I’ve looked hither and yon for the comment tag amidst the comments. I can ‘reply’but not comment.
Anyway, we are on the very last stages of the library re-do, and we shall very soon be hauling in shelves and books.
It’s looking like part of the house, rather than a pit full of boxes.
I am SO looking forward to getting the litter box and other items out of my room!
The kitchen is more often looking like a kitchen instead of adjunct to a construction site.
There has been kitty peace: Tanner owns the new den and library and the other side of the basement, our two own the upstairs.
Nothing like two Alpha cats, one backed by a Beta.
And both of us are feeling better, partly thanks to the killer air filter. Says something that one of us fresh from basement construction can walk past it and send it roaring into Defcon1 or 2 (blue light goes yellow or red).
Phys Therapy is working pretty well, to the point now I’ve got a couple of things that are really sore, because the others that were misbehaving are fixed and throwing the action mostly on a couple of problem spots. But still making progress.I’m doing things thoughtlessly that used to hurt and go very slowly.
We still have half a foot of snow on the bridge. We can rejoice that our roof melts slower than anybody elses in sight, meaning we have really good insulation.
Hope you all are warm and dry.
I have a comment box but only after I logged in. The comments are now back to an easier to read font. Chuck has been busy!
Same here. (The last post still has comments and right sidebar in Courier, but I can live with that.)
So glad you are feeling, and breathing better. We’re in the last stages of Bradford pear blooming season. I hate sneezing so much. I’ve pretty much had to tough it out, using decongestants very sparingly.
Please sweet talk Jane into doing a photo post on a walk through of the remodel. Want to see the new library and kitties and all the new things . . . .
If you have time to say more about the air filter, I’d be interested.
A foot of snow on the bridge? What would Pyanfar say?
What would Pyanfar say? My guess is that It would be rude in at least three languages. LOL!
Rude and blue; need that special air filter that takes the bad words out. Wait! The Dinner ate that one, didn’t they?
Something beginning with ‘Gods-befeathered snow!’ and going downhill from there.
@Hanneke: I made (Dutch) “mosterd soep”this evening for supper—just as tasty as I had imagined it when the Boston Globe printed a recipe for it a few weeks ago and I cut it out of the paper. I’ve been yearning to make the soup ever since that Wednesday “food section” but it took us a while to remember to pick up some new mustards (starting by using a “raspberry wine vinegar” mustard from the back of the refrigerator and long ago did not seem wise).
@CJ: I had to “log in” again to submit this comment despite having logged in to “reply” to Paul earlier in the day.
Oh thank goodness, the font is back to normal!
My cats are back to normal! Er…relatively speaking…normal for them! Gotta love ’em.
This weekend just past, I didn’t look at the weather reports. Also didn’t look to see if it was Daylight Savings Time yet. Gosh, it sure seemed warm in the apartment Saturday and Sunday. So I looked at the weather. Oh. Supposed to get up to 79 or 80 today, upper 70’s tomorrow, lower 70’s Wednesday, then halfway cool again Thursday, Friday, and Saturday.
Almost 80 in March, huh? Before Easter? Maybe not unheard of here, but rare. And I guess there goes our chances for a truly cold cold snap (or frost) before Easter, which is our last chance for such.
I gave up last night and turned on the air conditioner to avoid melting this week. — I may need to turn the heat back on at the end of the week. Or this may be the last need for the heater until October or so. Not even St. Paddy’s Day yet, and it’s this warm. Wow.
I reset my clocks and will look up what day Easter is this year. I will soon be considering flip-flops and swim shorts or camp shorts as regular indoor attire. Soon but not quite yet.
Meanwhile, tornadoes and blizzards up north. The planet’s weather has gone nuts.
I’ve got a grocery delivery scheduled for today. I’ll need to order items I forgot or didn’t yet need, in two weeks.
Have all but given up on those local friends showing up anytime soon, but will have to call (again) to remind (nag) them. — I may pull out of an investment with them and put it elsewhere, when it comes due. I’m currently trying to convince myself to leave it there for another term, but I’m discouraged enough with them to want to end it. I’ve said something enough times that I won’t stress it beyond that transaction.
I am frustrated with myself and with how things are going, yet I’m trying to make some progress, or so I’m telling myself. Still an uphill battle. I have now been in my “new” apartment two years and counting.
Ick. That moment when you hear your cat spit up, then you go over the entire place, looking carefully, and you don’t find the spot to clean it up. :-/ Ick. I hope I find it soon, or at least when I next clean house. Darn it, cat. And why can’t I find it? Where _is_ it? :: le sigh ::
On a positive note, I got my grocery order. Yay! Now I wonder what I forgot that I will discover I need. Hahah. Oh well, start a list.
