What It Must Feel Like to Be…

“I'm in charge today. My cat said so.”

[Bumper sticker]

By the time I returned home this afternoon, I was bushed (and I am not referring to Dubya). Driving in this heat and humidity without air conditioning in my automobile takes something out of me—it takes a lot out of me. Also, the in and out of air conditioned buildings drains me: each time the hot, humid air hits me when I leave one, my energy seems to be sapped a bit more. So, after four hours in and out of air conditioned buildings: VA medical center, grocery (cat food) store, post office, and pharmacy, I was looking forward to stripping naked and reclining on my bed with an ice pack beneath by head and three fans blowing on me.

Of course I had not forgotten about Alex. I planned to feed and water and rub my finger under the chinny chin chin of the little furball who owns me as soon as I returned home. I’d last encountered him when I had left for the VA appointment. He had been outside cattin’ around and, when I opened the door to leave, he meandered in. The last I saw of him as I closed the door was Alex looking back at me over his right shoulder with his “Where do you think you’re going” look on his face.

When I finally returned, Alex was sitting almost in the same spot as he had been when I left. He didn’t even squander time meowing “hello”; he simply turned and ambled toward the kitchen and our dining table. (For those of you who remember when I created a private and separate dining table for Alex, let me update you: the cat has decided that there is more room to eat on my dining table, which has since become our dining table).

In the kitchen, Alex stopped beside our table and looked up at me. This is my cue to pull a packet of his favorite cat food out of the box and show it to him. He then walks toward me and I am to bend over and hold the packet close to his face. Alex rubs the left and right sides of his face against the food packet, and, if it meets his criteria for lunch (or dinner or breakfast or the snacks he has between those meals), he leaps up on a chair and then onto the dining table. (I have noticed that Alex can leap from the floor dir3ectly onto the table, but he only expends that much energy when a chair is not readily available).

Once Alex is on the table, I am to again show him the pack of Friskies. Then I tear it open and hold it so the cat can smell its contents. If, and only if, Alex next goes to his food bowl, I am to try to pour the contents of the packet into his bowl without getting the food onto the back of his head, because, as soon as the first of it hits the bowl, Alex has his head in the bowl, chowing down.

While Alex was eating, I empty his water dish, refilled it, and added two ice cubes from the freezer. Alex may be adverse to water in any form; however on hot days such as these he wants to consume only very cold water.

After completing the above ritual this afternoon, I was ready to strip naked and recline on my bed with an ice pack beneath by head and three fans blowing on me. Unfortunately, Alex had other ideas. Even before I was out of my pants, he was in the bedroom bedside me and clawing me for attention. As I have done so many time since Alex has been part of my life, I looked down at the cat and asked, “Now what do you want?”

Alex turned and walked toward the bedroom door. I think he expected me to follow me, which is exactly what I did. At the threshold to the bedroom, the cat stopped and looked up at me with his “you go first” look. So, I stepped over the cat and through the door. Then I had to decide (since Alex was going to give me no hint) whether to turn left toward the kitchen (the cat wants more food) or right toward the backdoor that opens to the deck (the cat wants to go outside).

Since the outside temperature was again above 90 F, I decided to turn left toward the kitchen. Alex did not follow me. I returned to the bedroom doorway, walked past the reclining Alex to the back door, and opened it. Alex remained in the doorway. Sooooo… I walked back to the doorway, looked down at the cat, and asked, “By the perfidious balls of Judas Iscariot, what do you want, damn it!!!!!” Alex looked at me and yawned.

Then he arose, meandered left down the hallway, through the kitchen, through the library, into the front entranceway and stood by the front door. I followed him, stood by the door, and asked, “So you want to go outside but you want to go out the front door rather than the back door?” The cat said and did nothing until I opened the door. Then he moved up two feet and sat in the doorway, front feet on the porch and his ass and tail in side the house. He stayed in that position for about five minutes before he moved enough to get his tail outside the door, which I quickly shut.

Finally! I was able to strip naked and recline on my bed with an ice pack beneath by head and three fans blowing on me! I remained that way for about two hours and, later, after I arose, I heard clawing at the back door. I opened it to find Alex on the deck. He meandered in, look up at me, and meowed “Feed me!” thus beginning the ritual all over again.

Living with Alex has taught me what it must feel like to be a man who is henpecked. Or, more realistically, it has taught me the origin and true meaning of the phrase pussy whipped.

Who could refuse such a cute pussy cat anything?

Alex Antics

Alex is outside-again! He's been out playing since about 7:00 a.m. I suppose that being out is one way to deal with the cabin fever we both developed during the time the temperatures were in the single digits and teens. The problem for me will begin when the cat who owns me comes back inside. Alex remains as demanding as he was during our cabin fever period: I have the scratches and scars from his claws on my right leg to prove it. (At least he seldom attacks my genitals as he once did to get my attention).

Yesterday Alex found one of his cat toys. It is a clear plastic ball with a feather inside and it lights up and chirps like a bird when it rolls. I don't know where Alex found that toy; I had not seen it in a long time and I believe it was probably hidden under some piece of furniture where the furball had batted it. I suppose that, while he was tearing around the house yesterday like a bat out of hell, he found the ball. Of course, he continued tearing around the house like that proverbial bat, now batting that ball. The damned chirping from the ball came close to having me lose what sanity I still have. After about half an hour of the chirping, it suddenly stopped. I suppose Mr. Alex again batted the damned ball beneath another piece of furniture which will give me a bit of peace until he again finds it.

