After breaking the ice with a blog, the weather is finally getting better and there is finally a bit of something to ponder and to share.
First, the weather was for once nice enough to feel guilty about not flying. So I pulled up my "big boy pants" and rolled the plane out of the hanger to knock a bit of dust off it. I made at least three landings?, scared the kids next door by sneaking up on them while they were irrigating the fields, and called it good. It's supposed to be nice for the next couple of weeks so perhaps I can do a bit more flying for a change.
I have always had "critters", dogs, Hawks, ravens, while Karen my wife had horses and cats. Coming from the rural areas of WVa. where living sometimes required some ingenuity, we never had cats. I suppose in some ways we always considered them to be competition for the food we ate. Anyway, I think I can only name one man that I have ever known that claimed ownership or even a tolerance of cats. Most generally they were a compromise requiring a barn or farm of some sort, and their job was to feed themselves on the rats and mice that were eating their livestock food. No one in my world, before Karen, had a cat that lived in the house.
Having a great fondness for Karen, I allowed her to have a cat, but I had little to do with them. Other than an occasional pet or kick, whichever was required at the time. I mean, what the hell, they won't go hunting with you, don't retrieve worth a damn, what good are they? Over the years, through Karen's influence, I learned to tolerate them. However as far as I was concerned they were a "pacifier" for Karen. Many of the bastards seemed to live forever, 18- 19 years old- sheeze! Her last cat, before she died was a 6 toed farm cat from Rome,Or. By this time (53 years) I was pretty well trained to tolerate and see that they might not be so bad. Then Karen died, leaving me with Tiger, the 6 toed idjit, that had Asthma, and a $30.00 a month medical bill.
To put it lightly we were both traumatized that we were the stuck with each other. I considered taking him and the rifle for a walk. I mean, I couldn't give him away with that kind of medical problems. I also couldn't turn him outside and expect him to feed him self either, so we tried to adjust. Primarily I was afraid to shoot him for fear of retribution in this life or the next one, when Karen caught up to me. It wasn't his fault that Karen couldn't stay with us any more, so he began the slow and arduous training process of teaching me to accept his need for affection.
I began eventually trying to find another kindred soul to share my chosen existence, and if a woman dared to set foot in the house, Tiger and Brick my "needy" Brittany, would smother them with affection. I felt so sorry for Tiger, everyone pets dogs, but not so with most Cats.
Finally I found Connie, and she had a Cat too. Hers does like to go hunting, but still won't fetch, and he is a bit of an asshole as well. Tiger liked her, a lot! So things were looking up for both of us. She won't live here, but she visits so it's not too bad, and we were thriving. Then Connie got two little kittens!
camping on the Alvord
Her cat hated them, but Tiger liked them and basically adopted them. Brick thought they were his and waterboarded them with slobbers every time he could catch one of them. Tiger plays with them and will even share his food with them.
Tiger is a real trooper! He likes to go camping and will home either to the tent or the fifth wheel. He went with me to Glacier Park when Connie worked up there, and caused no problem other than occasionally puking on the carpet, mostly where you would step in it if you weren't paying attention.
He has never liked a vet's office, at all. He also has a tendency to develop crystals in his urine. When Karen was alive he had to go to the vets to get a catheter put in to allow him to pee. It was always a traumatic experience for him.
Purina makes a food just for that condition, but with Connie three cats, I apparently lost sight of that and stopped buying that kind of cat food. Since four cats seem to go through a bag of cat food and kitty litter in nothing flat, I forgot about the crystal problem.
I had taken Josie, my female Brittany to the vet in Burns to clear up a condition caused by finding and eating rotten jack rabbits, and had just got back home to find that Tiger seemed to be unable to pee again.
The next morning I started trying to find someone who could put a catheter in, and finally decided to take him to Burns to a mobile vet there. He was doing fine, since the problem had just started and he wasn't all that uncomfortable, he rode on my lap on the trip up there, and evidenced no problem or discomfort. I had a cat kennel for him, for when we got there. I tried to tell the gal vet, ( I got the impression that this was her first real life experience outside of school) that he had a real aversion to vet clinics, but he shouldn't be too dangerous.
Well one thing lead to another and they didn't get to him right away. At 1PM the vet called and told me that they needed to do a bunch of tests and xrays to see what was wrong with him, and even offered to euthanize him if that's what I wanted to do. I went out there to talk to her and try to understand what caused the sudden change in him. She seemed to think that his bladder had ruptured and he had something else drastically wrong, since he had been throwing up and there was blood and liquid in his kennel. They had sedated him, and they seemed to have a hard time seeing him as the gentle and calm cat that I was describing. She again told me that they could not figure out what was wrong with him, without tests and xrays. They finally stuck an ultrasound on his belly and found that his bladder had not ruptured. I told her to run a catheter into his bladder and make sure that he could pee, and I would take him home and put him down later, if necessary. In truth I was surprised that he had suddenly turned terminal in that short time frame. They never considered that he was scared nearly to death and so desperate to get out of the kennel that he was out of his mind with fear. I would have puked too.
He was still groggy when I went to bed, so I made sure he had water, food and a litter box right in front of him. Some time in the middle of the night he came in and got in bed with me.
He of course woke me up just before daylight by butting me in the face and kneading and purring in my face. We snuggled and butted and petted until a reasonable hour to get out of bed. He seemed fine. No sore spots, no nothing other than the fact that he would not leave me alone. Under foot as only a cat can do. Any time I tried to go anywhere or do any thing, he was right there wanting to be picked up. In my lap at the slightest indication that I was going to sit down. In other words the only thing wrong that I could see was that the dumb shit thought that I was his savior, rather than the one who caused the whole thing. All day long he was a constant tripping hazard and butting me in the face every time I dropped my guard. Hell I thought he was a pain in the ass before this experience, now there was no doubt.
This morning, way too early, the sucker started in again. He would butt me in the face and purr, rubbing all over me smearing the drool that probably came out of my mouth as I desperately tried to stay asleep. He would get up walk around my head on my pillow and do it all over again. I had to try to keep my arms covered so that he wouldn't be sticking me with his many toes as he kneaded any soft spot he could find. I can't lock him in another room, he scratches on the door, driving all thoughts of sleep away. Hopefully he will realize someday that I don't like cats. However I eventually began to see it as funny. At least somebody besides my dogs thinks that I am wonderful. I know it's not much, but we do what we can to survive.
Rather than go through all the trauma associated with a vet, if it happens again. I am just going to lock him in a cat carrier, put on a mask, spread some disinfectant and scare the piss out of him and save some money.
