleeps all day, so sometimes it is like not having a cat at all. Hence, I was weak when I met the cat formerly known as Mr. B.

They call me MISTER Banks

A friend of a friend of my daughter's found Finn. A friend of a friend of my son's found Mr. B. No sense in my looking for cats when they seem to find me through my children.

Getting to know you, getting to know all about you...

The name he came with is an issue. I don't quite understand the evolution to "Mr. B" but the B stands for "Banks". I have tried calling him that, but half the time it comes out "Bates" (from Downton Abby). A few other names have been sampled, and right now I am leaning toward Puff (short for Pufferbelly - he hisses a lot).

He's so cute when he's asleep

Puff is ostensibly neutered although he does not look it, nor does he act it; I may have that double checked by my vet. He appears to be about eight months old, so I thought Finn would be tolerant of a kitten. Turns out Finn is not the problem. Puff is the confrontational one, and when Finn tries to walk away, Puff chases him down. Finn is about twice Puff's size, but it doesn't seem to matter. (Finn's reluctance to fight may also explain why he is remarkably unscarred for an outdoor cat.)

I predict a cat spat will follow this meal

Puff is more of a companion, albeit not a cuddly one (yet), than Finn. He loves to follow me around while I do household chores. The vacuum cleaner barely fazes him. He is full of energy and always ready to play. He is also litter trained, but needs to learn to keep off the counters/tables/dresser/plant stand/etc.

Why it is better to adopt an ADULT cat

My hope is that, with time and maturity, not only will Puff settle down but will entertain Finn during the winter when he drives me nuts with his incessant requests to go out/come in/go out/come in. Puff will be an indoor cat, though.

Two cats playing (sort of)

A few days after Puff arrived, I found a cat crawling across a busy street, obvious the victim of a hit-and-run. I stopped the car and scooped him up and took him to Animal Control. Three legs were still functional, so they took him in and posted his picture on the lost and found page, but I doubt anyone will claim him.

Invitation to a belly rub

I wanted to adopt him too, but my daughter talked me down from that crazy cat lady ledge. I felt bad but later realized I have all the cat I can handle right now.

Falling apart

I hope this blog does not turn into a litany of complaints, but it does feel like I am just falling apart these days. The latest evidence is a crumbling filling. While that was easily fixed, it feels like one more sign post on the road to decrepitude.

When I read non-fiction, I find myself focusing on single topics for a period of time. For a while, it was horse books, then dog books, then books on menopause, autism, Alzheimers. Now I am in the midst of books on aging. I recently read Blue Night by Joan Didion, in which she quotes from In the Fullness of Time: 32 Women on Life after Fifty. Both books are full of loss and somewhat depressing - is this what we have to look forward to?

It does not help that my pets are aging, too. Fern was recently diagnosed with tongue cancer, a particularly aggressive squamous cell type for which nothing can be done. She is still able to eat and drink, and does not appear to be in any pain. Recent trips to the vet have left her more suspicious than usual of my motives when I pass, so she avoids me unless I am prone. Not ordinarily a snuggler, she now seeks my warmth when I am laying under an afghan on the couch. Sometimes I catch her staring at me with great intensity, like she knows.

Free to good home

I have owned cats since I was about four years old, starting with a tom cat named Pinky. Back then, all cats were outdoor cats. They might spend time indoors, but they knew to sit by the door when they needed to go out and do their "business". In fact, they preferred to spend at least some of their time outdoors, especially at night.

Fast forward about twenty years (and many cats later because, gee, outdoor cats seem to "disappear" a lot), and we were living in the country with one rather old cat, ostensibly an outdoor cat, but one that didn't seem to "need" to go outside very often. Alas, this was because she was using the area under out bed as her litter box. What amazes me to this day is that we never noticed any smell, that is until we rudely disturbed the area by ripping up the carpet. For the first time, we instituted a litter box. Problem solved, but it was also the beginning of the Era of the Indoor Cat.

Fast forward another thirty years....

Most cats seem to be born knowing how to use a litter box, but somehow my current cat is one that has, and always has had, "issues". It doesn't seem to matter how clean, how private, how perfectly designed a litter box may be (and I have quite the collection of them), with Fern it is hit or miss. When I still had a Florida room, with its cement floor, this was not a big problem. Fern would pee in the box and at least poop in the area of the box if not right in it. But now the Florida room is gone, and I have discovered that there is no other area in the house that is conducive to haphazard litter box usage.

Right now the box is in the laundry room where there is a toilet, so scooping up errant piles and disposing of them is not a big deal. But recently there has been pee just outside the box. Of course, in Fern's mind, she is technically in the box, but just barely. I keep the box in a tray, so at least the floor is spared. But still.

I could not figure out why all of a sudden this problem cropped up, but one day, when the carpet cleaners came and I dragged Fern out from behind the couch, I discovered that she weighed a TON. Aha, I thought, she is simply too big for the box. That also explains why her personal hygiene has been a bit lax lately.

You might wonder why I had not noticed Fern's weight gain before this. For one thing, she is a big cat, a raccoon look-alike. For another, she is not a lap cat. She likes to be petted, but only on her terms, and distrusts me completely. After all, I am the one who takes her to the vet and cleans her ears. Also, sometimes I yell at the dog, which causes Fern to think I am this household terror who is out to do her harm.

Fern is not actually my cat, but my daughter's, but my daughter and her husband already have two cats and a baby, so they don't want Fern. Fern loves my SO, even lets him brush her, but the sentiment is not returned. Fern also loves my son, but he is in a three-cat household, plus is not interested in such a high maintenance animal. Fern is, what, 11? 12 years old? Surely she can't live forever. Or can she?

I tried to weigh Fern, to see just how heavy she was, but that freaked her out. Even so, I cut back on her food, and now she appears to be fitting into the litter box better these days. One can only hope.