Losing the cat toy did not calm Alex. He then turned his cat-attention back to his human toy: me! I have mentioned how, during one of his leaps when we were in the cabin fever period, he knocked my DSL modem off its table and disconnected it. (It took me an hour and a telephone call to Bell South support to regain my Internet connection) Yesterday his leaping was less damaging (I think):

I had some papers on top on my combination copier/printer. That was a mistake on my part. Alex did a double leap (floor to table, table to the top of the printer). When he hit the papers on the printer, they slid from beneath his paws and papers and cat all tumbled to the floor. Alex, of course, landed on four paws and wasn't hurt.

Alex was evidently surprised by the fall and responded by again pretending he was that bat and tore off through the house. He was headed directly toward the front door, (which was closed) when he evidently realized he had to slow down. He put out his claws, which acted like ice skates on the polished floor, and hit the door at full speed. Of course, being a cat, his impact with the door didn't hurt him-except, perhaps, his pride. He sat by the door for a moment, stretched, then looked up at me with an air of saying "I meant to do that." He then meandered into the living room as if nothing had happened.

During my supper last night (Alex was constantly eating all day) he decided he wanted to sample my pepper loaf sandwich. Thus, I spent my meal holding the sandwich above my head (and out of the cat's reach) with one hand while protecting my bowl of tomato soup with the other. My words, "This is not your table. Get off it.", had no impact on the feline. It was one of the most difficult meals I have ever tried to consume.

Later, when I sat a my desk trying to reorganize the papers that Alex had sent to the floor from the top of my copier/printer, my cat's inquisitiveness brought a leap to my desk. I gently picked up the nosey feline and set him on the table next to the desk that holds my combination telephone/answering machine/fax. That was another mistake. The table also held a glass of water that I was drinking. The glass was an arm's length away from my notebook computer. (I learned my lesson last fall when, as you may remember, I had a bottle of Dr. Pepper next to my computer and Alex knocked it over on my keyboard, frying the innards of that notebook). I didn't realize that this glass of water was in jeopardy until I heard a lapping sound and looked over to see Alex not only drinking my water but also exploring it with a paw that had recently stood in his litter box. So much for the water.

About 11:00 p.m. Alex clawed my leg while I was reading a book by Mike Dixon-Kennedy entitled Native American Myth & Legend. His demand was simple: outside (again). So I let my master out and returned to my book. Now my (possible) dementia comes into play. About midnight, after my yawning informed me that I was too tired to continue reading, I decided that it was time for Alex and I to retire for the night. I opened the front door and called his name. No response. I went to the back door and called his name. No cat. I looked at my watch, decided that I may as well perform my going to bed ritual and then again call Alex in from his catting around. I was in the large bathroom, brushing my teeth, when I heard a sound from behind me. I turned (this house is haunted, you know) and there, on top of the wicker clothes hamper, was Alex. Somehow I must have let him back in the house, but I really have no recollection of so doing.

As I end this post, I realize that Alex is still outside. At least, I believe that he is.

How a Smart Cat Can Outsmart Himself

Alex and I spent most of Saturday sleeping: the cat in doorways; me in bed with three fans blowing on me and an icepack on the back of my neck alternating with reading a novel and dozing in the bathtub filled with cool water with a tower fan blowing on me.

Saturday Alex didn’t try to climb on my chest while I was in the tub. Friday evening when he did that, he slipped off the side of the tub and into the water. If you’ve been reading Nick’s Bytes for very long, then you are aware that Alex hates water in any form.

About 12:30 a.m. Sunday (today) I awoke and realized that I not only needed to make a bathroom call, but I hadn’t eaten since about noon Saturday. I sat on the side of the bed, removed the CPAP mask from my face, turned off the breathing machine and the oxygen compressor, and exited the master bedroom by stepping over the cat sleeping in the doorway.

Alex, of course, awoke and followed me. He didn’t, however, enter the bathroom with me. I believe that his recent experience with that nasty water in the tub is too fresh for him to get near any possible wetness—at least for a while.

The house was remarkably cool, considering how hot it has been the past several weeks. The thermostat read 80 F, which is much better than the 88 F it read before Alex and I took our evening naps. After going through the ritual of opening a packet of Alex’s favorite food, and deciding that it’s cool enough to use my George Foreman grill to prepare the rib eye steak that I had to eat soon or (God forbid) discard, I telephoned the “time & temperature.” Finding that it was cooler outside (75 F) the house than inside (80 F), I opened the front door and set the tower fan so that it pulled the cooler outside air into the house. Then, I began preparing my dinner.

After I had dined rather hastily because the cat with the endless appetite was drawn to my dining table by the fragrance of the steak, I sat at my desk, opened my notebook computer, and went online to read emails and visit blogs with new posts. It was a marvelous experience because my desk is in a direct line to the front door and the tower fan located between the open door and desk was blowing brisk, cool air directly on me. Meanwhile, Alex meandered to the open door, sat in the threshold for a bit gazing into the early morning darkness, and then went out onto the front porch to really enjoy the coolness.

I was so entranced by vicariously joining bloggers on trips to northern Australia and Alaska that I didn’t notice when Alex came back in. I did become aware of him when he touched (read: “clawed”) my right calf, to which I responded by standing up and looking down at the cat and demanding, “Now what do you want?”

