Digory decides to explore the world

Good Ol’ Diggerboy! I’ve been a bit worried about him, of course, since his diagnosis of pancreatitis. But he’s doing well, and it’s certainly not fazing him. He’s living his fine cat life and doing all the normal things he has always done — and then some.

The other night when Ed came home from work and the garage door opened as he drove his car in, unbeknownst to us, Digory slipped out. The inner door from the garage to the kitchen hallway was open a crack and I hadn’t realized it. He pushed past that and ran out into the glorious autumn sunshine. I had already given the cats their dinner, so didn’t think it odd that Digger wasn’t around while we ate supper, as the other cats were. I figured he was off doing his thing in another part of the house.

I then left for my symphony chorus rehearsal for the evening and Ed settled in to read in the living room. When I returned after our shortened rehearsal at about 9:30, Caspian, Keeley, Roo and Hedwick greeted me at the door. No Digory. I called him but got no response. That was strange. He normally would have been looking for a snack by that time, and happy to see me — for myself or for the snack? (Probably both.)

I searched the house. No Digory.

It had gotten cold by that time, around freezing. I put on some winter gear, took a flashlight and set out on my bike into the neighborhood. I steered with one hand and shone the light into each yard I passed. I called, but not too loudly. It was by now past 10 p.m. and I didn’t want to be disturbing the neighbors.

No Digory. I came back in to get warm and to report to Ed (he has a bad leg due to post-polio syndrome so was unable to help in the search). I went out again, going in the other direction. No Digory. I walked through our back yard, looked in the shrubbery, and did the same in the yard of our next-door  neighbors who spend the winter in California.

I returned to the house, quite worried now. He is not entirely well and being out in the cold all night, especially when he’s not used to it, could cause a crisis. I began to chide myself for being judgmental of all the people who advertise lost cats in our local papers, and for assuming they were not caring for them properly. One major thing in Digory’s favor: he was wearing a collar with a name tag and our phone numbers on it (as all our cats do, despite being indoor cats), should someone have found him in the morning. A lot of people don’t bother with that, assuming their cats will never inadvertently get out.

I’m a firm believer in God’s control over, and care and compassion for, all things he has made. I began to pray (as Ed was praying simultaneously), “God, you made Digory and all this world’s marvelous creatures. You know where he is; we don’t. I believe you care for him as one of your creatures. You gave him to us many years ago to love and care for. Now please send him home.”

I then walked back outside and called Digory once more. My call was immediately greeted with a loud, eager and somewhat distressed meow. I couldn’t exactly tell where it came from. I called again. The meow came again, from near the neigbhor’s house across the road. And then came Digory, running to our side of the road, “talking” all the while. He had by then been out some 5 1/2 hours.  I scooped him up into my arms; he purred loudly.

Once inside, the other cats gathered round and he apparently told them his story. He stuck very close the rest of the night, snuggling into my lap once I sat down in my recliner, and purring, purring. He has shown no interest in the garage door since then.

“

And now, a new feline infirmity…

In May of this year we lost a most beloved cat, Dancer. (See my posts at my Reformed Revelry blog.) She was 16 1/2, not so old, but she had developed — who knows why? — kidney disease. We considered ourselves blest that we had her to enjoy for nearly a half year after her initial diagnosis, when she was very ill indeed, and when we nearly lost her. We miss her still. She is buried under our back-yard apple tree.

In July we lost Cassie, 14, to hyperthyroidism, combined (we quite late found out) with kidney disease. Cassie was, for most of her life, a whiner, though when she clearly had something to whine about, she refrained, oddly enough. She had some lovely qualities, however, and the three male cats loved her. (To Dancer, however, they gave wide berth.) So did we lover her, more than we suspected, we found out when she became ill — and then even blind and deaf for a time.

For a short time we then had four cats, which, when one is used to six, made the house seem empty. Then we acquired Hedwig , shy, a bit of a loner, but day by day having become more gregarious and affectionate — though she still pretty much does her own thing (as we’ve found females tend to do more than males). After an initial bout with horrible constipation, which required vet care, and which was no doubt stress-induced from being in a new home with new catmates, Hedwig was fine. She seems robustly healthy, and certainly has a robust appetite.

It’s a wonderful thing to have five healthy cats and not to have to dispense medicine to one or more of them.

