So we have ended our catless stretch. A couple of weeks ago, we adopted two kittens, each weighing easily less than a pound apiece, but their size belies their ability to get into mischief. Two fuzzballs, one a calico, one a tabby. Named Chessie, for the Chesapeake and Ohio mascot from years past (the calico), and Merry, short for Meriodoc the Hobbit. My first cat out of college was named Pippin, so now I have completed the set of inquisitive hobbits.
Kittens make you see things with fresh eyes. Shoes are evil, and the strings have to be set free and loose. Ceiling fans, too. They go round and round, and must be stared at in wonder. And then there are the occasions when some of their body emissions do not find their way into the litter box. That’s definitely the down side of things.
So many strings! Each one must be played with. And then there are the endless bouts of wrestling between them. Only once have I seen this wrestling become serious, and that is when I shared a slice of deli ham between them. The growls were real in that case. The rest of the time, they are only playing, and we only object when they are wrestling while atop us in bed at 6 AM. See, it is growing light by that time, so everyone should be up and about.
We can hardly wait for the upcoming holiday season. We can only hope that they do not choose our Christmas tree as their own personal mountain to climb. I can hear them right now as they chase each other through the house, the pitter-patter of their little feet skittering along the wood.
The other downside for these cats is they had fleas. We got them from the neighbor of one of our friends, and we feel good for helping these two kittens escaping from their less than desirable surroundings. Apparently the woman of the house refuses to get her animals spayed and neutered, so litters continue to be brought forth in steady procession. The lucky kittens get adopted out, the less lucky get turned out of the house and onto the street once they lose their kitten charms. Since these kittens are so small, a bath in Dawn dish soap and Johnson’s baby shampoo are the only things we can use to get at the fleas. We’ll see if we can keep these cats as indoor cats, because their flea control will be so much easier if we can eliminate them now, and the cats never become exposed to them later in life. It will be a challenge to keep them inside, since they have already taken to camping by the door whenever we go outside. My reflexes will be tested as I remember how to discourage their exploration by forcefully removing them from the vicinity of the door whenever they want to expand their horizons. Since we love our outdoor living room, that will be a challenge for both of us.
They are at peak charm right now. I had forgotten what it was like to have two cats fall asleep atop of me, the two of them intertwined and exchanging positions slowly over time. When it is difficult to figure out where one cat begins, and the other cat ends, you figure that they are comfortable and happy to be where they are. And, after all, that is all you can hope with new kittens. That they are happy to be with you, and you are their 2nd best plaything (after each other).
For the first time in 47 years, I am not sharing my home with a cat. We had to put our nearly nineteen-year old cat Blinky down yesterday, and the pain still resonates within me. Blinky had pretty much stopped eating over the last week. With great work, he showed some appetite for plain tuna in water, just the sort of thing that would trigger his thyroid condition. We had made the appointment for the veterinarian yesterday, and he confirmed Blinky had lost 25% of his body weight just in the past two months. Dr. Patton helped us through the process, as he had with several other cats before Blinky. We brought him back to his home in a bag for burial today along with his predecessors out in our woods.
We had managed older cats with thyroid issues for a while. Blinky’s brother, Napoleon, did not die of thyroid issues, but of lung cancer nearly 4 years earlier. We had managed Blinky’s care with prescription food that kept iodine out of his diet. We should have taken more notice when he quit eating the dry food a few months ago, but his appetite for the canned food seemed adequate. Then he had a stretch where he wouldn’t eat anything, so we got some canned tuna to try to tempt him into eating anything. That seemed to work, so we also tried canned chicken since it should have less iodine (still trying to keep his thyroid in check). But even that failed, and we were forced to go to plain tuna in order to try to keep him going.
It is hard when you have been the protector, and the source of all things good for an animal, but you realize you can’t help him anymore. He would look at me patiently, assured that I could make it better, but I couldn’t. His plaintive meows indicated he wanted food, but when he was given some he just sniffed it and licked it, then turned away. He liked the thought of food, but his appetite was gone.
Cats are hedonists. They revel in their own pleasures, and if you can help that by providing food they like, a warm lap to sit in, a place where they can catch rays of sun, then you are fulfilling your duties as a cat parent. When Blinky’s brother died, we knew this day was coming, when our hedonistic cat no longer found pleasure in his life’s activities. We could have waited for a completely natural end. But we were certain that would have caused pain and suffering, and Blinky did not deserve that. So with tears in our eyes, we drove to our veterinarian’s place of business (I have tears running down my cheeks as I write this). Normally we would be accompanied on this drive by a strong string of complaints, but this time the complaints seemed half-hearted, and totally stopped for a good portion of the drive.
Blinky had a long and I’d like to believe a happy life. For nearly 15 years, he shared our house with his brother, until cancer claimed him. We met him and his brother when they took up residence in the engine block of a car that our neighbor across the street was ready to junk. We took Blinky and his brother in, segregating them for a few days until we could get a clean bill of health from our vet (the same Dr. Patton), and then introduced them to our other three cats. Over the years, the others departed, leaving the two thyroid challenged cats alone. Finally, with Napoleon’s death, we were down to a single cat. We would have gotten more, but the logistics of trying to deal with feeding where you wanted to keep the $50 bag of cat food away from any cat without dietary restrictions kept us from getting any more cats.