Of course Alex didn’t respond: he simply strolled toward the kitchen, expecting me to follow. As I followed him, I suddenly remembered that Alex and I had slept through the time scheduled for the his second Saturday dose of his liquid antibiotic. Thus, I scooped the surprised cat into my left arm, opened the refrigerator and removed the bottle of Alex's medicine, sat at the kitchen table, one-handedly opened the medicine and filled the dropper with 1 ml of the stuff (which, if one is to believe Alex’s most recent actions, doesn’t taste as good as his previous liquid medicine).

With the cat cradled baby-fashion between my left arm and my chest, I followed Alex’s weaving head until I was able to get the dropper through his clenched teeth and into his mouth, where I squeezed the medicine into the squirming cat. Alex made all sorts of faces (who says cats faces aren’t expressive) and, when I allowed him to free himself from my arm, jumped on the table and stared at me as if to say, “That was not fair.”

He then demanded another packet of cat food to get the medicine taste out of his mouth, licked his fur, and went back outside, where he is at this moment curled up on the coolness of the porch.

The moral of this story, if the story has a moral, is: If you are a cat who has blessedly missed a dose of foul-tasting medicine, you should not claw your unsuspecting human and remind him of your existence.

Yes, Alex Owns Me

Wednesday I suddenly became bored with my notebook’s desktop wallpaper, so I created a new one:

Later, after a couple hours blogging, I clicked off my browser and almost fell out of my chair when I was confronted by Alex staring at me from my computer screen. I had forgotten that I had made a photograph of him into my desk top wallpaper!

Then I wondered, “How many people create a computer desktop using a photograph of their cat?” That question led me to the joke in my last Too Bad It’s Monday humor about whether or not a person is owned by their cat. So, I went through the questions. The questions that I answered yes to are marked in blue:

Do you select your friends based on how well your cats like them?
Does your desire to collect cats intensify during times of stress?
Do you buy more than 50 pounds of cat litter a month?
Do you scoop out the litter box after each use?
Do you wait at the box with the scoop in your hand?
Do you think it's cute when your cat swings on the drapes or licks the butter?
Do you admit to non-cat owners how many cats you really have?
Do you sleep in the same position all night because it annoys your cats when you move?
Do you kiss your cat on the lips?
Do you feed your cat tidbits from the table with your fork?
Does your cat sit at the table (or ON the table) when you eat?
Does your cat sleep on your head? Do you like it?
Do you have more than four opened but rejected cans of cat food in the refrigerator?
Do you watch bad TV because the cat is sleeping on the remote?
Did you buy a video tape of fish swimming in an aquarium to entertain your cat?
Will you stand at the open door indefinitely in the freezing rain while your cat sniffs the door, deciding whether to go out or come in?
Would you rather spend a night at home with your cat than go out on a bad date?
Do you give your cat presents and a stocking at Christmas?
Do you spend more for your cat than you do for your spouse?
Do the Christmas cards you send out feature your cat sitting on Santa's lap?
Does your cat sign the card?
Do you put off making the bed until the cat gets up?
Does your cat eat out of cut crystal stemware because you both watched the same commercial on television?
Do you microwave your cat's food? Prepare it from scratch?
Do you climb out of bed over the headboard or footboard, so you won't disturb the sleeping cat?

At the store, do you pick up the cat food and kitty litter before you pick out anything for yourself?
Do you cook a special turkey for your cat on holidays?
Does your cat "insist" on a fancy Sunday breakfast consisting of an omelet made from eggs, milk, and salmon, halibut, or trout?
Do you have pictures of your cat in your wallet? Do you bring them out when your friends share pictures of their children? (Pollsters claim that 40 percent of cat owners carry their pet's pictures in their wallets.)
When people call to talk to you on the phone, do you insist that they say a few words to your cat as well?
Do you accept dates only with those who have a cat? If so, do you eventually double-date with the cats to see how they get along?
When someone new comes to your house, do you introduce your cat, by name, to them?

Below are a few bunch of photos demonstrating the above—and more:

And a movie staring Alex:

s

Alex and the Cold

After spending most of Monday at the hospital with my mother (who continues to improve), yesterday was a "catch-up" day. I wrote, searched for employment, submitted resumes, worked on my pastoral profile (resume), etc.

Alex was a bit put out with me because of my relatively long absence from home on Monday and (2) his inability to go outside and play on Monday and Tuesday. It wasn't so much that Alex couldn't go outside and play, as that he wouldn't. Perhaps even more intense than his aversion to water is my cat's aversion to cold. Yesterday I would open the door for him and, when he felt the chilly gusts coming in from outside, he would walk away. Even his furry coat of hair didn't protect him from the Artic air mass that has engulfed the U.S. from the plains states to New England.

Perhaps now would be an appropriate time to share the story of the most traumatic (for both Alex and me) event of his kittenhood. I purchased Alex from a pet store on Preston Highway in Louisville, not too far from my mother's home. He was one of four kittens that the store had for sale and, as people who have seen him or photographs of him have noted, Alex has very unique markings. The black coloring on his white coat above his left eye, his black right nostril, and his "ring tailed" tail are not all of them. He also had black ovals on his hind legs, which I have never been able to photograph because Alex is such a ham that he always wants to face my camera. Without a doubt, Alex was the cutest of the four siblings in the store.


The clerk at the pet store sold me all that he said was needed for a happy and well-cared-for kitten: a cat carrier (then much too big for the little fellow, but which he has since out grown), a litter box, cat litter, food and drink bowls, and, most importantly, a large bag of dry kitten food that the clerk said was what Alex had been normally eating.

