About Amir

 

Somewhere in July, a black and white Persian cat started hanging out in our yard. Very skittish. Would not address us, ran when he saw us. Poor sweetie. Collar-less cats are not unusual in our neighborhood. Charlie, for example, is a grey cat that is also skittish, but he belongs to my neighbor Joyce. She can't keep a collar on him. We lost five collars on Grendel before Dan found him a puppy collar.

So when we saw this cat, we tried to approach him. No dice. We left kibble out, just in case. And yes, Charlie eats from it too. Grendel also eats from Charlie's stash that Joyce leaves out in her garage. Joyce would ask me if the Persian was my cat. No,  I thought it was hers. Apparently, there's another man down the block who wondered the same thing. 

So we left food out for the Persian. Timid cat. Didn't want much to do with us at all, very wary, and we couldn't touch him. He'd run and jump if we tried. 

I'm going to condense this. Too many boring details, so let's talk about November the second. 

It had snowed the day before, and I was concerned, of course. I went to put food out, and found him waiting as he sometimes did. But THIS TIME...

I invited kitty in. I stood guard as he ate, but this time I held the door open and asked if he wanted to come inside. He followed me up the porch stairs. It might have taken five or seven minutes, but it felt like twenty before he crept his way into the kitchen and I quietly shut the door. 

He looked alarmed when the exit closed, but still ventured inside. I used my most soothing voice, as he slinked into the living room. He sniffed Grendel's face. Grendel has always been nice to him, and sniffed back.His sniffed Freya's face, She gave him The Swat. 

Once he figured out there was a basement, he hid in the spare bedroom, under the futon. I left him a dish of food and let him diffuse. A day and a half, I left food, and left him alone. 

That evening, a different cat came up the stairs. He was shouty and purring. He demanded pets, and rolled around being adorable so we would indulge him. We won him over! Yay! He's been here ever since.

Here's the thing....He's not a stray cat. Someone must be missing him. I'm doing the right thing and looking for his owners, But...

I had other names for him. I thought about naming him Balder, Norse god of all things pure and innocent.(Bald-er. People wouldn't get it, and would think that was a dumb name for a fluffy kitty)  I thought about calling him Helios, for the Greek god who drives the sun chariot, based on his beautiful yellow eyes that look like an eclipse when his pupils are large. I started calling him 'Amir' because he was a little prince and he was a Persian longhair. Many people know this...Yes, 'Amir' is the Persian word for 'Prince'. 

I'm not sure I like it. I catch myself saying, "C'mere Amir." and it sounds dumb. And Amir Milward sounds like 'A mere Milward.'

Not particularly imaginative of me, but he suits it. He's a little prince. He yells for affection and food. He likes to be held. I tried brushing him, and he knows the routine. I wouldn't say he likes it like Freya does, but he accepts the brush and rolls over accordingly. He's taken over the couch and has taken other surfaces accordingly. What do I mean by that? I mean my desk, the couch, my makeup table, the kitchen counter. Everything, everywhere. But he's rather polite about it, if that makes sense.  He knows how to play with toys and he SHOUTS for attention. 

We're in love with him, but he clearly belongs to someone. I've put him on all my social media, including 'Next Door', the neighborhood app. No answers, no replies in ten days. Currently looking for posters about him. 

The truth is, we don't need another mouth to feed, but what could I do? Leave him to scrounge kibble from our yard? What if it gets REALLY cold. Today was -20 Celsius, and it's early yet. There's still December and January to get through. . I can't imagine. Here's another thing. He's been here for ten days and NOT ONCE has he asked to go outside. He isn't fixed either. He also hasn't sprayed. He's an impressively good cat. Like he's been trained. He even knows not to scratch the furniture with a simple "Noooo."

There is no microchip. That doesn't mean this won't end in heartbreak. I do believe someone else owns Amir. In the meantime, I will look for his owners and hope that they will let me be a part of his life once we find them. In the meantime, Amir is a part of this family. He will be safe, warm and loved. 

When a Cat Learns to Love You.

 

It's been about a year and two months since Grendel became a permanent member of our family. A year and two months since we brought Grendel inside and got his broken leg fixed.  No regrets. 

He's a sweet. happy and loud boy. I don't mind when he yells at both two and five o'clock in the morning. Okay--I mind a little bit, but it sure beats staying up late worrying and keeping an ear open for him at the door. 