For years, Blinky and his brother were the champions of their realm. Then, a cat (Harold) moved in across the street, and their reign came to an end. Instead of keeping our yard clear of voles and chipmunks, the cats became reluctant to go outside. We still remember the time Blinky appeared on our kitchen’s window ledge, making that weird noise when their mouth is occupied with prey. Blinky had a chipmunk, and was so proud of his accomplishment. He put the prey down, and accepted praise, but as soon as he put down the chipmunk, it vamoosed. Just playing possum in its own desperate attempt to survive.
Blinky took about two days to tell that the heat was turned on each year in the fall. He had his own heat vent he claimed as his own. Since he was a black cat, he brought back my thermodynamic memories of black body radiation, and I often wondered about the equilibrium temperature he achieved by absorbing the heat, then distributing it back.
There is a whole range of Blinky stories we hold in our hearts and memories, like the time when he was still a kitten, but had managed to climb up our butternut tree and get temporarily stuck. He was at eye level with us on our deck, which with the slope of the yard, meant he was up about 20’. That was a time he was able to get down himself, and he never got stuck up a tree again.
We will undoubtedly get new cats. As Carrie posted the news about Blinky on Facebook, we became aware of a bunch of kittens ready for adoption in about a month. The number of available cats almost always exceeds the number of loving households to take them in. But when they do enter your life, it is amazing how much they can integrate into your heart. Especially if you have nearly nineteen years to share with them. Rest well, Blinky. We miss you.
The world has stared in horror on video screens at the murder in Memphis of Tyree Nichols. How could such an event happen? What type of culture creates people who could exhibit such a lack of human empathy when confronted with the beating death so many participated in?
I lived in Memphis for nearly 10 years. It was where I had my first job, at a chemical plant north of the city, and I lived in two apartment complexes and a house near the University of Memphis campus (I’ll always want to describe the school as Memphis State.) I was a part of the city, but I see now how much of the city I did not visit. At my plant, the racial divide was there, but it seldom was a primary concern. I can only recall one time where the violence and crime affected us, and that was when one of the operators didn’t show up for his shift. Turns out it was because he had been abducted by some folks as part of a drug transaction gone bad, and he had been locked inside of a trunk for over a day. From what I know, he was fortunate to ever leave that trunk alive. But that turned out to be only one of many instances of him not complying with corporate expectations, and he was fired shortly afterwards. This was the guy who went in and plugged up a hole on a leaking ton cylinder of sulfur dioxide. It was clear that he was fearless. But. He was ultimately not a good fit for working in a chemical plant.
I crossed paths with different parts of Memphis society from time to time. I coached our company team in basketball in the city rec league one year. Now, you must understand that Memphis is crazy for basketball. That’s why the NBA franchise there has done so well. And we did have several good players on our team, including the intern whose brother was on the Memphis State team. The only reason why Alfred was not playing major college basketball was that he was only 5’7”. When he went back to school, we picked up another guy from the drafting and blueprint room, who was about 6’4” and a professional kick boxer. He was a terror on the boards and on defense. Sometimes I think the only reason for me to coach was to allow me to call my own number, and play my 2 minutes per game where my only skill was standing still and letting someone charge into me. There was once where a guy who resembled a matchstick, about 6’6” and 66 pounds, came at me, and I distinctly remember his knees clipping my shoulder. He went down and I’d thought I’d killed him, but except for the foul he got, there were no consequences. Our team was undefeated going into the playoffs, where we encountered an older white referee, who immediately perceived any deception as traveling. I was very upset with that ref who took us out of the tournament. But that was only a partial meeting across cultural and racial lines, and I left the games to go back to my almost exclusively white apartments.
I let race wash over me during my years there. When I bought a house (back in the days of 15% interest rates), I ended up in the white neighborhood between a country club and Memphis State. It was a nice neighborhood, and I never had any concerns about walking at late night down to the bars that a major college attracts. I would imagine my concern level would be elevated now, with an increase in street crime and the general decline occurring in the nearly 40 years since I lived in the city.
That was the thing. I lived in Memphis, but there was a whole part of the city I never set foot in. I remember driving through one neighborhood, where I saw the sign on a diner advertising the bologna sandwich. I could only wonder about a restaurant that thought enough of bologna to feature it
To say that I lived a life of white privilege is easy to see now. I participated in the party scene in the Nutcracker Ballet, and was asked back to be the king in the following production of Sleeping Beauty. There I was actually on the stage with members of the American Ballet Theatre. These are not the type of cultural events frequented by the majority race in Memphis. I lived in the city before the renovation and resuscitation of Beale Street. So I had to make do with the Overton Square area for bars and restaurants appealing to my demographic (white, male, aged 25-34 at the time). For heaven’s sake, I saw more bluegrass bands than I did blues bands. How much more can you deny the local culture.
I lived in one apartment complex for over 5 years. Back then I would explore on my bike. Just on the outside of the complex was a street that could have been taken directly from the pages of William Faulkner. Henrietta Street it was named, and the contrast between the then new apartment complex cheek to jowl with the houses of sharecroppers was jarring. I only remember riding my bike down that street once. Not because I was scared, but just because I had so little in common with those who lived there.
With the recent beating death by police in Memphis, it is evident that the divides I saw in my time in the city have deepened over the decades. I will always love the city and remember well the smell of hickory smoke down by the Mississippi river during the Memphis in May barbecue fest. There was something powerful in hearing Old Man River sung by a black performer as part of an outdoor orchestral concert. This city is where I learned how to barbecue, and how to be a responsible homeowner. But there was much I failed to discover, mainly because I never really shared my life with the majority of the residents. Now I can only shake my head in dismay at the actions shown repeatedly on television.
Even A Broken Clock 