 Conversation between the Hillebrandt Litterbox Sanitation Engineer (Q) and Pixelle Cat (PC)
Q: Fer heaven’s sake, Pixelle! How many times can a cat poop in a day? PC: Well, let me see…there was that time at 1:00 am, when you got out of bed to clean out the box. Q: I remember it well. Then there was the 3:00 am fragrant breeze wafting me out of bed again. PC: Yes. Purrrrr. You were pretty snarly, for a human. Q: Yer damned right! It’s really hard to keep getting awakened out of a deep sleep by a crappy smell. PC: I beg your pardon! Q: OK, OK. I know this is just call to nature stuff. But really, 3 more times from 7-9 am? And then off and on all day? Really, Pix, it’s a bit much! PC: Well, did you ever think this is something you’re doing? Q: Huh? PC: Maybe it’s the food? Q: Hmmm…you usually don’t go this often. What have I been doing differently? PC: Dunno, but dinner was tasty tonight. Q (sotto voce): You know, I think it’s time for some rice in your food, Pixelle Cat. SOUNDS - litterbox scratching in the BKGD. CUT TO: 3 days later - Night Q: How you feeling, Pix? PC (suspiciously): Why do you ask? Q: You only used the litter box twice today. PC: Yeah. I guess you’re right. I’ll have to work harder. Q: Very funny. Timeout for some cat cuddles. Q: Purrrrr. Is there a moral to this tail? You tell us! Hint: rice really does help get rid of The Pussycat Runs. Anyone have any other remedies? Or similar tails?
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 Sam Cat with Pixelle in a rare moment of total peace. Though they did play together often and never were aggressive with each other. It all began when little Sam Cat went walkabout in October of 2012. I was of course heartbroken. She tried to come back in two nights later, but her former boon companion Pixelle the Prosecutor hissed and snarled fiercely and she ran off. I raced out after her, but could not get her to come back in....Then Sam started coming around, in April of this year. I'd been worried sick and felt guilty as hell for letting her out in the first place. But then, I've had cats since I was a kid and this is only the second who'd ever disappeared. And I'd always let them outside because I think no living critter should be trapped.
Dear Sam Fans -- I don't know how to tell you this. So I'm just gonna go in. The little pussycat, residing in a cabinet in one of my bathrooms for close to 3 weeks, was beginning to lose it. Crying out several times a night, glaring at me from inside instead of looking sweet. If I dared put a toy or the brush she'd loved in close, a claw would come shooting out, and huge hissing would accompany the shot. So, despite the advice of my vet and a pet behavior specialist, I thought, I've got to get her out of there so that I can begin the reintegration process, if that's going to be possible. First step, called Animal Control to see if they send people to help get feral-types out of things like cabinets. Answer, no way in hell! Let this cat go. She clearly wants no part of you or the others in the household. Ever. She'll be fine outside without shots. Millions of pussycats are. I wasn't really buying it, but I did want to bring her, and me, some relief. And relief also for the other two cats, who kept getting lured into one room by me to try to get little Sam to feel safe emerging, and would then get very testy with each other. Not a great plan. So, next step, call a vet tech and see if he would be able to make a house call to help me first confirm this is little Sam, and then help me get her to vet for check up. Then, be able to help with reintegration, i.e., insuring the other two cats wouldn't kill her. I lucked out and the tech was able to come next day. With steel lined gloves scarred, as he showed me, by previous cat bites and scratches. And big towels. And a net. He'd warned me this was going to be a battle though he would do his best to get the cat and wrap her in a towel to soothe her, and then he'd be able to "wand" her to check the microchip to make sure we've got Sammy. The net would only be used as a last resort, because it would really stress the pussycat out. So, I was told to let him do his thing while I went off, and not be surprised by noises. He'd call me when ready. I left him to his thing while answering a very exciting email. Which was a little difficult due to numerous thumps and thuds in the background. Finally, the call. I went to the tech, who was standing catless but with information. No chip. Sammy of course has a microchip. Huh? "Can't find a chip. I was only able to check one side of her, but the wand really should show if there is one." I was dubious. He offered to check the other side of the cat, which meant I was again sent off while he made valiant efforts to corral the angry and scared ball of fur. Several minutes later I was called in again. "No way. She took hold of my finger with her teeth, through the glove, and I thought, 'Great! Now I'll be able to check her completely.' But, she was going to go right through my hand. So, last resort. Do I have your permission to use the net?" He'd warned me using a net might need to happen. He now added that I should expect pee and poop. I suggested we remove the rugs. He said that was a great idea. So, out I went again. VERY LOUD HISSING AND BANGING. But, finally, a net emerged from the bathroom, containing one furious cat. The vet tech followed, holding said net. We got 'er done. No chip. Then the tech put the lid on. "I think this is a boy." ------------- There are other chapters coming. "From pee and poop to something better," and "When does becoming a lock picker make you a good person?" For tonight, I'll leave it by saying my daughter's friend has now labelled me a cat kidnapper.  This morning I hopped into my little car and zoomed to a memoir class I teach Thursday mornings. As always, I had the radio on, and tuned to 1150, which at this hour still broadcasts progressive shows. The host was talking with a caller about the first grey whale found dead in the Gulf. I became increasingly sickened as I listened -- the greys feed at the bottom of the sea, on squid. The squids have been contaminated with the dispersant being used on the oil. They in turn have become poisonous.