It was on a Wednesday in January when I purchased the kitten who would become the cat who owns me. After we arrived home, I telephoned the vet who had so well tended my dog, Muffin (another story I've yet to share), and made an appointment to have her look at Alex the following Monday. During the next few days, Alex seemed to adjust well to life in my house. He explored and climbed (just a bit) and was held and cuttled (quite a bit). He developed his since refined habit of climbing up (he now leaps up from the floor) the comforter of my bed and then crawls beneath it to snuggle with me at night.

Each day when I came home from the church I was pastoring, I'd find Alex sitting in the living room awaiting my arrival. It felt great to be welcomed home by the little fellow. It felt great to share my house with another warm blooded creature.

That Sunday I left for the church at 7:00 a.m. to prepare for the morning worship service. When I returned home, Alex wasn't snuggled on the living room couch as he had been the previous days. I wasn't concerned; I thought that he might be in the kitchen, dining. But Alex wasn't in the kitchen. I found him sprawled on the hardwood floor of my library. He couldn't move, he couldn't stand. He looked up at me with frightened eyes as I lifted him into my arms.

I didn't hesitate. Since I knew that my vet was closed on Sundays, I wrapped Alex in a blanket and drove him to a vet I knew had a practice a few blocks from my house. There I found that the only person in the clinic was a woman who came in on Sundays to feed the animals. She told me that the only vet she knew who was open was at a 24-hour-emergency animal clinic in Middletown, Kentucky, about fifteen miles away. I drove there and carried Alex wrapped in his blanket into the clinic.

An assistant took my kitten from me and disappeared through a door. I waited. I waited for what seemed to be a very long time before I was it invited to speak with one of the vetinarians on duty. He told me that Alex was very ill and he did not know if my kitten would live. The vet estimated Alex to be only about four weeks old and much too young to be separated from his mommy. He also told me that Alex should not have been sold, especially by a pet shop, who should have know better. Alex was much too young to eat and digest the dry kitten food that the store clerk had said was his normal diet. He should have still been drinking his mommy's milk.

The vet's diagnosis was that Alex was suffering from hypothermia, caused by the cold January floor and his inability to generate body heat because he couldn't digest the kitten food, anemia, and hypoglycemia. His prognosis was poor. He allowed me to visit my little fellow and what I saw was heart-rending: Alex had two IVs going into him and was just lying there.

Alex remained hospitalized for four days (and $800.00). I visited him each day. On the third day the vet told me that my kitten would "make it" and I was over overjoyed. It was on that day that I was able to hold and cuddle the little fellow again. The next afternoon, when Alex was released from the animal hospital, the vet gave me a whole list of actions to take, including (1) if I was to continue feeding him dry kitten food, I was to moisten it in warm water for a few minutes until the food was soft before giving it to him; (2) when I left the house, I was to place Alex in his cat carrier and place the carrier well above the cold floor; and (3) the vet suggested that I report the pet store to the humane society for selling a kitten too young to be weaned. I did all three and more.

That was three years ago and Alex has matured into the cat who owns me. He still doesn't like the cold and doesn't sleep on the floor unless it is in a nest he has created from a towel, blanket, or my clothing.

As I have previously written, Alex has his own dinning table, well off the floor (and my dining table), but an easy leap for my friend:



I keep a chair for him in the kitchen (the warmest room in this old house) that is situated near the furnace floor vent and where I have also placed a small electric heater to supplement the heat from the furnace:


Of course, when it is as cold as it is at the moment, Alex finds other places above the floor to reside:

A Day in My Life

Thy shall not take thyself seriously ~ The 11th Commandment

The only thing that makes life possible is permanent,
intolerable uncertainty; not knowing what comes next.
~ Ursula K. LeGuin

Whatever it is, embrace it and remember it because it might just be these little things that make life worthwhile. ~ Enola Reverof

September 16, 2009

• 03:20 AM Awake after 5 hours sleep; switch from C-PAP to nose hose; upper respiratory congestion/hard to breath
• 03:35 AM Take meds; sit until able to breath; BBC World Service on radio
• 03:50 AM Breathing OK; feed, water, groom, hug, pet Alex; open front door for the cat who owns me; BBC World Service on radio
• 04:20 AM health measurements & breakfast; BBC World Service on radio
• 04:40 AM Alex: snacks & hugs; BBC World Service on radio
• 04:55 AM Online: news/bank account statement/emails/Facebook; BBC World Service on radio
• 05:15 AM Morning prayers & mediation
• 05:50 AM Join Alex in an early morning nap
• 08:10 AM Coffee on the deck while playing with Alex
• 08:35 AM Draft & post FaceBook comment: I don't believe that President Carter is speaking of those who disagree with the policies or philosophy of President Obama as they would if he were a "white man," but of the "... inherent feeling among many in this country that an African-American should not be president."
• 08:45 AM: Dudes here (much too early) to cut grass; Alex frightened by sound of gas-powered trimmer & blower. Hold/cuddle Alex until trimming ends.
  