I need to read or watch a show tonight. Frustration or ennui do not cover the feeling I have. But I need something to improve my mood. — Things are actually more OK than they seem.
A fine kettle of fish – Ms. Cherryh gave me a heart attack – cooking the coi? How did she get them on the bottom of the pond – sleeping for the winter.
It appears the font is back to normal and Ms. Cherryh knows how to comment.
Jonathan up here in gradually warming New Hampshire
Cooking the coi? What am I missing?
Look at the title of this section: A fine kettle of fish.
I love the English language.
😀
I remember that line from several “Laurel and Hardy” movies…..
Aha. My comment box is back. Sometimes admin functions are on a little different list. But I have it.
We are in the process, btw, of reconstituting the library. Yay us!
One hopes all is amended properly. 😉
Hmm, that needed more zing.
Might one hope the font could be made a darker shade of gray? Black on white is far superior to light gray on white.
I may be morally reprehensible. Or I may have just succumbed to reality or to my own weakness. I am in mourning and yet I am also almost relieved, and I am not happy with myself to say that.
I need to let you all know, because I don’t currently have anyone to tell this, and I need to get it off my chest.
I gave up Smokey, Mr. Assertive, the one who’s been peeing on the couch the past two or more weeks, and possibly the one who’s been pooping outside the letterbox regularly. No amount of Clorox Wipes or scolding, putting his nose in it and saying, “No, no, no!” was working. I’d just cleaned the box again.
In the middle of the night last night, I was in bed and heard an awful racket from the living room, and was fairly sure I knew what it was. Sure enough, when I got in there, the vinyl couch had been peed on again in two new spots, over from where he’d been doing it. I’m now pretty sure it was only him doing that. So I scolded him and cleaned it up, took it to the bathroom, and…poop outside the box freshly cleaned before bed.
I went back in the living room to scrub the vinyl couch with Clorox Wipes. What, more? More. I was livid. Brough the cat back in, pushed his nose in it, “No, no, no!” … And he disappeared for a while. I’d lost my temper.
Local friends still had not returned my call from a few days ago now.
I am sorry to say I’d reached my breaking point with Smokey, after months of him misbehaving, trying to deal with it, losing my temper back in October and nearly giving him away then, but forgiving him.
I put him in a carrier, took him out near the entrance to the apartments, with a sign, “Free to good home, I can’t keep him anymore.” Because I couldn’t take it anymore. My own failing. I was angry, but also heartbroken, and I no longer know a local vet and can’t get a reliable cab, either Yellow or Uber here. (I tried several times, got various nonsense and no results, eventually gave up on it.) — I’d put him in the carrier for over an hour, thinking I’d wait until later and take him to a vet, or my temper would cool.
So I put the carrier out with a note, and felt bad. Not quite an hour and a half later, I also heard the dumpster pickup, which is near that entrance. Ack! I went back out, thinking if he was still there, I’d bring the carrier back in and try calling friends or a cab or do something.
The carrier was gone. The dumpsters (nearby) had been emptied, but oddly, trash bags not in the dumpster were still there. Maintenance people were out picking things up. — I suppose someone on their way to/from work or school got the carrier with Smokey.
I don’t know whether to hate myself for being awful or to think I was trying to act halfway responsibly after feeling I couldn’t take the situation anymore. — Understand, I have never once given up a cat since I first had one as a pre-teen. I feel I let him down. I feel I gave up on my principles. And yet I also don’t think I could feel OK anymore having him here, misbehaving, with me increasingly torn between loving him and being unable to stand the frequent bad behavior. I realize I had reached the point this morning where I needed to give him away, rather than feeling I was losing my love for him. — And so I did what I did, put him out in the carrier, and walked away, then came back later, and he was gone.
I feel awful, and yet I won’t have the behavioral problems, like him stealing Goober’s food or muscling Goober out of the way of his food or places in the apartment where Goober wants to be. Smokey also overeats then throws it back up, way too often. And then the ongoing thing about pooping outside the box, which had become regular, and then the new thing, peeing on the couch, now ongoing for a few weeks. If it weren’t vinyl…. But I still will have to get rid of it. Awful.
I hope someone picked him up and will take care of him. — I have never been in the position of doing such a thing. I feel like that wasn’t fully responsible. Yet keeping him in the carrier for hours wouldn’t be right, and I didn’t have a way to do better. — I feel like I let him down in my responsibility to him. I feel like I’ve faltered in a major way on my personal principles. I am going to be in mourning for a while, and likely unhappy with myself for a long time over it. And yeah, I am also a little relieved, and I feel bad for that.
