Illustrations of (My) Life

Hello, and welcome to another instalment in an ongoing occasional series I call Lazy Blog Posts.

As they say, a picture is worth a thousand words. Here are some photos which I thought were a pretty good short-cut to saying something about life.  Or in some cases just my life.

So without further ado: photos!

Inky

We have a new cat! This is Inky.

We adopted her right before Christmas from the Lost Dogs Home, at North Melbourne. Their cat adoption page is here.  I was surprised how many cats there were, and how many of them are absolutely lovely. No scroungy, mean scratchy cats these - almost all are cuddly and affectionate, which just goes to show you how misunderstood cats tend to be (or how good our timing was maybe).

What's a little sad is how many stray cats there are.  The day we went to get ours, there were three other families there taking home a cat, and more on their way. And yet, a week later the Cat Adoption page is still at 7 pages, filled with half the same and another crop of 'new' homeless kitties. :(

So if you're in Melbourne and you've been looking for a cat, look no further. Here's why you should adopt one from a shelter. And if you're looking for a shelter, the Lost Dogs Home is a good one. The staff there are great with the animals, which get walked/played with and are given plenty of attention, and they educate and assist new owners without lecturing or over-the-top requirements to adopt.


Inky is one year old, female, and very cute. She's curious, confident and playful, and has settled into life in our house quite comfortably. She follows us around, does a very cute jump-rub move against our legs, and sleeps on the kids' beds, seemingly taking turns, though perhaps slightly more often with M. For this I am very thankful. Poor M's heartache over Tia was just gut-wrenching, and had not really abated after three months. A few days before Christmas once the kids were on holiday and I had a week off work, I put aside our plan to adopt in January and we went to the shelter to get our new cat.



Inky was not the prettiest of the bunch. She is extremely thin, and has an odd-shaped head, an uneven coat and weirdly splayed legs. But she's young and friendly and playful and sweet, which is exactly what you want.

Also, as she sleeps with the kids, it's them she wakes up at 6am, and M has been getting up each morning to feed her.  Perfect!

 Harry is not so thrilled. The first day we had Inky was interesting. Both of them lunged at each other on either side of a glass door, each intent on killing the other. When we finally introduced them in the same room there was a brief but terrifying scuffle, growls, howls and spits and then a yelp and a whine and that was the end of the mutual lunging. Within three days they had reached an uneasy truce and now skirt each other warily, mostly keeping out of each other's way.  Friendship is still a good way off, I think.

Farewell Tia

This week we lost our Tia.

She was 11 years old and had been in good health, though she had slowed down a bit in recent weeks. Last week she started having difficulty eating, and she deteriorated from there.  At first I thought it was tooth problems, especially as she developed an awful smell around her head, with no outside infections or problems in sight. We kept her quiet and she seemed OK, and I planned a vet appointment for this week.

Then on Sunday, as she walked outside to enjoy the sun, she suddenly keeled over and was unable to stand or walk. As I rushed to her she stretched out her paws and meowed in obvious confusion and distress. Her back legs were twisted under her and were almost useless.

She managed to get up and walk, and was able to walk normally later as well, but only for a short time. Within minutes she would lose her balance and her back legs would collapse.

I had to help her to the litter box or outside, and hand-feed her tiny, pitiful amounts of soft food or egg and milk. She could barely eat.

She remained very affectionate to the end. On her last morning with us the kids sat on the lounge room floor and she walked slowly between them, pushing her head under first one hand and then the other. The night before she had slept on my lap, purring almost as if she was still well.

But she wasn't, and I knew it was cruel to keep her going, as she was in distress and pain and was wasting away by the day.

On Monday, the kids and I took her to the vet for what we knew would be the last time.

The vet was kindly and wonderful. She agreed there was no hope. Tia had likely suffered either a blood clot or some kind of neurological damage, for which the prognosis is bad even for young cats. In three days Tia had lost half her body weight and critical muscle mass.

The kids kissed her good bye then waited in the waiting room while I held Tia for her last moments. The vet and her assistant were gentle and respectful, patting Tia and soothing her while she was prepared for the catheter. Then they put her on my lap and straight away she snuggled down and rested her head on my hand, purring sleepily.

Within seconds, she was gone.

I cried like a kid, there alone in the room with my dead cat. I couldn't believe she was gone. I still can't.  I know she was "just" a cat, and yes, it's been a few days now, but as I write this I feel the tears coming back, and I quickly blink them away because the kids are here in the lounge with me and they have already cried buckets. M in particular was very attached to Tia and has been distraught. She's coping well and is much better now, but we've had a few days of long talks and various "cheering up" activities to take their minds off it in between the upset times.