That state of affairs was to be short-lived, however. We found out a couple of weeks ago that Digory, 14, has pancreatitis. It’s of the chronic variety (not the acute form), and is not nearly so serious as it might be — at least, it seems that way right now. But he is on prednisolone, a steroid relative of  prednisone, to reduce pancreatic inflammation. And he’s to eat only one type of food (there’s a theory that multiple proteins may be a problem in pancreatitis).

After reading up on feline pancreatitis on the Internet I decided it would be good to give him digestive enzymes. The pancreas produces digestive enzymes which it releases into the intestines. In pancreatitis, those enzymes remain in the pancreas, “digesting” tissue (gruesome thought!) and causing inflammation. It also causes loss of appetite in the animal, and vomiting. And sometimes other serious symptoms. And sometimes death.

Digory has vomited only once since being on this regimin, and we’ve already been cutting back the steroids, so  it all seems to be doing him good. He also seems happier, purrs more and is eating as well as he ever has (he’s always been a nibbler, not a snarfer like our other males). One never knows, however, with such an ailment, when it will take a turn for the worse, or how long one has to continue to enjoy the company of that animal. We will leave that in God’s hands and simply enjoy Digory — and the other four — for as long as God give them, and us, breath.

 

 

 

Confessions of a Cataholic: the BOOK, and a new cat adventure

Confessions of a Cataholic the BOOK is eight days away from official launch.  Just yesterday I told Internet friends on a couple of lists I’m on about it — lists laden with cat lovers — and I’m gratified that pre-launch orders are coming in. (Take a look at www.wordpowerpublishing.com)

That said, I’m mortified about the picture of myself on the dustjacket. But then, I’m generally mortified at seeing pictures of myself. I imagine myself to be more sophisticated than I look. But maybe that’s good for me. It certainly has a way of dashing one’s vanity, if it exists.

Yesterday I had a new cat adventure. Or rather, the cats had a new cat adventure. My husband and I each left the house at the same time, though he was slightly behind me. Our front door sometimes misbehaves. It did yesterday. When I returned a few hours later, I was aghast to see it standing wide open. I wasn’t so much concerned about having been robbed as with our five cats  having sauntered out into the crisp fall air to explore the neighborhood. I didn’t believe they’d permanently disappear; it just would have been annoying and time-consuming to find them and gather them back in.

Well, only two were out: Caspian and Digory, the two I certianly expected to relish their freedom. But I expected Keeley to be with them, and he, instead was as he often is: lounging on a towel on my laser printer, looking out the window. He  didn’t seem to realize the opportunity he was missing.

Little Roo (she’s 3 1/2 years old, but is literally little, and is kittenishly playful) greeted me at the front steps. Hedwig was lounging where she normally does. She’s the newest girl on the block and a little shy, so it didn’t surprise she hadn’t ventured out.

So off I went to call and hunt for Caspian and Digory. I saw Caspian almost immediately, in our fenced back yard — but I was on the outside of the fence. I went around to the gate and called him. He was quite eager to come. Then Digory appeared as well. Gathering one under each arm — no easy task; Caspian is a big cat — I hauled them back into the house. Then I sat down at my computer to get to work.

Not long later I heard a cat galloping (galloping is precisely the word for it), some shuffling, then what sounded like scratching on wood (which I wasn’t crazy about; Hedwig has occasionally tried to hone her claws on the woodwork). I jumped up to see what was going on.

I got a surprise. Keeley was pawing at the dining room cabinet, head down. When he lifted his head he had a chipmunk clenched between his teeth. I could only think that the chipmunk came in the open door. Or possibly was brought in; maybe even by Keeley (who then may have dropped it and lost interest when it hid under the cabinet).

I herded him and his prize toward the front door. He dropped it once on the way, but retrieved it, and the chipmunk — still very much alive — didn’t have time or inclination to run (they often play dead in such circumstances).

When we were in front of the door I managed to grab Keeley by the scruff of the neck and make him let go of his prey. I opened the door; the chipmunk ran out. Before I could react, Roo (who had been excitedly watching in the background) ran right after it.

The chipmunk jumped into the adjacent flower bed, into the ground cover of Bishop’s Cap, which is like a forest to such a small animal: it’s some eight or 10 inches high. Roo jumped in after the chipmunk but couldn’t see it immediately, and thus  couldn’t catch it. And I was there to deter her. I grabbed her, picked her up, brought her in and closed the door.