So…someone else has Smokey, or else he’s gone, and that’s on me, my fault for not doing better by him, for not being a better person.
I don’t think Goober has realized yet that Smokey’s gone, permanently. I don’t quite know if Goober will be relieved or if he’ll miss him or if his feelings will be mixed, and of course, I likely won’t know. It may be that it’ll be a relief to Goober. So I still have him, and if he has also been misbehaving about the letterbox or the couch…oh, I will be terribly unhappy with myself. I suspect he hasn’t done anything to the couch, but may have pooped outside the box at times. — I have never had cause to lose my temper with him. He’s not perfect, but he’s never been a discipline problem.
I will have to live with the consequences of what I’ve done.
At least I did have Smokey in a carrier, with a note. But I don’t feel like that excuses me. I feel like I let down my cat and my moral principles.
irony: There is at least one large pail / bucket of cat litter at the apartment complex office, along with other items, that have now been there over a month.
Folks, I am confessing here. I don’t expect forgiveness. I’m not sure I can forgive myself. I just hope that someone did get Smokey and he will have a good home. But that is wishful thinking. I have lost some part of myself. I let down Smokey. I hope he will get a good home in spite of me. I still have Goober, and he’s essentially all I have left. — Fell me, why can’t my life be good anymore? But this one was my fault. I did it and there’s no way of undoing it, and I have to live with that from now on. I hope Smokey will be OK.
I don’t expect anyone to say it’s OK. I just needed to tell someone how far I’ve fallen. I never thought I’d be like this.
Nuts. Goover’s come to sit with me and get attention. He’s purring. I don’t think he knows. Or maybe he’s relieved. I guess he doesn’t know I’ve failed in some way in my responsibilities.
I’m sorry, Smokey. I hope you get someone better than me. But I know that’s wishful thinking. He isn’t likely to get anything at all. I’m an awful person. I have to live with it from now on.
Taking care of a misbehaving cat is tough enough when you can easily take them to the vet to rule out physical problems that might cause the bad behavior. If you are stuck relying on other people to do it for you or provide rides, it’s even worse. One of my friends back on the mainland had to give up her 2 beloved cats when she lost the lease on her apartment, and has been feeling very guilty about it for months. It sounds like at least someone stepped in where you couldn’t; maybe they took Smokey in, maybe they took them to the shelter. Either way, you did what you could for him, and hopefully he’ll find a home.
It sounds like you were at least able to wrangle a cat in a carrier out to the curb. Does the office have a hand truck or cart you could borrow to take your parcels home?
:-/ I have confirmed one thing: Smokey wasn’t the only one pooping outside the letterbox (right outside it on the bathroom floor, very narrow space). So far, Goober hasn’t zapped the couch. But it means I’m kicking myself, that Goober could have gotten into the habit too, which would mean I’ve basically kicked out one cat when both are equally guilty, which would (sort of) make neither more guilty than the other, and therefore, no reason to have acted that way toward Smokey, which…yeah, I’m not happy with myself, here.
I got upset, cried and mourned when I tried to get some sleep this morning. Got back up. So I’m running on no sleep except for a nap yesterday evening. Whee. — But I’ve got to live with what I did. No going back from that, it’s permanent. And I knew that, so I’m telling myself I’m paying for it.
I do hope someone either took Smokey in or took him to a shelter where he can be adopted. That would be better than me having a bad attitude toward him, blaming him. So if he gets a new home, he’s better off. I hope so. — I don’t like this about myself in two ways: One of my beefs about my parents was the feeling that if they didn’t accept or acknowledge me being gay, then that was conditional and not true love…and I feel I’ve just done that to Smokey. Two, I don’t like that my temper has gotten so bad a few times with him. My mom’s temper got like that as she got older, leading to a couple of noteworthy incidents. My dad’s temper was always slower and milder, unless he really got mad, and then it could stay longer, though he wasn’t as sharp-tongued as my mom. (And be it noted, as a kid, my mom and I were closer. As I grew older, my dad and I grew closer.) So I’m not happy seeing my temper so over the top a few times. — And why with Smokey, rather than with Goober. Goober isn’t a saint either, but he’s usually well behaved. So I’m terribly frustrated with myself.
Goober knew I was depressed / crying (obviously) and wanted to cheer me up. He, uh, so far hasn’t shown any sign that he’s missing Smokey. Given that Smokey gave him the runaround (or Goober let him) maybe not surprising. Or maybe it hasn’t soaked in yet that Smokey’s really gone, not just hiding or absent for a bit. — And I have caught myself feeling relief at some things, which is not, not too appropriate or nice.