It's been a sad few days for us all. Even Y cried, and he supposedly wasn't fond of her (but he was).

So farewell, sweet Tia. Thank you for being a lovely, lovely cat. We miss you x

Tia's Scary Adventure

We arrived home last Wednesday night to find this note on our door:

Being winter (or on Wednesday, a few days before winter), evenings are now very dark. Although only 6.00 pm when we arrived home, it was as dark as midnight. First task was to try and remember which neighbor has a maple tree. We went out the back yard and called Tia but there was no response, so I showed the kids via Google what maple leaves look like, we grabbed torches, and went walking up the street. We found the tree, next door, set back from our fence, and it is HUGE. Our lovely neighbors heard us and came out, confirmed Tia had been in the tree all day, and opened the gate to let us into the yard.

I could not believe how high she was. When we called her she stood up and tentatively took a couple of steps, then sat again and stared. She didn't make a sound. Y made to climb the tree, but got only a couple of feet up before finally agreeing with the rest of us that it was impossible.

"She'll find her way down," I said. "Cats don't die in trees."

As it turns out though, I was wrong. Cats do indeed get stuck in trees and can die, either by getting exposure or dehydration and falling out, or by falling and killing themselves. I educated myself that evening on Exquisite Kitty. Did you know that cats can't climb down head-first? They have to climb backwards, which is why they are much better at climbing UP than climbing DOWN.
So if your cat is stuck in a tree for a whole day, you can't just leave it there; you have to organise an animal rescue.  Also, if your cat is not meowing, she may be weak and dehydrated.

We went out to our backyard and shone torches up to check on her throughout the evening, calling and coaxing her with no result. She changed branch a couple of times, stood and turned around and sat again; at one point she climbed higher up. At another point she was even swaying slightly, clearly nodding off.  At another point when I shone up my torch I got four shiny eyes, and then saw a possum sitting on the branch next to her, both of them watching me together.

Eventually I had to go to bed, even though I felt terrible.  I found Jim's Animal Rescue's contact details so we could call them in the morning; Y would be home that day.

The next morning I got up early and went outside with the torch, but there was no sign of Tia in the tree and no sound or sight of her when I called either. Just as I was thinking she had collapsed from exhaustion and fallen to her death during the night, I heard her bell, and she appeared from the bushes.

She ate an entire plate of food and a saucer of cat milk in one go, then came straight inside and stayed there for two days.

My Dog's Favorite Toys

My dog loves his toys.

His cuddle toy is probably his favorite.

He also likes this one

He loves his daybed

And he loves his winter coat which we put on him at night 

as he sleeps outside. 

He gets very excited when I say "time for bed" and I put on his coat.

In the morning he wriggles himself out of it and then drags it around to lie down with and snuggle.

He likes to gather a few of his toys and sit with them all within reach

He loves his bones too.

He has numerous toys, most of which live in the garden

As do the various bits of plastic he has stolen from inside the house, 

until I collect them and throw them away.

He steals underwear from the laundry hamper and takes it to the garden, where I find it, wet and filthy, days later

Worse than that, he has stolen and destroyed many a rubber sandal, from KMart thongs (that's flip-flops, Americans!) to expensive Crocs and my favorite Ipanemas.   : ((

Worse than THAT, he has caused heartache for the girls, by destroying toys, over and over again

But the toy that gets him MOST excited....

...

...

...

is this one:

a toilet paper roll

And I let him have them because when I give him one, 

the joy and excitement on his face are irresistible.

Even though they very quickly end up like this:

He knows straightaway which items are HIS. 

If I give him a new toy, he is thrilled with it immediately 

and guards it jealously.

He worries when I pick up his toys to toss them outside, 

and gets VERY upset when I put them in the washing machine. 

He is happy and excited when he gets them back, 

and doesn't even mind that they've been cleaned.

He knows what he's not allowed to take (anything that is not his).

He knows when he has done something bad (chewed a child's toy).

But he doesn't stop doing it.

We keep the girls' bedroom doors closed, and shoes in a box.

The girls know they can't leave anything lying around on the floor.

But he still manages to get stuff occasionally.

We have to hide the cat's toys so he won't destroy them.

So the cat only gets to play at night, when the dog is in bed outside.

She harbors resentment, and they have an uneasy relationship.

Somehow, though he's supposedly not allowed on furniture, 

he has managed to make this chair his.

After a hard day's play, a boy does need his rest.

Dogs, eh?

: )