Wanted: boy kitty

A friend of mind has a friend with a six-year-old daughter who really wants their cat to have kittens. So she wrote out a want ad.

Raspberry riches

We got a phone call a couple days ago from a dear and elderly lady who lives a short distance away. This woman has a green thumb that is the envy of the neighborhood. She is blessed with a raspberry patch that's simply enormous, far too many berries for her to use, so every year she invites people to come help themselves.

She practically begged me to pick some berries, as they were ripe and she was falling behind in picking them. We were slammed with work at home, but found a spare hour. So armed with buckets, Younger Daughter and I spent that hour picking.

These vines were huge, and often stretched well over our heads.

It's easy to see why commercial raspberries are so expensive. They're a fragile fruit, and must be individually hand-picked. It would be a tough job if I were doing this for a living.

But there is something so irresistibly beautiful about a cluster of ripe berries.

Between us, we picked about a gallon of berries in an hour.

I picked through and sorted everything out.

We just put these in the fridge for fresh eating. Raspberries and cream, yum!

The next evening both girls and I went to pick berries, along with a neighbor and her adult daughter.

This photo turned out wrong -- the camera focused on the fencing rather than the people -- but in a weird artistic sense I thought it was kinda neat.

While we picked, two half-grown kittens romped and played. They were great entertainment to watch.

Anyway, we ended up with fewer raspberries this time, because we had more people picking and also because Younger Daughter and I did a fairly good job picking them over the day before. Nonetheless we got about five pints of cleaned berries, which I froze rather than making jam.

We'll pick more berries next week after I get back from Portland. Fresh frozen berries will be a wonderful treat during the winter.

Volunteering

It's been said that homeschooled kids are more civic-minded and do more volunteer work than publicly-schooled kids. I don't know if that's true or not, but I do know my girls do their share of civic volunteering.

About a year and a half ago, we lost our house cat. It was an unpleasant blow to my cat-loving kids, and they immediately began lobbying for a replacement (or two).

Trouble is, we have dogs who don't like cats. So another house cat is out of the question until we have different dogs.

So, faced with a dearth of purring, my girls decided on the next best thing: volunteer at our county animal shelter.

Like many shelters, this place runs on a shoestring budget and is always looking for volunteers. When I first made arrangements over a year ago, the director was hesitant to allow two such young kids to work without me (the parent) present. (The rules are: volunteers under 15 require a parent to be present.) I had no problem with this; I was happy to sit in the lobby with a book or my AlphaSmart while the kids worked.

But in something under a week, the director changed her mind.  She had never worked with homeschooled kids before, and couldn't believe their work ethic and maturity level. Over the past year my girls have brought in underage homeschooled friends for a stint of volunteer work (such as our neighbor Miss Calamity), and the director has been delighted with them all.

Up to this point, most of the volunteer help the shelter's staff has gotten comes from teens who are required to put in community service for some sort of legal transgression. (As you can imagine, they're not always the easiest bunch to work with.) And we know a few other publicly-schooled kids who love animals and who also volunteer. But as far as I know, my girls are the longest-term volunteer help the shelter has ever had. My oldest daughter recently was invited to submit her résumé to our local library for a possible part-time position, and she was able to use the animal shelter's director as an enthusiastic reference. So starts Older Daughter's professional credentials.

So it's been over a year now, and every Wednesday we make our trek into the county seat where I drop the kids off for a couple of hours. They clean cages, launder bedding, wipe down and disinfect litter boxes and walls, and generally give the hard-working director and her staff some help. The main reason the kids have continued working for so long is they just plain love cats.

Some of the cats hang out in the lobby:

Others are in rooms separated between adults, adolescents, and kittens.

Fortunately - and especially as volunteers - the girls are given lots of time to just play with the cats.

This guy is a favorite, though he was born without one front leg (he was hard to photograph).

The rooms have all sorts of cat climbing apparatus.

This guy is named Sylvester. He's huge.

The girls nicknamed this cat Uncle Mike after my older brother, the classic nerd. The girls think the cat has a classy "nerd" look.

This shy fellow was curled up out of sight.

The director was giving this cat a flea bath (the cat was NOT amused). Fleas, as you can imagine, are something the shelter must constantly battle against.

I don't know how long the kids will want to work at the shelter, but they've shown no signs of losing interest. Either way, I'm proud of them.

Mice messes

I came stumbling downstairs the other morning, still half asleep. The kitchen was dark, lit only by a nightlight. I started the kettle for tea, then took off my glasses and turned on the water in the sink to splash my face.

UP popped a distressed (and wet) mouse.

Bleary-eyed, I switched the running water to the other sink (we have a double sink) and continued to splash my face.

UP popped another distressed (and wet) mouse.