• 09:05 AM: Another FaceBook comment written & posted:"Theologians have found a similar relationship regarding the belief in angels: when times are changing or rough or frightening, angelology is prevalent only to almost disappear when times are more serene (whenever that is)."
• 09:10 AM Various telephone calls. Unable to reach human beings at AT&T or Direct-TV. Talked with humans at bank & VA.
• 09:20 AM Prep for visit by my physcian from MD2U.
• 09:30 AM Use portable oxygen tank; walk down the street ro where my CR -V is parked; drive CR-V back to parking spot in fron of my house.
• 09:45 AM After parking car, watched a well disciplined cat (not Alex, who doesn't meet the criteria) chase a squirrel across its lawn but stop at the curb when squirrel ran into the street. I was amazed that the cat didn't follow the squirrel into the street.
• 09:55 AM Claudette, my doc from MD2U, arrived. Good examination; again she was pleased with my health. On Saturday Claudette is leaving for three weeks of hiking around Europe. She has promised to make me a CD of the pictures she takes in Europe so that I can go on the trip vicariously.
• 10:30 AM I sent Naeema, my new care giver, to the drug store to pick up a prescription refill that Claudette called in.
• 10:45 AM Posted another comment in response to Bill on Facebook: The Klu Klux Klowns article is accurate & more than a bit concerning. I've been a member of the Southern Poverty Law Center for years; their "Klan Watch" has reported stuff that is more than concerning. It is frightening.
• 10:55 AM Printed a copy of Monday's T.I.B.M. post for Naeema.
• 11:00 AM Read a few chapters of current mystery book
• 11:40 AM Replied to note regarding this video: Cute cat, isn't it. Alex, of course, did not LOL when he saw it. I think that's why he used his blog to tell the world that that cat is weird.
• 11:50 AM Alex and I went out on the deck; he sunned himself and I read.
• 12:35 PM Lunch/watch end of CSI
• 01:10 PM Can't find Alex
• 01:50 PM Found Alex! Naeema had shut himl in the food pantry. Lots of snuggling of the silly furball, whose exploring keeps getting him into trouble. Why didn't the furball meow while I was searching for him for 40 minutes? Damn! He really scared me.
• 02:20 PM Down for long afternon nap.
• 06:05 PM Awake from nap;treats and snuggles for Alex.
• 06:15 PM Get and read snail mail out of mailbox. Damn! A $70.00 water bill! (Only $18.00 is for water; the remainder are miscellaneous charges, such as sewer tax and rain water run-off charge, etc).
• 06:20 PM Refresh Alex's food; put potato in microwave for me.
• 06:35 PM Dinner/watch NCIS on TV
• 07:05 PM Snuggle Alex and hand him some cat treats
• 07:15 PM Telephone my mother: she told me in detail everything that she did today, including her 4 visitors and what each said.
• 07:35 PM Out on the porch with Alex and a book, hoping to watch the sun set.
• 08:05 PM It becoming too dark to read outside, I came in to play with the Farm Town game on FaceBook. Alex remains on the porch, looking for a buddy with whom to cat around. I left the door open so he can come in whenever he wants.
• 08:20 PM Alex stampeded into house and leaped on my desk and demanded to use the computer to work on his blog, Alexicon.
• 08:30 PM Gave up on using computer since Alex in now sleeping in front of it. So I went into the living room to watch TV.
• 10:10 PM Saddened by the death of Mary Travers from leukemia.I posted this to FaceBook: I just learned of her death. I knew that her leukemia had her hospitalized and that her death was imminent. I miss her already. Did you know that she was from Louisville? I first met Mary when I was in high school. I spoke briefly with her again after I was discharged from the army and P,P,&M played a concert here.
• 10:40 PM Alex clawed me to open the front door for him. He's sitting in the doorway, looking out. I am beginning to put together this blog post.

On line at 5:00 AM

Claudette, my MD2U physcian

Naeema, my 9-hours-per-week care giver

My latest mystery (in second library)

Flag Counter for Nick's Bytes

My Farm Town farm

Alex & the Pantry

Alex & Alexicon

I Miss You, Mary Travers

Out on a Limb

Allow me to introduce you to Alex. He’s the first cat who has owned me. Generally, I’ve owned dogs.

Alex is a teenager (I think) in cat years: he’s seventeen months old. It has only been for the past month or so that I have allowed Alex out-of-doors on his own. He now loves the sun and fresh air and just about everything outside except rain. Alex has an aversion to water in any and every form.

Alex has also made quite a few friends since he has been catting about the back yards of the neighborhood. During one of his first expeditions, he refused who come back into the house when I went out for the evening. So I left him sitting on the fence between my house and my neighbor on the left. (Alex never sits on the fence between my house and the neighbor on the right: that guy own two, very big dogs).

I returned from my evening out at about 1:00 a.m. I expected Alex to greet me on the walkway between the garage and my house with his normal meows of welcome. But he wasn’t there. I though he had perhaps already enter the house via the old coal chute into the basement that was his usual means of clandestine entry. But he wasn’t in the house.

I went back out on my deck and, before I could call his name, I heard his meows. He sounded close, but I couldn’t see him. He also sounded frightened. I picked up a flashlight and began searching for him. He wasn’t in the yard. He wasn’t under the deck.

I kept calling to him and attempting to follow his responding cries. I went back through the garage and into the alley behind it. I only found Alex when I noticed his eyes reflecting the moonlight about 30 feet above me. Directing the flashlight up, I saw my teenage cat sitting on the edge of a limb across the alley from my garage.

Problem: How to get the cat down! I stood beneath the tree and called to him. He wouldn’t move, but his meowing became more intense. I directed the beam of my flashlight toward him and slowly moved it along the limb toward the trunk of the tree. Alex followed the light and was soon at the trunk of the tree. But that’s as far as he would go; he refused to leave the limb for the trunk. Worse than that, my young explorer traced his steps and ended up back on the edge of the limb.