I’m having to adjust to it being just Goober and I now. — I don’t know when or if I’ll get another cat as a companion for Goober. I don’t want a repeat of the mismatched, lopsided personality dynamics, and I don’t want me playing any kind of favorites for one or the other. I want to feel I can provide a good home and human companion before I think of another cat. Goober is 12 and several months now. If he makes it another year, he’ll be the oldest cat I’ve had. (I hope he’ll have a few more years of life and good health.) Until I know I’m doing batter, I don’t want to take on a new cat if he’s gone, which is, I hope, a few years in the future.
Making it through, kicking myself, trying to keep my emotions honest about this and a rational perspective too. I was upset enough that Smokey needed a new home, and yet here I am, blaming myself for giving him up, putting him out there like that. I’m having trouble feeling crossed a moral line that goes against my principles. And I have to live with that, however I look at it. And Smokey’s the one who’s really affected, not me. So I hope someone found and rescued him so he’ll get a good home. Er, though better behavior and another cat who won’t let him walk all over them would be a good thing. But still, I’m having.a tough time with my own flaws versus my own ideals.
It’s just occurred to me: Is Goober worried he’ll get punished too, or is he only sensing my mood? Dang it, I’d over-analyze anything.
—–
The apartments: The major problem is, the apartment complex is in two halves, and the office is at the other half, with a major highway in between. Oh, there is a point to cross, without a light, so even if you’re fully sighted and not carrying anything, it could be a big deal crossing the street. I’d done this with one of the agents and a friend in tow, but hmm, I am loathe to do this on my own and wouldn’t want to do it carrying an armload of anything. This may or may not be what kept at least three attempts at cab rides from materializing. (Another two simply cancelled an hour before due, via Uber, leaving me no way to get to appointments, which I thereby missed.) — Houston has a “MetroLift” program, but it requires a doctor’s signed statement, sent from the doctor’s office. Several tries resulted in either nothing getting sent from the eye doctor’s office (spoke with two different staffers, four different calls, besides the in-office visit some time back) or nothing ever appearing via mail from the Houston Metro for this. I ended up just letting it go. Two different rounds of tries. :-/
The mgmt. office are adamant that someone should come by and pick packages up, rather than they or their maintenance guys or whoever, walking them over to any tenant. Oh, if we did that for one tenant, they’d all want us to do it. OK, yeah, but…and those friends have a habit of saying they’ll do something, then “I forgot!” or “Oh, we got so busy!” Yes, but you’re adults with cars. I should not have to nag you, and if you can’t show up, you can call me to let me know if you can’t make an appt. or come by. I’m not your mom or your spouse. … Meh. If you had told me that I would regularly have things wait over two weeks, sometimes over a month, or that I couldn’t reliably get a cab in? I’d have laughed and said that you were joking or that was crazy. There is, yes, a clause in the lease that gives mgmt. the right to send back unclaimed packages after a month, which is, I think too, entirely reasonable. … Yeah, frustration level is high, for things that ought to be entirely mundane and simple. — I know two neighbors’ names, sort of, but I’m iffy on their apt. numbers, and any tries at more than greetings haven’t gotten anywhere. :-/ I got discouraged enough over the fall and winter that I’d stopped trying to engage anyone. (I got outright ignored a few times too. Gee, thanks.) My eyesight’s very bad, my teeth are not good, but hey, I can carry on a conversation, I’m civilized (mostly) and I do bathe regularly. :-/ I don’t know what the deal is on this, but decided, OK, I’m gonna give it a rest and find some other way, if possible. So far, nope. I’ve said hello, during the first year and a half, to anyone I’d run across. I’ve now been here two years and know only two people’s names. Dang…and people are not that unfriendly, and I’m not, so…well, I dunno what to think about it, but it hasn’t been working so far. (I don’t think it has anything to do with me being Anglo and most of my neighbors being Latino, Spanish often their primary language, while a sizable portion are black folks, and a few are whites. Heck, our city is so diverse that if you’re truly prejudiced, you’re not gonna make much headway…although, oh, yeah, some folks are, and that’s not limited to white racists.) But I don’t think that’s the issue. I think the desire for privacy or being busy, working adults with families, is what’s doing it. Plus, I can’t see well at all at night anymore, when some folks can be out talking, so this hinders things.
—–
Poor Smokey. I’m the only human he’s really known. I hope someone gets him who will be a good match, and vice versa. — And yet the misbehavior / discipline problem had gotten worse than I’d realized. But I feel I should have toughed it out. — Too late. Now I hope he’ll have someone else who will get through to him and love him. — I should have been able to do so. I shouldn’t have let it get to me. But I did, and now he’s elsewhere.