I went into the bathroom to finish splashing my face. Then I picked up a large plastic cup and scooped both mice - they were only half-grown - and put them outside.

Yesterday morning I came downstairs and found that Don had left a cup with some pills he's taking on the counter.

Evidently a mouse got curious during the night because the cup was tipped over, and one of the pills had been taken out and chewed on:

Great.  Now we'll have healthy mice.  I think it's time to revert back to traps, since the poison doesn't seem to be working.

Meanwhile, this is my usual habit at night just before going to bed: put out my tea things with the tea already in the mug, so all I have to do is pour boiling water.  Why do I cover my mug like this?  Because many years ago when I got up in the morning and poured boiling water into my mug, a shrieking mouse jumped out. Old habits die hard.

Meanwhile some neighbors got a new kitten.  They have the right idea.  Unfortunately our dog Major is a cat-killer, so a cat is out of the question for the time being.

How to give a cat a pill

1. Pick up cat and cradle it in the crook of your left arm as if holding a baby. Position right forefinger and thumb on either side of cat’s mouth and gently apply pressure to cheeks while holding pill in right hand. As cat opens mouth, pop pill into mouth. Allow cat to close mouth and swallow.

2. Retrieve pill from floor and cat from behind sofa. Cradle cat in left arm and repeat process.

3. Retrieve cat from bedroom, and throw soggy pill away.

4. Take new pill from foil wrap, cradle cat in left arm, holding rear paws tightly with left hand. Force jaws open and push pill to back of mouth with right forefinger. Hold mouth shut for a count of ten.

5. Retrieve pill from goldfish bowl and cat from top of wardrobe. Call spouse in from the garden.

6. Kneel on floor with cat wedged firmly between knees, hold front and rear paws. Ignore low growls emitted by cat. Get spouse to hold head firmly with one hand while forcing wooden ruler into mouth. Drop pill down ruler and rub cat's throat vigorously.

7. Retrieve cat from curtain rail. Get another pill from foil wrap. Make note to buy new ruler and repair curtains. Carefully sweep shattered figurines and vases from hearth and set to one side for gluing later.

8. Wrap cat in large towel and get spouse to lie on cat with head just visible from below armpit. Put pill in end of drinking straw, force mouth open with pencil and blow down drinking straw.

9. Check label to make sure pill not harmful to humans and drink one beer to take taste away. Apply band-aid to spouse's forearm and remove blood from carpet with cold water and soap.

10. Retrieve cat from neighbor's shed. Get another pill. Open another beer. Place cat in cupboard, and close door onto neck, to leave head showing. Force mouth open with dessert spoon. Flick pill down throat with elastic band.

11. Fetch screwdriver from garage and put cupboard door back on hinges. Drink beer. Fetch bottle of scotch. Pour shot, drink. Apply cold compress to cheek and check records for date of last tetanus shot. Apply whiskey compress to cheek to disinfect. Toss back another shot. Throw tee-shirt away and fetch new one from bedroom.

12. Call fire department to retrieve the damn cat from the top of the tree across the road. Apologize to neighbor who crashed into fence while swerving to avoid cat. Take last pill from foil wrap.

13. Using heavy-duty pruning gloves from shed, tie the little *&#%^'s front paws to rear paws with garden twine and bind tightly to leg of dining table. Push pill into mouth followed by large piece of filet steak. Be rough about it. Hold head vertically and pour two pints of water down throat to wash pill down.

14. Consume remainder of scotch. Get spouse to drive you to the emergency room. Sit quietly while doctor stitches fingers and forearm and removes pill remnants from right eye. Call furniture shop on way home to order new table.

15. Arrange for SPCA to collect mutant cat from hell and call local pet shop to see if they have any hamsters.

How To Give A Dog A Pill

1. Wrap it in bacon.
2. Toss it in the air.

Not a good day

We had to put our cat to sleep this morning.




We got Hopi as a tiny kitten on the weekend of July 4th, 1996 when our oldest daughter was six months old. We named him Hopi because he had the colors of the southwest in him - blue eyes, white and orange fur. Gorgeous animal.







Hopi has been an indoor cat for the last few years. He went missing on Saturday, and I found him around midnight Saturday night. He'd managed to crawl behind a stack of books in a spare bedroom. One leg wasn't working properly. I thought at first he had dislocated it, but when I brought him to the vet this morning, she said it was probably blood clots, and the leg was essentially dead. He also had congestive heart failure, failing lungs, and a host of other difficulties.

It all happened so quick. It's hard to believe I never have to kick him off my keyboard again. Or that he won't be sneaking under the covers on our bed on a cold winter night. Up to this point he looked like a perfectly healthy cat - like an elderly statesman, dignified and a bit goofy.

Damn.