Freya used to hiss at him. He was always following her around, getting in her space. 

He bonded with Dan immediately, shouting for his attention and jumping on his desk. He would boop Dan's hands while he pet him, and Dan would call him Sweetie-Doodle and tell Grendel how happy he was that he was here. 

It was me Grendel wasn't quite sure of. He liked me well enough, but I hadn't earned his trust yet. I always seemed to startle him. I'd let him sniff my hand, and sometimes he would tolerate my petting. Sometimes I'd get a kiss. Sometimes he would back away from my touch. Dan was his rescuer and I was the human that lived with his rescuer. 

I tried to give him space, tried not to be too handsy. According to Jackson Galaxy, trust equals love to a cat, and trust takes time. I did my best to learn what Grendel needed. When he sat at the window, I opened it for him so he could smell outside. When he cried and paced at two in the morning, I learned that a small snack would calm him down. If he ran around the house trilling, it meant he was bored and he wanted to play, so we learned what he liked to play with. 

His favorite toys are the green ball that dispenses crunchy treats if he rolls it right. He loves to stalk and pounce on Mr. Bug, a pink spider on a string. Dan puts the string under his shoe and drags it around the kitchen table.

I have a close friend who trapped three feral cats from her garage eight years ago. She brought them in because she was sure they'd never survive the dropping temperatures. She told me it took years to earn their trust.  They are Mama, (RIP)  Baby and Lookie. Mama eventually became a friendly cat to other humans, but Lookie still hides from company and I can count on one hand how many times I've seen Baby. 

My friend told me some cats never warm up to humans, and maybe Grendel might not accept me. I was okay with that. I knew he got along well with Dan--they make each other so happy-- and now that she feels better, Freya has started playing Chase with him. That might just have to be enough and that was okay. I love him anyway.

But something happened yesterday. It was like a flipped switch. Grendel jumped up on my desk and chirped at me and looked me in the eye. That was a surprise. He never jumps on my desk, only Dan's. I said, "Hello, Sweet Boy."  I extended my hand to him and he rubbed his face all over my fingers. I pet his nose and head and he leaned into it hard.  He let me cradle his face in the palm of my hand. I tried not to get too excited. 

But this was a new day. I opened a window for him and together we looked out at Squirrel and Bird TV.  When I looked over at him, he leaned in and booped me. I was so delighted, I kissed his nose. I worried that I may have offended him, but he didn't seem to mind. I decided not to push my luck and let him be. 

Later that night, Dan and I were sitting on the couch. Grendel jumped into Dan's lap and asked for love. It's not the first time he's jumped into Dan's lap, but it's the first time he's done it while I was sitting there too. Dan stroked his ears and I reached out and hoped my affection would be accepted. Grendel responded by purring louder than I've ever heard him and nuzzling into both of our hands. 

I'm writing this because I need to tell you, in that moment it felt like our family was whole again. For the first time since we lost Spartacus, I felt like our little family was complete and at peace.  I was hoping Grendel would eventually love me, and now I believe that he does. 

When he grew tired of Cuddletime, he crawled up on Freya's towel and fell asleep next to her, and I snapped that picture. I think he understands now that he truly belongs here and he knows how much he is loved by all of us. 

The world has become a comic book, but I have a corner of happiness.  It's a fantastic feeling that I thought I'd share. The world feels just a little brighter, just because I've earned the love of a cat. 

Another Cat Post

 Yes, another cat post. But I'm hoping you're wanting more information on Grendel and maybe a bit on Freya, because there's a lot to tell. 

First of all, Grendel is doing GREAT, He's a happy boy, and has adjusted well to our family. In fact, he's become a bit of a diva, shouting everywhere he goes, at all hours of the day and night. We adore him. He and Dan are especially close, and it makes me happy to see the love between them. Grendel follows Dan wherever he goes and likes to interrupt his computer games by jumping on his desk and sticking his butt in Dan's face. His presence always makes Dan's face light up.  His leg? Like nothing ever happened. Not even a limp. 