We repeated this tree limb dance numerous times over the next three hours. We repeated the ballet exactly, step for step. By 4:00 a.m. I was too tired to go on. I told Alex I was going to bed and would be back when the sun rose. Alex didn’t seem too pleased with that plan and his meows followed me all the way back to the house.

At sun rise I returned to the tree and to Alex. I again coaxed him toward the trunk and again he went to the trunk—and the back out on that damned limb! This went on for about thirty minutes. Then, suddenly, Alex reached downward with his paw. I said encouraging words to him and he climbed on the trunk, head downward, claws gripping the tree. Slowly he went down, a bit at a time. When he had come down about ten feet, he leaped from the tree trunk to the roof of my neighbor’s garage, then to the top of the fence attached to the garage, and then into my outstretched arms. I hugged by adolescent adventurer.

Then I heard the applause. It was coming from a woman in the backyard of another house. She called congratulations to Alex and me and said that she had been watching our drama but never thought that I would be able to talk him down. And I admit that I was quite proud of my talking Alex down.

Very proud—until I noticed sitting on the roof the garage that Alex had leaped on from the tree trunk another cat. I don’t know how long that big, yellow feline had been sitting there. I do wonder if I really talked Alex off the tree limb all by myself. Perhaps I had another coach helping?

Allergy Cat

Today Alex’s vet gave him a new nickname: Allergy Cat. She (the vet) has now confirmed that what has been causing the health problems of the cat whom I serve (more than ever now) is allergies.

It wasn’t that diagnosis that took Alex and me to the animal hospital this morning. We had received that by telephone a few days ago. What motivated me to con Alex into jumping into my arms and then stuffing the little clawing tiger into his cat carrier was a black discharge coming from his ear. When I first observed the discharge, I thought that an insect had lodged itself in my kitten’s ear. It wasn’t an insect. I was able to remove some of the dried, crinkly, yucky stuff from his outer ear. However, I noted that it was also deep in his ear—too deep for amateur cat physician me to attempt removal. Thus, our trip to see Alex's veterinarian at the Animal Hospital.

The black stuff, when removed and analyzed, was identified as a discharge from a combination bacterial/fungus infection that had developed in Allergy Cat’s ear. The vet pointed out that animals, like human kids, who have a lot of allergies also develop a lot of infections. And Alex seems to have a lot of allergies! These allergies account for his itching and scratching his fur down to bare skin. That condition has improved greatly since he was been on a regular cortisone treatment. Alex is also no longer "off" his food: he as gained a whopping 0.4 lb. since his last visit to the vet and now weights a staggering 10.6 pounds.

After his ear was cleaned as well as possible and he received yet another injection, Alex gladly if not happily crawled into his cat carrier and fell asleep for the duration of the trip home. I paid the vet’s accountant (enough money to feed Alex and me for three weeks) and, with the carrier of the cat who owns me and a “goody bag” containing five new medications for Alex (who now has more prescription meds than I do), drove home.

Alex, of course, slept. And, after staggering out of the carrier when I unzipped it in our living room, demanding to be fed, and exploring the house to be sure it wasn’t the Animal Hospital, Alex took a long, medicine induced nap. I did, too.

I Cannot Speak Cat

In case I’ve never mentioned it, at one time or another I have studied various languages other then my native English: Latin, German, Greek, Hebrew, French, and Arabic. I am fluent in none of them. However, I do possess and am able to navigate various dictionaries, grammars, and lexicons related to those languages. Those are basically worthless skills if I can’t communicate with a person who speaks one of those languages.

Recently I have decided there is another language I need to learn: Cat. I know that we humans acknowledge Cat as a language made up of meows and purrs. However, the longer I live with Alex the more I realize that those meows and purrs, not to mention the occasional screech—especially when one unintentionally steps on Alex’s tail—have unique meanings in Cat language.

For example, there is a “meow” that I believe means “no.” This meow is somewhat drawn out and sounds a bit like a human whine. Alex usually speaks this word when he jumps up on his eating table and I pour dry cat food into his feeding dish rather than the Friskies Fine Cuts that he prefers. He gazes up at me with a pitiful look on his face (whoever suggested that cat faces aren’t expressive?) and says, “meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeooooooooooooow” in a tone reminiscent of a dirge. I respond by looking down at him and saying, “That’s all I have for you. Eat it.” He then repeats the word in the same tone, but a bit shorter, as in “meeeeeooooow” and may demonstrate his displeasure by using his paw to push his feeding dish off his table and onto the floor.

In my quest to learn Cat language I realize that Alex has already taught me quite a bit, especially during those times when he reinforces his verbal messages with non-verbal actions. I must add that most of those non-verbal messages relate to power—the power Alex has over me. For example, this evening I walked out to my garage to look for something I thought I had left in my car. Alex followed me into the garage and, when I was ready to leave, I opened the door and said, “Come on, Alex.” Like the exceptional housemate that he is, he began walking toward me. But before he reached me and the door, he sat down, lifted his leg, and began licking the spot where his scrotum would have been had I not had him “fixed” when he was a kitten. Not wanting to lock him in the garage, I repeated, “Come on, Alex! Now!” To which Alex replied, “Meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeooooooooooooow” as he continued licking.

