it's all about the animals

Anyone who knows me at all knows this blog isn’t truly mine until I’ve given the scoop on all the animals in my life. And while my own herd hasn’t changed, we’ve had a few changes in our living situation worth mentioning.

First, our sweet little dog Cuddles isn’t with us anymore. She started limping over the summer, and for a while the cause was mysterious. Due to her age and her declining health, my mom opted out of having her x-rayed and gave Cuddles a round of steroids for the pain. That helped a lot, but as the dose was decreased, the pain came back and the limping got worse. On the second visit, the vet noticed the cause immediately: tumors in the area of her shoulder and chest. Cuddles had them before and they were surgically removed, but more had come up and they were growing rapidly.

The best thing, the vet said, would be to continue the full dose of prednisone to keep Cuddles comfortable until the tumors got large enough to impair her breathing, which would probably happen within a couple of months. Indeed, Cuddles was happy in spite of her limp, but eventually we could see the tumors coming out of her back and side, pushing the leg farther and farther out from her body. She never lost her appetite, but she started getting very tired and couldn’t breathe well or lift her head.

I went with my mom to take her to the vet one last time, and Cuddles did lift her head that day, panting happily and looking around because she loved going places. It was good to see her that way, and I knew we were doing the right thing. But I couldn’t bring myself to be in the room when she took her last breath. Cat wrangling skills aside, I’m still too sensitive for that.

We got Cuddles as a puppy the summer before I started college, and my sister named her for her gentle nature. When I got Sunshine as a kitten a couple of years later, Cuddles was wonderful. At the sight of her, Little Sunshine arched her back and puffed up her tiny bit of fur. Cuddles circled her, trying for the ceremonial butt sniff, and Sunshine turned with her, not willing to turn her back for a second. Eventually Cuddles pounced, knocking the little ball of fuzz off her feet, and proceeded to gently play-wrestle. They were great friends in their younger days.

These days Sunshine doesn’t have friends, and she doesn’t want any, thank you very much. As happy as she is to be back at my parents’ house, she usually keeps that happiness confined to a quiet corner in my bedroom (or maybe a spot halfway up the stairs, or on my mom’s bed, or on the back of the couch if I’m there). Outside of her safety zones, forget about it! She’s become less and less tolerant of the boys in the last few years, and lately she’s even fed up with Buster, who she used to at least tolerate as a lesser evil than Pip and George.

Buster, as always, is just sort of lost and alone. Sunshine never would let him bond with her, and Pip and George have their own little brother-love thing going on. Of course, he does like to romp and play with Pip. And he and George make pretty good partners in crime (I call them Pippy's goons). But when it comes to affection, Buster tends to hang back and keep to himself.

He does have a new friend, but I’m not sure he’s thrilled about it. My sister’s cat Precious, a gorgeous Maine Coon, came to stay with us in August while she went out of town. He’s still here, and he won’t be leaving. (NOTE: he’s not a member of my personal herd and will stay with my parents when I move out! Also note this cat proves my theory that pets with names like Precious or Sweet Pea—or Sunshine!—are more likely to become monsters than most animals.)

Anyway, as Buster is the least threatening of the bunch, he was the first of my cats to begin spending time with Precious. Poor Precious spent months watching my guys through the cracks under doorways before I convinced my parents this was a good idea. All he wants to do is play, but Buster would rather stick close to me where he feels safe. But even if they never become buddies, they’re very compatible…that is, unless Precious decides he wants to try for a higher rank in the fragile hierarchy we have going. Buster’s so passive that he’d probably surrender his position in a heartbeat.

Regardless of whether he chooses to leave the bottom of the pecking order, I doubt Precious will ever try to outrank George or Pip. George, being the creepy little stalker that he is, simply chases Precious every time he sees him. I don’t know why he does this, but he’s always had similar tendencies with Sunshine. She rarely runs from him, but Precious always does, and George pursues him with gusto, his butt swaying and his belly fat swinging with every step. He doesn’t want to catch anyone…the fun is all in the chase.

Pip, on the other hand, just watches Precious. He follows him from room to room, and when he parks, Pip parks directly in front of him, face to face, and looks at him. This is the same kind of Jedi mind trick George uses on Sunshine, and though it looks perfectly innocent, it has a notable effect on the cat being watched.

My parents are convinced that Precious lives in terror and needs to be protected from my little beasts. But I’m the cat wrangler in this house, and I say the cats just need to get used to each other and work out an arrangement. They’ll be fine, and I’ll separate them if I ever see blood or signs of psychological torture.