Favorite food? Pretty much anything we give him. He's still got a ferocious appetite. But cover your Ranch dressing. If he smells it, he'll seek it out and lick it up. He's over catnip. His thing now is Honeysuckle. He doesn't care about laser pointers, and his favorite toy is a pink insect on a string I call Mr. Bug. Dan puts one end under his shoe, and walks around the kitchen table with it.  "Oh, no! It's chasing me! Save me Grendel! Save me from the spider-thingy."

The vet gave him the birthdate of September 15th, and he'll be three next month. I bought new Honeysuckle, chicken Squeezables and low-sodium tuna. I'm going to get him a new toy. Mostly likely something on a string. We are a happy family of two adults and two cats.

Except for one thing.  Freya has diabetes. We found out last week. I had small reaction to the news, but I know why. I'd already done my crying when I didn't know what was wrong. Finding out she had diabetes was almost a relief. I knew then that she was treatable, and I wasn't going to lose her.

I'm mad at myself for not noticing the massive weight loss. A whole kilogram since her spring visit, and now it's obvious. It was her increased appetite that tipped me off. Freya eats, but was never food motivated. She usually just licks the gravy off her wet food, eats only a bit...maybe a bite or so of kibble. Suddenly her appetite matched Grendel's and she started asking for more. Her water intake increased as well. 

So here's what we're learning. Her first visit was expensive, but we expected that. About $500 CDN. There will be more visits, and they're called 'curves'. They will be used to determine how much insulin she'll need. 

Her insulin isn't expensive, not at her doses. For a human, it must be awful, pricey, and stressful. It's the exact same stuff, but she's currently at one milligram, twice daily. Her insulin will last us about six months or so.   

Giving her the shots are hard. We don't like giving her needles, but we've got experience because of Spartacus. It should be easy, but her needles are not the same as his were. His was a single needle, not a syringe, just stick it in, and let the saline drip in. Spartacus sat quietly, knowing he'd feel better when we pulled the needle out 

Her needles are smaller, and Dan keeps pressing the plunger by accident before he gets the needle in her skin. The really hard part is because she's clearly uncomfortable. I think I've been pinching her skin too hard when I go in, and there's no fat left to ease the prick of the jab. It's such a small dose, sometimes I worry that we're screwing it up, and not getting it in her system. 

I worry about other factors, like general pain. Since her diagnoses, she doesn't like to be pet. I worry that she's in pain. I knew arthritis was a thing for senior cats, so we've been putting towels in the dryer, just for her. I hope it helps. 

Her food is the expensive part. A six pound bag of Purina dietary kibble is about five dollars less than the massive bag of Meow Mix. One can of wet food of about 156 grams is over three dollars. 

Most people who know me know that I trust my vets and I usually follow their instructions to the letter and spare no expense. I've been asking for opinions on Facebook about food. I read the ingredients on those expensive cans, and they don't look that great. 

And it's not that I don't trust my vet. I do, but I'm conflicted. I'm finding she likes to run all kinds of extra tests and adds costs, and suggests unnecessary visits. My Yelp review says that I feel like my cats are more than dollar signs to them. I don't feel that way anymore. I often feel like maybe she's being pressured to milk us. 

So I followed the advice of people who make their own cat food and have had diabetic cats. (Thanks especially to Carrie Ganie.) Today I made my own cat food. I used chicken breast, brown rice and cat grass from my own garden. ( no pesticides, ever.)  I finally used the meat grinder I asked for and received for Christmas a few years back.  Both cats are enjoying it. It's probably still expensive, ( I haven't done the math.) but it's not Three-bucks-a-can expensive. 

As a former meatcutter I can add some important information about chicken. I made certain to avoid a product called 'Seasoned Chicken'. You may have seen footage of  butchers putting long needles into chicken meat and plumping it up. That's a brine. Literally just salt water. It's used to make the chicken 'taste better', look better, and add to the weight. It's harmless unless you are watching your dollars and your salt intake. I don't buy it for us and I sure as hell won't buy it for my cats. Check your labels. If they are brining the chicken, they legally have to tell you, but they will call it 'seasoned'. 

Sorry I haven't written much in the blog. Honestly, it comes down to time, sensitive topics, and how I'm still trying to learn how to load photos from my phone. Still struggling with that. Literally, this was the only useful photo I could find. I'll update if I figure it out. For all photos I've taken recently, see my Instagram under Donna Milward. 