I walked toward my defiant feline friend and, before I could reach down and grab and lift him up by the nap of his neck (as his mommy used to do), Alex scampered under my car. Eventually he did agree to leave the garage, but only after he let me know with his body language and a couple of unintelligible (at least to me) words that he was doing so of his own free will and not because I had called him.

I truly believe that Alex can understand every word that I say; I only wish I could understand the words he speaks. So, if you know of a dictionary, grammar, or lexicon related to the language Cat, please let me know.

Alex: Diagnosis Please (Where Is Dr. House When I need Him?)

Alex and I have been spending a lot of time recently outside on the deck. Alex claims the big chair and I get the little one.

Heart of Darkness asked me a rhetorical question: “Nick, why do dogs and cats lick themselves? Because they can!”

That’s not only a cute joke but it also is quite relevant to the cat with whom I live. I have mentioned before that Alex has been scratching himself and licking himself to the point that his pink skin is showing through his stunning white and back coat. He has also cut into his skin and, when scabs form on his self-inflicted wounds, he licks them off, too.

Therefore, last week I again ticked the elusive feline into his cat carrier and we drove, with Alex whining meows the entire way to see Caryl, his vet. Please understand that when Alex visits Caryl he evinces major changes in his behavior:

• He stops his whining and meowing the moment we walk into the vet’s office.

• As difficult as it is to get Alex into his lovely, simulated leather, soft travel carrier, in the vet’s office Alex refuses to come out of the carrier.

• When he is dragged out of the carrier, he clings to me as if he were surrounded by the element he hates most (water) and if I were to let him go he’d drown.

• Finally, when Caryl or one of her assistants carry him out of the examining room, he becomes completely submissive: they can do (almost) anything they want with him and he doesn’t complain or try to escape.

During his visit with the veterinarian, she ran (are you ready for this?) $206.00 in various tests. Alex and I remained at the vet’s until the results of all of the tests except one culture were available. The results? Nothing can be found wrong with him! Alex is as healthy as any four-and-half-year-old feline can be. There is no explanation for why he is self-mutilating! It is sort of Alex’s version of dear Susie’s (note her new blog address) WTF disease.

The best Caryl could do for the cat who owns me was to send us home with some liquid antibiotics to prevent these open wounds from becoming infected. Of course, my first attempt at one mil. dropper into his mouth was disaster. He escaped from my arms, landed on my desk, sent everything movable on the desk onto the floor, jumped off the desk, ran like a bat out of hell, and hid from me.

Of course his belly betrayed the cat, and I caught him just a he completed his favorite dinner. This time I held him tighter, like a baby in my left arm, and when Alex had tilted his head back as far a he could, I got the dropper in his mouth and sent the antibiotic to the back of his mouth. Unfortunately—or maybe fortunately—the damned cat seems to like the taste of the antibiotic and wants me to give it to him more often than the prescribed twice a day. Could Alex be becoming a cat version of a Vicodin addict, like Dr. Gregory House?

Here is where we stand: (1) Alex is healthy. (2) The vet can find no explanation for his licking and scratching.

Could his self-destructive behavior be the result of some psychological trauma? I worry about my little housemate!

Friday Mishmash & Updates

Blogger Finally Allowed Me to Switch

As of 6:30 p.m. yesterday, Nick’s Bytes is now in the “new” Blogger format. If you have any problems accessing it (I assume you didn’t or you’d not be reading this) or posting comments, let me know. (See my profile for my email address).

Alex the Hulk

I seem to be creating a monster cat! Since I purchased Alex a box of his favorite cat food (which he had not had for several weeks) he continually harasses (read: “claws") me for more and more of it. The first day I fed it to him, he demanded it over and over to the point I fed him six packets during the day (that’s 18 oz). He then heaved most of it up on the kitchen floor.

The feeding instructions on the packets read: “1 oz/85 g per pound of (cat) weight.” That means that I over fed Alex by about 7 oz. I thought that cats, unlike dogs, stopped eating when they were full!

The same day I overfed the cat that controls my life I followed a Google Adsense ad on my blog and took a test regarding Mr. Alex’s health. Basically the results said that I am a good cat mommy (?) and give Alex exceptional care except that the little fir ball is a bit overweight as determined by his profile which includes having a round belly. (Hell! I have big round belly, just like Santa Claus).

Since reading that, I have restricted Mr. Alex’s feeding to two packets of the Friskies pouches supplemented by his dry cat food. I am also paying for it, with (1) a broken ceramic cat dish (Alex pushed the empty dish off his cat table onto the floor) and (2) cat scratches on my legs (the results of not jumping up and feeding Alex when he so demands).

Does anyone know of a good cat psychologist? I need to advice!

How to Speak/Interpret Aussie

With today (or yesterday if you’re in Australia) being Australia Day, I decided I needed to learn Australian English. So I did a Google search and came up with this site: Aussie Slang.

Update: Mom

My mother remains in the rehab center in Elizabethtown, Kentucky. I miss her; however she doesn’t want to expend the gasoline necessary to visit. Actually, she is reluctant to have any visitors, including her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. She says that visitors tire her out and she is already exhausted from the physical therapy.

Still, I speak with her by telephone (she has her cell phone by the bed and that makes it a local call from Louisville) three or four times each day. Her mood changes: during one call she is optimistic about returning to her home; then she sounds as if she has not hope of ever returning home.

As a therapist and pastor who has worked extensively with the elderly, I can understand this. Much demands on how she feels at any given moment. If I speak to her when she is in pain (back pain from pinched nerves or stomach pain from the meds), she is pessimistic. If she is not in pain, she is optimistic. I wish I had a prognosis from the rehab staff; unfortunately, they are noncommittal.