For the record, Sunshine does not participate in any of these multi-cat activities. She’d rather live in denial that a fifth cat lives in this house, and to facilitate that I keep my bedroom door shut for most of the day.

With his obsessive tendencies and constant craving for food, George has established himself as the trouble-maker in the house. Sometimes he infuriates my mom or me, and then he skulks around with a guilty posture that’s somehow irresistibly adorable. I’m convinced it’s a built-in survival technique, being so cute it’s impossible for humans to stay mad at him.

The other day my mom was sweeping the floor, and when George saw the broom he made a big production of cowering, as if he was afraid she was going to chase him down and whack him. Mom claimed he must have a guilty conscience, and we laughed. But I couldn’t help wondering if there was a history behind his reaction. He rarely shows signs of having been abused in the past, but based on Pip’s behavior and the sketchy stories I’ve heard, I’m sure he used to live with a person who was abusive in some way.

Pip shows more signs of fear, and he’s especially jumpy around my dad. He’s a little less cautious when treats are involved, but I worry that if my dad ever loses his temper and yells around Pip, their tentative friendship will be over. Honestly, as cantankerous as my dad can be, I’d prefer to keep Pip away from him altogether. It’s not that he’d ever hurt my cats…I’d go Rambo on his ass if he did! But Pip is especially sensitive to angry voices, and I don’t want him to ever live in fear again.

My dad’s been getting on my nerves lately, and that—combined with my desire to protect Pippy from all forms of anger—is probably why I had one of my cat nightmares the other night. But this one was worse than the usual cat dream; Pip got lost. I was devastated and couldn’t stop looking for him, even though I was afraid of what I’d find. Just when I began to accept that he wasn’t coming back (and I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed), I found him…he was badly injured. I cautiously grabbed him by the scruff, hoping to hell he wouldn’t panic, and got him into a car.

I urged whoever was driving to keep going, even when another car rolled over violently in front of us, bursting into flames and blocking part of the road ahead. Go around it, I demanded. You can’t stop. I eventually woke up in a panic, but fortunately Buster was right there to purr me back to sleep.

That dream reinforces the theory that I’d walk through hell for my cats...especially my little orange Pippy.

So that’s the animal situation—inside the house, at least. I planned to include some stories about the birds and squirrels that frequent our back yard (and amuse me to no end), but they’ll have to wait. I’ve got a tear in my eye and a sudden urge to go play with Pip.

I Don't Know

I’ve spent a lot of time in the last few weeks thinking about who I really am. Not who I was at TV Guide, who I was with Mark, who I am with my family or who I can become based on various other external influences…but who I am when all the extra stuff is stripped away and I allow myself to just be.

It hasn’t been easy to be quiet and listen to myself; there are plenty of distractions to take up my time and energy, and it’s easy to mechanically get caught up in the distractions instead of digging for the truth. The challenge is not in finding myself, but in putting everything else out of my mind and letting myself find me.

A few days at a bed and breakfast in the mountains seemed like the ideal way to begin my quest, and the place I chose was absolutely perfect: secluded and quiet, comfy and cozy, and just friendly enough without being intrusive. In fact, I knew I was in the right place when two adorable dogs came out to greet me as I got out of my car!

But I didn’t find myself focusing on the resident animals as much as I might have normally. It did take me a couple of days to stop worrying about finding wi-fi access, and I spent a lot of time shopping and sight-seeing. But on the third day I determined that I would make time to sit still and do nothing if it meant tying myself down to the porch swing.

One of the first things that occurred to me that weekend was “What if I don’t like myelf?”

Of course this is absurd, and it’s not for me to like or dislike…I am what I am, and I want to find that and run with it. I thought my first blog entry would serve to present my findings during the vacation, but it’s not working out that way. I’m still learning how to listen to my inner voice instead of worrying about what other people think I should do or be, or what they might think of who I become.

The one thing I have determined with absolute certainly is that I have a rare chance to take a break from working and explore the possibilities. And if I don’t make this most of this chance, I may never get another one. I cannot get caught up in worrying about money and end up taking a “good” job that doesn’t fit me! I can’t be concerned with what the world thinks I should be doing—getting married, having babies, buying a house or whatever “normal” people are doing. I can’t feel guilty or lazy every time someone hints at the question of how long I’m going to remain unemployed.

A friend recently expressed how much peace he’s found in being able to simply say “I don’t know.”

So there it is: I don't know; I don’t have a plan.

And I like it that way.