And for the readers waiting for my next book: Sorry for the wait. I'm re-writing a battle scene, and David will need to edit that too. 

Day One and We're Exhausted

                 

If you follow this blog or my personal Facebook, then you've met Grendel. Grendel is the stray cat we've been feeding since late July. We've welcomed him into our home and let him stay as long as he likes. We've encouraged him to stay overnight, giving him treats and toys, with moderate success. We'd hoped that with the arrival of winter, he would just stay in.

He didn't want to. He likes us and trusts us, but he didn't want to be our cat. That became clear when the closer we tried to get to him, the more he resisted. If we kept him in against his wishes, he punished us with absences. We tried to give him space.

But he always came back eventually, if it got too cold, or he got too hungry, or if he'd been injured from a cat fight. We took him to the vet twice. He comes to us when he hurts. 

Then THIS happened: 

He came home three days ago, clearly in pain. We thought it was another sprain perhaps, but he couldn't put any weight on his foot. We kept him in, despite his protests, and watched it overnight. In the morning, it seemed to be worse, so we called our vet. (Mayfield Veterinary Animal Clinic)

They were exceptionally busy. Is it urgent? Describe his injury. They made the time to see him. Vet said it looked pretty bad and she recommended an x-ray. This is that x-ray. She only took one because the problem was obvious, no need to cause him more pain by repositioning him. 

The next two hours were a flurry of phone calls to Guardian, trying to find the best course of action. We had a make him fast the rest of the night, in case he could get in a morning appointment that required sedation. Long story short- after many more phone calls Guardian had a cancellation and could take him in for surgery. THANK GOD. And yes, they could neuter him as well. We'd been meaning to do that anyway, and we felt that without neutering his recovery would take longer, due to his wandering, somewhat feral nature. 

As you can imagine, the surgery was expensive. He now has two plates in that leg. I'm not going to tell you how much. Partly because the price was the decision of the vets involved (It was a bit less than expected. Maybe they cut us a break.) ) and partly because I'm a little bit embarrassed. Why would we pay so much for a cat that isn't ours? Some might think it was a dumb idea. It's just a cat, right? I know pet owners and animal lovers would understand.

Number One, it's a cat we love. Number two, he's a creature in need. He came to us, because he trusted us to help him. What else could we do? Like what? Abandon him? Hell no. Put him in a splint? Not with that injury, it would lead to ...Amputation? God, no. That would destroy him! So, you see...no other options. 

The trip home from the south end of Edmonton to the west was hard. Grendel yowled, cried and thrashed violently all the way home. I was terrified he would further injure himself. He was angry coming out of the carrier, struggling to stand and walk, not that he's supposed to...Two medications were due, we had to remove the bandage on his front leg where the intravenous was, and put his cone back on. Dan went out and purchased a fabric cone for his comfort. We had it on him for less than an hour before it completely disappeared. Twenty-two dollars gone with no trace. More medication tonight after he has a good solid sleep and more food. As I write this, he's stretched out on the basement futon, out like a light. 

This is day one and we're pooped, and he will remain indoors with us for a minimum of six weeks.  (For good, if we can convince him.) More splint changes, new newspaper pellet litter, blocked off passageways, closed doors and keep him separated from Freya.

Dan and I often thought he had a couple of families looking after him. A neighbor told me that he lives in a green house across the avenue. I'm prepared for someone to come to my door, demanding to take him back. I will hand them the receipt we received from Guardian. I will ask them: "Where were you when he broke his leg? Why did he come to us, and not you?" 

We have accepted that he may never be our cat, he might actually belong to someone else. He might not stay after all this is over. 

But the more Dan and I talk about it, the less embarrassed I feel about our choices. Why shouldn't we do this? We have no mortgage and a clean VISA. Animal shelters and organizations all over this city, all over this continent do more with less. And there's no shame in helping defenseless animals. It's the RIGHT thing to do. Dan and I promised each other when Spartacus Jones died that we would help homeless animals to the best of our ability. 

We're keeping that promise now. 

Carry On Our Wayward Cat

 

If you've read the previous post, you'll know we're trying to bring a stray cat we've named 'Grendel' into our household. A lot has happened since my last blog. 
He got a bad infection in his leg. He came to our house very much later than usual, and when he did, he could not walk  He looked like a three-legged cat, and we made a decision. 