The Employment Picture

After learning that my application to the Board of Education had been purged after I chose to sell insurance rather than teach, I have resubmitted my application. It seems that I must start from scratch and cannot be placed on the substitute teacher call list until I have attended another orientation. There is no orientation scheduled until after Spring Break. That being the case, I have also begun to submit my teaching application to other school systems.

I’m in the process of updating my pastoral profile (I’m trained as an “intentional interim” pastor). The process has become more complex and expensive since I last updated it. For example, I must obtain and pay for a criminal records check. It seems the criminal records checks I had done for the Board of Education and the Kentucky Insurance Commission last year are not acceptable. How many times must I prove that I am not a criminal?

I also continue to submit my resume for social work positions. Even with a master’s degree in social work, there seems to be a lot of competition, for these jobs. I begin to wonder if my age (I’ll been 61 in less than a month) reduces my desirability.

The only recent job interviews I had are for insurance positions and each of these requires me to pay the insurance company for the privilege of selling their insurance. That how it was with Liberty National Life Insurance Company: I spent over $800.00 to obtain that position. At the last interview I attended (Farmers Insurance), the initial cost of working for the company was about $1600.00.

Alex’s Best Feline Friend

One of the first blog posts that I ever wrote—Out on a Limb—told the story of the night that Alex spent on a tree limb because the kitten couldn’t figure out how to get down. Here’s how that story ended:

At sun rise I returned to the tree and to Alex. I again coaxed him toward the trunk and again he went to the trunk—and then back out on that damned limb! This went on for about thirty minutes. Then, suddenly, Alex reached downward with his paw. I said encouraging words to him and he climbed on the trunk, head downward, claws gripping the tree. Slowly he went down, a bit at a time. When he had come down about ten feet, he leaped from the tree trunk to the roof of my neighbor’s garage, then to the top of the fence attached to the garage, and then into my outstretched arms. I hugged by adolescent adventurer.

Then I heard the applause. It was coming from a woman in the backyard of another house. She called congratulations to Alex and me and said that she had been watching our drama but never thought that I would be able to talk him down. And I admit that I was quite proud of my talking Alex down.

Very proud—until I noticed sitting on the roof the garage that Alex had leaped on from the tree trunk another cat. I don’t know how long that big, yellow feline had been sitting there. I do wonder if I really talked Alex off the tree limb all by myself. Perhaps I had another coach helping?

The cat who I am now convinced coached Alex out of that tree is older and much larger than Alex, even now that my furball has matured. He is the same cat who I discovered Alex had invited into my house during the week I spent in Pennsylvania. That story is told in the 2005 blog post Alex and Friend.

I believe that this cat—whose name I do not know—is Alex’s best feline friend. It is unusual when I see them together, but the other day I did have a glimpse their comradeship. Alex had been outside playing for a while when I went to the door to call him in for his supper. When I opened the back door, I spotted Alex sitting on out fence in feline conversation with his best friend, who was sitting on the roof. I grabbed my camera and took this picture:

By the way, Alex told me he was not coming in for supper. Not until he and his buddy had finished their socializing. I respect that.

If you want to read Alex’s take on the story, he wrote about it in his own blog in the post Me and My Kitty Friend.

Alex's Tale (Or Is That "Tail"?)

I'd not seen the little furball in two weeks and was more that a little worried about him. Last Sunday Janel, my ex-wife, telephoned me. She had heard about my situation from our sons and wanted to help. Since she lives closer to my house than anyone else (except our son, Rob) she offered to check the mail and feed Alex.

On Tuesday Janel visited the house but couldn't find the cat. On Thursday we both went to my house. I was encouraged to find that all of the cat food had been eaten. That indicated that he had been in the house. As I walked toward the back door, I saw Alex out on the deck, sitting on top of my barbecue grill. Alex also saw me and jumped from the grill onto the railing of the deck. When I opened the door, he jumped from the railing into my arms, then to the floor, ran to the kitchen and, meowing all the way, leaped up onto his table and awaited packets of his favorite food.

I opened the first packet of food; Janel opened the second packet, which must have endeared her to Alex, who generally hides from strangers. He even allowed her to pick him up, which is a unique reaction to a stranger by Alex the furball. She must has found Alex as irresistible as others have, for Janel suggested that Alex stay at her house until he and I can be reunited permanently.

While Janel held the cat who owns me, I located his carrying case. Alex, to my complete surprise, allowed Janel to slide him into the carrier without one claw attack or any blood being shed. The trip to Janel's house was uneventful: Alex and the carrier were on my lap while he meowed pitifully and Janel and I assured him we were not taking him to visit the vet.

Janel told me that there is a neighborhood cat who adopts her each winter and moves into her house when the weather becomes cold. Thus, Janel already had cat supplies except for food, which we brought from my house.

When we arrived at the house, Alex was reluctant to come out of his carrier. Of course, he eventually did and explored the house to locate hiding places. He immediately found three: beneath a couch, a table, and (amazingly) under a credenza that has only a three inch space between its bottom and the floor. During this process, he walked around with his tail pointed down and dragging on the floor. I've never seen Alex evince that specific non-verbal.

However, by the time I left Alex at Janel's house, his tail was again waving in the air and he had located both his litter box and the food and water bowls. Most importantly, Alex is safe and secure!