Goober is…taking this way better than I am, but he’s been hanging around me, directly around me, more so today than usual, by far. Goober is not a lap cat. He is a, next-to-you, in the same room with you, cat. He wants attention at bedtime, and otherwise wants to hang out, plus get attention in spurts during the day/night. Today, he’s been visiting right here with me about four times as much as usual. Maybe Smokey has been monopolizing or running interference that much. Or maybe Goober wants to make me feel better. Or maybe he’s worried he’s in trouble too. He’s not; I’m the one in trouble. I expect to discover within the next few days if at all, or how frequently Goober has been doing his share of misbehaving. I will be very unhappy with myself if I find Goober’s been about as into it as Smokey was. Not that, hmm, OK, I’m just not too happy with myself in any case on this.
If it worked out so Smokey can get a better home, then that’s OK. I am having trouble not seeing myself as a temperamental villain here. 🙁
I am going to check the dang couch. Have heard nothing to suggest anything has happened, though.
I need to be productive so I’m not just sitting here stewing and blaming myself. I never would’ve thought I’d act like this, treat a pet like this. I don’t see much alternative in my situation, and yet…dang. — Oh, I hope he gets a good home to make up for this.
I want a better situation and a better handle on myself before I take on another cat. … Gotta own the responsibility for my own actions, too.
@BCS, three things.
1) Cats aren’t herd animals. An older cat, rather set in his ways, not very assertive but attached to his human, who has his human for company most of the day, often doesn’t need or want another cat around for company. The new cat would be an intruder in Goober’s territory, claiming time and attention from you whom Goober can now claim as exclusively his. If the new cat is younger and more active the chances of Goober getting irritated or overwhelmed are quite large. It might be better to wait until Goober dies before getting a new cat; let him enjoy his old age in peace.
I’ve now had two timid cats consecutively, and learned that adding a companion after one is settled (because I work outside the house, and when I was away for a few days he’d keep calling for me, I thought the first one might get lonely) only creates tremendous stress and anxiety for the timid cat who was finally feeling safe in his own territory.
2) If a situation like this should ever occur again, you might consider looking up a local (preferably no-kill) shelter on the internet, then phoning them and explaining the situation to them. Not just that you cannot continue to care for the animal, but also that you cannot get transportation to take it to the vet or bring it to the shelter.
Ask if a shelter volunteer could come to pick up the animal.
If the first shelter can’t help you, try another: your town is large enough there are probably several.
They may ask for a donation in return, and will get you to sign a form releasing the animal to them.
That way you’ll know the animal is safe, being cared for by people who will try to find a good adoption family for it, and in the meantime the animal will get the vetcare it needs, that you can’t get it.
3) It’s become clear that the appartment complex you are in at the moment is not ideal for you, specifically because your appartment is across the street from the management office, without a safe crossing.
Are there appartments across the street of a similar size and price range as the one you are now in?
Could you indicate to management that you want to move to an appartment across the street, in the same building or complex as the management office, as soon as one becomes available?
Maybe explain that, if they won’t work with you on this, eitger letting maintenance take your packages across or helping you move to the office side, you will be forced to look for another place. You need to be able to get your packages, as you rely on your online shopping.
You also need to live in a place where you can reliably get a cab, as your experience these past two years has shown that is not possible in this half of your appartment complex. Doctors, government agency appointments and vet-visits should not be dependent on unreliable rides with friends. Does the opposite half have a parking bay or pickup spot for this?
Moving again would be a hassle, but this situation with the packages and rides both being totally dependent on a few unreliable friends is not long-term stable. It also gives you another chance at finding a neighbor who might be inclined to be friendly.
You might even consider moving to another state, with a better safety net for people with disabilities.
All good points. — I should have been smart enough to call a shelter to see about pickup.
Goober has been hanging around me all day with only brief exceptions.
About the apt. situation — Yeah, I need to reconsider options and find a better solution. I am not sure if that’ll mean moving within the apt. complex. My lease is up for renewal in August, IIRC. So I have until then to figure out some alternative.
I don’t know if I’d consider moving to another city or state, but aside from Houston having great medical facilities, there’s no longer anything particular tying me here. A move to another city or small town would be big deal for me on my own. I used to feel more confident, but somehow, I’m not so confident lately. I am sure I’d need help getting around and setting up if I moved to a new town or state. — After realizing how many major hurricanes we’ve had hit the area and city in the past 20 years, and even the most conservative estimates concerning sea level rise during the rest of the century, well, it did give me pause to wonder if I should have a future plan to move elsewhere, further inland, either in Texas or another state. (Hah, except I like heat better than cold.) — Back when I was a dreaming college kid, I had grand ideas of getting to live, work, and study overseas, most likely Europe. But eek, gah, my savings are limited and I don’t know at this point. (I am hoping the current political circus and trend toward prejudice and xenophobia, here and elsewhere, will not last. If so, I’d be more inclined toward Europe or Australia.)