We shut him in, and made him an appointment for the vet. He was so tired and so sick, he didn't bother fighting us.  He just hobbled downstairs to sleep. 

As the night wore on, he growled, he pleaded, he lost the energy to argue. We did not let him out. The next day, I picked him up, intimidated by his terrible, monster growl-it's truly scary-But....He's all bark, no scratching or biting. I spent less than thirty seconds tucking him into a cat carrier. He didn't know what it was. He knew it seemed bad, but he didn't know how to fight it. Plus one leg didn't work right.

The vet gave him a shot of antibiotics, and he spent the next four days indoors with us. (Apparently, he's about two years old, and they gave him the birthdate of September 15, 2018.) That meant lots of love, lots of food and nip. Still he yowled and scratched at the door. Not wanting to stress him out, we released him after he stopped limping. 

He didn't show up for a day and a half. I was relieved it was only that long. I expected him to disappear for three or four days and it felt like it. But he returned, and now we have a new half established routine.

I feel like I live with a teenager. Grendel stays out all night, coming home to eat like a horse before passing out in the basement. He wakes in the afternoon, wolfs his breakfast/lunch/whatever and disappears. I told my Mom about it and she was blunt. "Donna--That's payback." I cracked the hell up, but wow...I suddenly feel mighty bad for my mother. He stresses me out a bit.

But as I sit typing this, my heart sings. Grendel rests on the floor by my side. It gives me so much pleasure to watch him play with a honeysuckle stick. It makes me so happy to make him feel safe. It feels like love. And maybe he loves us enough to stay. 

He just left to sleep the morning away downstairs. Typical teenager.

Edit: Yes, we still plan to get him fixed. He seems to know it too. His appearances have become random and unpredictable.

Happy Birthday Spartacus

A good friend has asked when I would write another blog. What would I blog about? I already did one about the Pandemic and isolation. Nothing interesting about that, really. I'm doing some renovations. Nothing fancy.

Black Lives Matter? You know I'm onboard. You also know that I'm a white female, and my opinion is not required. I'm quietly relearning history and opening my eyes to some ugly truths that have been going on for hundreds of years. I'm pissed off, but now is not the time to vent. Now is the time to listen and read up.

Still writing and editing. Nothing is new.

But on the first of July, I got triggered somehow. I realized that on August first, Spartacus Jones would have been 8 years old.  I cried for three days. That's tomorrow now, and it still hurts. We lost him six months ago.

I'm reluctant to talk about my pain, especially in times like these. People everywhere are scared. They're losing loved ones and life seems a little crueler than usual. One of my friends asked for prayers for her mother in surgery. Another fears for her terminally ill father, and we pray for her son, who keeps running away. Another of my hometown friends is planning her son's funeral.

This year has been particularly ugly, and I don't want to make light of the pain of others.
But today, I'd like to write about Spartacus Jones. We still love him, and miss him everyday. If he were alive, I would be planning his tuna breakfast. I would give him new toys. I'd give him a new bag of catnip, and a half roll of paper towel to destroy. Then I'd get it on video.

As many know, I believe in the paranormal. I've seen and experienced some very strange things in my lifetime.

Here's a secret: Weeks after Spartacus' death, I was sitting on my couch, crying. I held his box of ashes in the crook of my arm, wishing desperately that I could hug his soft fur instead of sharp cardboard corners. I remember thinking, God, I miss you, Sweet Boy.

I felt a presence. I was overwhelmed by a feeling of pure love and gratitude. It enveloped me. I asked out loud, "Is that you, Baby?" and the feeling grew stronger. I told him we missed him, and we would always love him. I cried and kissed the box. I worried that I would never feel his presence ever again, and I think I'm right. Because although I heard no words, the feeling I got was 'goodbye'. So much love and happiness, so thankful for the life he had with us, but he wanted to rest. Spartacus Jones just wanted to sleep. Then the presence faded away.

I don't feel him, I don't dream about him, and I've never had another experience. But I won't ever forget him, or stop loving him. I know I have to get over him, but it's not that easy. He had a profound effect on our lives.

So tomorrow, Freya will get tuna for breakfast in honor of her brothers. (We lost Sully on this day about seven years ago.) We will continue putting cat food out at night for any strays who need it. We will continue to keep our eyes open for animals who need help. We will wait and see if the universe delivers us another soul in need of a home.