She was not happy. Nor was Keeley. But I’ve never known either of them to hold a grudge. (Digory, however, is another story in the “grudge” department.)  It’s been many years since any cat of ours has had an encounter with a chipmunk, and I’m glad of it. The chipmunk is almost always the loser.

There was a chipmunk once, though, that outsmarted our first two cats, Marple and Delta. But that’s another story (and one I tell in Confessions of a Cataholic. I guess you’ll just have to read the book!

Introducing: Confessions of a Cataholic (the BLOG and the BOOK)

Whenever the subject of cats has come up with my friends, relatives and acquaintances  (which has seemed to happen quite frequently), I would inevitably think of a story about one (or more) of our cats. My husband and I currently have five. We’ve had as many as six at once and we’ve had 10 in all over the last decades (five have already gone to cat heaven).

I have to admit that almost every time I’d tell one of those cat tales someone in my audience would say, “You should write that down!”  Being a writer and editor by profession, I’d smile and say, “Yes, maybe I will someday,” and then dismiss it. It just had too much other writing to do — and other work, period (I’m also a classical and church musician.)

But last year I began to feel prodded, niggled, even, by the thought of writing down all the funny, touching, whimsical and just plain interesting stories I could think of about life with our cats over the years since the mid-1980s. So finally I just did it.  I confessed to all the wondrous antics I observed in the lives of those 10 cats, and to the grievous sorrow wrung from us each time one fell ill and died; and to everything in between.

Confessions of a Cataholic (136 pp, hardcover, with photos) will be released on  October 31 (Reformation Day; or that other holiday, Halloween, if you wish). Its subtitle is the tag line of this blog: “My Life With the 10 Cats Who Caused My Addiction.” The reactions of those who have read it in its pre-press stages have been gratifying. Of course I’d like to think that my broader audience — much broader, I hope! — of sundry cat admirers, cat lovers, cat maniacs and out-and-out cataholics, or friends, relatives, and significant others of same, will have a similar reaction. If you are one of those people, you can get a more in-depth introduction to the book (and see a bunch of pictures) at the site of WordPower Publishing (www.wordpowerpublishing.com).

An aside about this publishing venture: Confessions of a Cataholic, which is my second book,  is being independently published by WordPower Publishing (printing and distribution by LSI).  My husband and I own the company.

I assert that that is neither self-serving nor vain, though it may sound like it. I was a professional writer long before I decided to go this route, so it has nothing to do with the “vanity” of seeing one’s byline on the pages of magazines or newspapers (or books). What it does have to do with is this: the book publishing industry being as it  is, and technology and the new media situation being what it now is, my approach makes great sense and is one of the few realistic ways for the many hundreds, more likely thousands, of good writers out there (Stephen King and J.K. Rowling aside) to be even moderately compensated for their efforts.

While the idea of such an enterprise had occurred to me before I came across Morris Rosenthal on the net, what spurred me to go for it in 2007 when we founded WordPower Publishing was my having come across a website and a book by Mr. Rosenthal. He founded Foner Books to publish his own stuff after having had a less than stellar experience with a major publisher. He was then doing quite well, thank you, and now appears to be doing even better.

His book,  Print on Demand Book Publishing, changed my own life and future. I certainly didn’t get rich on my first book, a biography of Handel, which I knew very well would have a niche audience. Riches are certainly not my first intent with Cataholic, either. Distributing it widely to fellow cat lovers is my intent; but of course I’d like to earn fair compensation for my efforts. Following Mr. Rosenthal’s path, one has a good chance of that.

What I’d also like to do here is to interact with readers of my Confessions, and keep them updated on the comings and goings of the cats they will have gotten to know in the book.  I’d also like to hear some of you own cat tales. I hope to spur that interaction here as well as at the WordPower Publishing site. The beginnings of a blog are at that site, too. But I’ve put this one here as well since I already had a presence on WordPress in my Reformed Revelry blog. It’s likely I’ll consolidate the two blogs at some point (after the book is out and some folks have had a chance to read it). In the meantime, I’ll post to both blogs.

Know any cataholics who will be needing a nice Christmas gift?

C. Cataholic Confessor