Still kicking myself. Today is not going to sit well with me long-term. I am not proud of myself, and not sure I was right to do what I did or how I did. Goober seems unfazed or relieved, or he’s trying to cheer me up, or reassure his own position is still safe. Maybe all three, plus some unguessed kitty motives; cats being cats and inscrutable in such things.
I almost dozed this evening. I may have fallen asleep or may have not. Hoping I’ll get to sleep sometime tonight. I am planning to do more going through the Great Reshuffle boxes to do something with productive results, to keep busy, and to take my mind off it to get me into a better pattern, over the next few days.
You cannot help being born human. A god might have done better; or not.
Hopefully someone picked him up and has adopted him, carrier and all. I understand being at one’s wits end. You wanted to fix it, you tried to undo it. But hopefully, since both cat and carrier are gone, someone took him to care for him and he will fare just fine.
I am doing a little bit better, but still missing Smokey and still feel like kicking myself. However, I hadn’t realized how much frustration I’d built up and how much he was misbehaving and not improving his behavior.
Goober’s been mostly right with me, soaking up attention and head-butting me. He can tell I’m down.
Still having trouble with it, feeling I let him down and let myself down, with my temper and frustration getting the better of my principles. But I’ve got to live with that and go on.
CJ and others — Thank you. Yes, I’m only human, but I wish I were better at this being human stuff. :-/
Odd dream: I took a nap this afternoon, attempting to catch up on lack of sleep. I dreamt of a house with a yard, warm weather, spring-like, sun-dappled from trees. There were lots of kittens running around, mostly in one room or so of the house and in and out of a door into the back yard. They were around adoptable age, 6 to 8 weeks, some still blue-eyed, some transitioning eye color, some with adult eye colors. All the various coat patterns you could think of, though I think all were shorthairs, and it had to be more than one litter. I’d guess 12 to 16 of them, though of course I didn’t count in my dream. So I’m also not sure how I’m aware of an estimate. I was somewhere around my mid to late teens, I think. I had on shorts, a shirt of some kind, and oddly, my socks were a bright blue-green, leaning towards Kelly green. I don’t think I’ve ever had socks that color and don’t know why it stuck with me, haha. I don’t recall what sneakers I had on. I was just enjoying hanging out with these kittens around doing all their normal kitten things. Goober was asleep nearby on the bed out in the real world. If it had any significance or was just trying to cheer me up, I don’t know. I don’t particularly recall any of the kittens being Goober’s or Smokey’s patterns, though, which could mean something. Come to think of it, none of the kittens were quite the pattern or color of previous cats I’ve had. So maybe it’s a reminder that things go on and there are more cats and kittens in the future. Hmm, no dogs in the dream. Dunno, maybe that’s a future dream.
I am not ready for another cat yet. This does not mean the universe doesn’t have other plans for me than what I think should happen. Quite frequently, the universe does not do what I think I was going for. Heh.
Two and a half days now with no Smokey and just Goober and myself. Goober’s fine with this. I’m the one having trouble with it. — And I keep finding myself guiltily wishing Smokey has a good home now, a permanent home, better behavior. Maybe there’ll be another cat who will get him to tone down his stuff. I hope he will be in a good home with good people.
I never thought I’d ever give up on or give away a cat I had. I miss all the good things about him and don’t miss the bad behavior. I notice how Goober is doing and I’m weighing this against my feelings, saying maybe this helps Goober, even if Smokey got the bad side of the deal. If he gets a good home, it could be a good deal for him too. :-/ I just wish I had done better on this. Having real trouble with my principles versus my actual behavior. I have never done that before. I’d never had such strong / bad tempered reactions before to a cat, but that’s been building up with Smokey over several incidents over several years, then October and this one. So…well, he needed to go to a new home anyway, I have to face that, along with telling myself I don’t want to ever let myself get like that again.
At some point, there will likely be another cat, but right now, I think I need to let Goober have me all to himself, as Hanneke and others suggested. I don’t expect another cat to land in my life, so this is probably how we’ll stay. Goober’s 12 and over 4 months, plus whatever his exact age was (about 6 to 8 weeks or a bit more) when I got him. Smokey is 9 years and 2 1/2 months, also plus the 6 to 8 weeks the vet estimated he was when I got him. So Smokey could have 5 or 6 years left, if all goes well. Goober may have another 2 or 3 years, also if all goes well.