We want another cat in our house, but we wait.  We wait because some day another cat might need to come in from the weather again. And we'll be here with open arms.

Thorry You Didn't Stay

A writer never lets her readers dangle. One must tie knots in the ends of her threads, so here is the final Thor Report.

For those of you who don't know, Thor was the little orange stray we were trying to coax into our family. We were so close...I even have pictures to share. But we haven't seen the little cat with the big balls for weeks now. I guess it wasn't meant to be.

The last time we saw Thor, we fed him, and he let both myself and my husband hold him. He meowed a lot over it, but his body seemed relaxed. He stuck around for about fifteen, twenty minutes before trotting to the gate. He perched atop it, looking back at us. He looked reluctant. Like he was trying to decide if he really wanted to go.

A few nights later, I dreamed I was holding him. He had a collar and tag very much like the ones we have for Spartacus Jones and Freya. I tried to read the tag, wondering if I would find our address and number on the tag or someone else's, but he wouldn't let me read it. He kept squirming, and I woke up.

After a few days, and much thought, we stopped leaving food out. We hadn't seen him at all, but the neighbor's cat started coming into the yard, and we suspect she'd been eating the food. I think Joyce, her owner, probably wouldn't appreciate us getting her tubby cat even tubbier.

So I guess Thor wasn't meant to be ours. I'd like to think he's safe in someone else's house. That we weren't meant to have him, but we were supposed to help keep him alive so he could find his furever home.

Further thought makes me question whether we should get a third cat after all. Freya is the Greta Garbo of cats, clearly wishing to be left alone. Spartacus Jones might want a sibling, but perhaps he wouldn't like sharing his Mommy with another cat. He's jealous of attention I give to Freya.

I guess we will remain a two-cat household, and maybe that's for the best. I'd like to think that if another cat comes into our lives, I will know when it's right. We'll see. Goodbye, little Thor. It was nice knowing you <3 If things don't work out...You know you have someplace to go.

Dear Universe

If you don't mind, I would like another cat. I am in love with my Freya, Mighty Huntress and perfect little girl. I am forever grateful for my best friend, Spartacus Jones, whose cuddles and loyalty keep me sane. But the Energy has made cats sweet, furry, purry, and addictive. I can't have just two. 

 I'm asking you, whatever powers that be, because had I never even voiced out loud what I wished to anyone when you took my mental list, and delivered Spartacus Jones.

Back then, I wanted another kitty, but he would have to be special. Someone I could not resist. Maybe a stray, starving and possibly injured...the weather would have to be bad. Because at that time I believed there was no reason to bring a stray cat indoors if it wasn't raining or snowing. He would have to be younger than my cats...I decided he would fit in better that way. Having said that, he would have to get along with Sully and Freya.

It was as though the universe said "That's your list? Here you go."

Spartacus Jones followed my husband and friend home. He fit all the criteria. It was raining AND snowing on April 29th, 2013. He came to us with scars and ribs showing. He begged for affection, which I gave until I decided he belonged here. I tried to find his owners, but he'd obviously been out for awhile, and despite the fact that he was a good kitty, fixed and litter trained, no one seemed to be looking for him. I couldn't let him be abandoned twice.

Does this cat tree make me look fat?

You did such a good job, Entity Upstairs, that I'm making a formal request for one more. Here's my list:

1) I'd like another stray or even a willing feral. Not just because they are such grateful kitties, but because they don't have anything.  They have no shelter, and don't know when their next meal may come from. They are unwanted. They suffer so much, and I know I can love them right back to health. They deserve it.

2) I'd like for this cat to fit in with Spartacus Jones AND Freya. In fact, could you let the two of them  choose? When we lost Sully, we lost the natural balance between them. It's hard enough to get Freya and Spartacus to get along now. I can't bring another cat into this family if it will ostracize any of them.

Perfect Little Girl

3) I don't care how old the cat is, what gender it is, or what breed I get. I will accept the responsibility of an injured cat, extra toes, missing legs, it doesn't matter. If you send me the one that can get along with my furchildren, I will give it a home. I will take in any stray sent to me anyway, and get them off the street to someplace warm, even if it's the Humane Society. I promise.

Did I mention I have a birthday coming up?