This is only the beginning of course. A friend active in the green movement, Carolyn Allen, http://californiagreensolutions.com, ventured a guesstimate about the large number of sea animals bound to die in the Gulf, and we discussed the fact that the spill is moving around the tip of Florida and will hit the Caribbean and Atlantic, claiming even more aquatic life. Carolyn informed me that there is already a dead zone in the Gulf from all the effluent coming from the Mississippi, etc. A fact that did not surprise me; I had just not come across it before. More than 30 years ago Jacques Cousteau said that 50% of the Pacific was dead, and of course there's the huge garbage island floating around in that body of water. Then the Navy got its sonar going, which has been demonstrated to kill whales. I went to a meeting where people were arguing against this unconscionable practice. The Navy reps said, among other things, "the whales can swim underneath the sonar." Sure...perhaps they'll read the billboards. This stuff travels throughout an entire ocean once released, its waves disorienting whales who then can't find feeding grounds, and if they are too close to the source of the sonar, it bursts their air sacs and they die an agonizing death. But the Navy insists the program is critical. Why? To track submarines, which no one is using anymore. Once upon a time there were subs stalking the U.S. and some way to track them made sense. But now, this is a program that has cost billions. To stop it would be to admit the perpetrators have been wasting money. So they continue to dump more in, and fight every time reason tries to prevail. It's not just the whales we are killing with all the shocking behavior. It's other sea dwellers. And what those backing all this insane stuff say is people count more, as do their sources of income. Don't these simpletons see that as we kill off the animals that live in the sea, we kill ourselves? After hearing about the first whale death this morning, I was on email and found a note about a Republican in Congress, Barton, who said to the CEO of BP, whom everyone expected to apologize, "[The 20 billion dollar reparations set forth by Obama] is a tragedy in the first proportion." Further, the note went on, "The Republican Study Committee, with its 114 members in the House, called it a 'shakedown.'" This tragedy should not be a political football. BP has done irreparable harm to living beings, not to mention to the livelihoods of many, many people, whom their CEO keeps referring to as "the little people." How damned condescending can you get? One ray of hope, Jean-Michel Cousteau has gathered resources and established programs to preserve a "clean area" in the Pacific, and he is also working with island peoples to create living styles that will preserve, not destroy the environment. You can find out more at this link: Jean-Michel Cousteau The link below is to the blog of Larry Ray, retired journalist who has lived much of his life on the Gulf, and who writes compellingly of what is going on there. Also with a note of hope. http://theragblog.blogspot.com/2011/08/larry-ray-tattered-leadership-and-toxic.html  I just noticed how long it's been since I've written in here. And I blame it all on the new arrivals, Samantha and Fiona Cat, now about 8 months old, here since they were about 4 months of age. Well, there has been a lot to do on our video project (more soon about that), and an upcoming book. But the cats have also taken their toll. Every day since they arrived it's been like this:
7:00 am: Wake up, have coffee. I don't care what else is going on, without 17 cups, well, OK, 4, my eyes won't focus. 7:05: Clean the litter box(es). 7:10: Sip coffee while feeding the furred ones. This means keeping Samantha, a born vulture, at her own plate so Grazer Pix won't get hers cleaned prematurely by the Little Interloper, or her sister Fiona. See, once they finish their own food, Sam and Fiona crouch nearby and stare at Pix, menacingly. Pix is cowed by this behavior, and abandons her food. Unless I intervene, Sam especially gets fat and Pix is left to nibble dry food. So I have got wily. I now put Pix's plate in my office, lure her in with me and then leave her to munch while I go back to tidy up the kitchen, and yes, clean the litter box in the bathroom, again. Once Pix is done in the office, I go back to let her out, and to clean that litter box. For little creatures they sure poop a lot. And yes, I now have a litter box in my office. You cat owners out there, did you ever notice that as soon as you clean the litter box one or another of your little furred friends has to make his or her mark in the sand? 8:00 You know the drill. Sigh. The rest of the day is interwoven with cleanouts, referring fights and playing fetch with Samantha. Used to be Pix's game. Now, to get Pix to resume her role, I have to close us both up in the office for playtime, too. Otherwise, Sam takes over the toys. In Facebook, I mentioned that I brought Fiona home to keep Pix company. Next time remind me to tell you about the trauma we faced when I brought Sam home to keep Fiona company. Back to Writing Tips! And even to jot down some more memoir writing tips. Here are some of Ina's Weird Prompts (TM) to get ya started. These are more for flexing and lubricating writing muscles than specifically for memoir-writing. But I have found often that people in my classes find links in their minds to treasured memories from these little lines. Have fun with them! |
By Ina
Hi, and glad to see you! My blog features memoir and fiction writing tips for you out there aiming to create enchanting memoirs and flights of fancy of your own; new "Pawprints," those close encounters of the furry kind, by moi; and topical comments as they bang on my head to be written. Plus: videos featuring talented authors I'm privileged to work with, reading live, Coming...your life stories, here. Got one you want to share? Use our form to be considered. Archives
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