——
Late this afternoon into early evening, the pool / patio square area was filled with some ravening horde of wild children, perhaps only one step above proto-hominids by the sound of all that yelling. In fact, the purpose of whatever game they were playing seemed to be to yell as much as possible. Ah, mostly, it was good, playing, we’re OK, this is fun, type yelling. Mostly. With occasional diversions into the, I’m an adult and you kids are triggering my paternal instincts something fierce, type yelling.
There did not seem to be any adult or older teen voices out there amongst the pack of pre-sapients. I am just presuming they were wearing clothes and not covered in primate hair…. LOL. — I believe the adults and teens were inside, taking refuge from the wild hominid kids. 😀 Hahaha. So perhaps they needed a break, and are more experienced at parenting. (Clearly, since I’m not a dad.)
While my nerves were a bit frayed from that, I also found it very funny. — I don’t know what game the kids were playing and didn’t feel like going outside to check. — From an anthropology standpoint, although they were young enough there might not be as much difference as we’d all like to think; on the other hand, human kids, even that young (elementary and younger, don’t know if there were any middle school kids out there) still would have some rather loose conceptions of two or more sides, teams, and some loose or strict rules for whatever the game was, with likely progress from one game play to another. That’s a pretty big step up from, say, other great ape juveniles playing. So my kidding is only kidding, even if I wonder if, that early on, how much of a quantitative difference there is, and how our human development curve starts diverging from other apes, and why.
Around here, I typically hear as much or more Spanish than I do English, but the kids who speak Spanish are probably all fully bilingual, while their families are often not fluent in English, and some are bilingual. Then there are the black and white kids and their families, who are English-only or who have a little Spanish. That’s a really interesting dynamic, and says a ton more about integration than the smokescreen and growling from the xenophobic folks. — As someone who likes languages and cultures, yet who hasn’t been truly immersed in that before, in his home environment, I am still adjusting to this, finding it unusual. But it’s normal for folks around here. I think this is healthier, in terms of getting people to understand there’s not as much difference as some people want to think there is. I’m still adjusting, but I like this. It’s challenging, it can be disorienting or disconcerting, and yet it’s also pretty neat. (And if I’d work harder on regaining fluency and building from there, I’d get more out of it.)
It is St. Patrick’s Day tomorrow. I am remiss. I didn’t get anything Irish; no corned beef or cabbage or such-like. I may need to remedy that during the week. I _like_ corned beef, cabbage too. — Tater Tots are not really Irish…. We shall pretend valiantly….
A feline has come to stay by me. We are looking for a name that has to do with its extremely loud, nagging, bullying voice. It weighs about two pounds, but has the loudest cat voice that I had ever heard, and I’m sixty-three. We have no real idea of gender, as the person insists that that is private and none of our business, so I am afraid that Stentor is pretty much out of the running.
Brunhilde?
Caruso?
Teddy Roosevelt? (or any other suitable politician)
Yell-oh? (A silly double pun – cats being able to flow bonelessly to fill any container they choose to sit in)
Gargantue
Gigante
Max!
Urko
Ursus — OK, so it’s not quite species-appropriate, but, meh.
I am begining to think of Vociferance or Clamor…. We’ll have to see if the cat answers to either.
D[j]inn?
If it is female, and I think it is, Lucia de Clamormore. If male, Lucius de Clamormore. It is responding to Lucia.
@Tommie: Funny, apparently I think a bit like you, but slower and more ponderous. I was just thinking about adding those two kinds of options last night.
1) Naming after something loud, like bullfrog, claxon, tuba or trumpet.
2) Trying to think of a T.S. Elliot type of name, like Sir Loudmouth the terror of a tranquil teatime/garden/terrace/townhouse, or Lady Loudmouth the lovely/lucky lurker in the lilacs/lavender.
Your Lucia de Lammermoore variation is much better!
Scut (Farkus)
Biff
My P.O. Box is something I _can_ get to. — Imagine my surprise to see two notes dated from a month and a half ago, only now arriving, addressed from the Texas Atty, Genl. to the Postmaster requesting an address update. For some guy who, if he ever lived at this address, certainly hasn’t since I moved in two years ago. — Sometime last year, I’d had to call a private investigator’s firm, because they were looking for the guy, and had come by while I wasn’t home. Seems they’d spoken to him recently and he’d claimed he was living here, or that he’d get back to them real soon now with a new address and phone number. — So not only does he owe some past debts, but the A.G. wants him for child support payments. Potentially for a couple of years, based on this, though the letter was only a request for an updated address.
So it sounds like the guy has at least two major amounts owed, child support payments and some back debts, and has been avoiding the authorities for more than a year or two. Whee. Glad I’m not him. I don’t think he’s gonna be real happy when they get him.
Really hoping this will settle the matter and no authorities will come knocking on my door expecting to find him, and therefore not happy with me. But now I know the full legal name and not just the middle initial.
I did politely suggest the A.G. could check with the apartment complex offices to confirm I’d lived here since when I said I’d moved in, and that there were no other persons on the lease, and possibly they could tell the A.G. when or if any such person had lived here. Heh.
I am still getting occasional mail for at least one person for whom I’d spoken to someone at the post office a year ago, when I got tired of stamping mail with Return to Sender, No such person known at this address. But this is the first time in a while I’ve gotten mail for this guy they’re chasing. Oh, boy.
I don’t think I’ve ever gotten anything like that, but some of the businesses send out mail with addressees who have never, AFAIK, lived at my address – which I’ve had for more than 10 years. I think they do it trying to get people to open it. Usually it’s the local cable franchise, but sometimes it’s a newspaper – not local, but Big Name – trying to get people to subscribe, or a car dealer looking for someone.
(I did get a legal paper once, after a car I’d sold a couple of years earlier had been abandoned. I was able to assure them I had zero interest in it and did not, in fact, own it.)
I was getting mail for a former resident who had died in the house. When I got an ad so addressed on one Halloween, I called the store again and explained just how creepy I found that to be. They at last stopped sending him mail.
Heh, I did not get the letter out today, but it should get out tomorrow, if I re-find a mail slot by the bank of P.O. Boxes.
Oh, I have three all-time weirdest mail or previous owner experiences:
When I had lived a number of years in my old home, I got a letter about something or other, demanding to get in contact with my dad. I wrote back saying that if they could get in touch with him, great, I’d love to talk to him too. — But that he’d been deceased that number of years ago, and he certainly had not done any business with them in that time, and if he had, well, that would’ve been a neat trick, but no, he was quite dead. (I wrote it in something like that way, because I was sure that all my parents’ debts had been resolved at their deaths, and I knew whatever this was, claiming something years later, was bogus.)
The second was after that, also random. I got a call one day from a police officer. They were asking about a car that my parents had had when I was in college, and had sold some years before. So I had no idea why the officer would be calling me, but sure, I knew that car and those were my parents and they were deceased. It seems that, of course, my parents had given the title to the car to the buyer, and that’s how the police had found the connection. The car had been used in some illegal activity and dumped, and somehow the officers had thought, oh, my parents were connected. Er, no, they’d sold that car many years before either had died, and yep, they were dead and the officer could look up the certificates to prove it. I forget exactly how the phone conversation went, and there may have been a written note too, I no longer recall. But it mystified me, and yet I was sure it was genuine, the officer was not rude, just firm, and when presented with what I knew, he was satisfied, and I never heard anything more about it. I was pretty mystified it would even come up, especially since I had moved in the interim years.
The third was regarding the previous owners of my home at the time. They had been the original owners; nice people, now very senior citizens moving up to the country. They had left a forwarding address, but eventually, I had put that aside in old records as no longer needed.
So I was quite surprised to get a letter from the County Courthouse saying that the husband had failed to appear for jury duty, and if he did not show up, he would be held in contempt of court and jailed! Heh. Oh dear. Well, I could just envision a county constable or bailiff appearing at my door and trying to take me off to jail instead, or fine me. (I was pretty sure it would be easy to prove that I was not that man, and it wouldn’t happen; but I didn’t really want a constable to show up at my door to find out. It seemed like a waste of time and, ah, unsettling.) I called the County Clerk’s office and told them the situation, that I was the homeowner, on the deed / title, and they were looking for the previous owners, who had moved however many years ago, to another county. That, thankfully, was enough to clear it up, and the previous owner would not have been required to serve jury duty, nor would he have been in contempt, since he no longer resided in the county. And I, of course, was not liable either. Whew!
But I did say it seemed awfully strange that in the many years since they had moved, the county’s records had not been updated to show they were no longer home/property owners or resident in the county.
If I recall correctly, the notice was such that I knew I had to open and handle it. I don’t recall if it was affixed to the door or a simple letter, but there was something to it so that I responded rather than tossing it, since I no longer had their forwarding address handy, it had been that long.
Today it’s been just Goober and me. I keep getting reminded of Smokey, and it’s as if I’m grieving, but also blaming myself for how I handled things, for giving him up at all, even though I think I needed to give him away to a home where he’d be better off.
Goober’s only issue has been pooping just outside the box, and I’m hoping that might correct himself when I change the litter entirely and swap out the box with the other one. Otherwise, no misbehavior from Goober. He’s on his P’s and Q’s and seems to be glad to have me all to himself, with no one to rival him for attention or bully him out of his food bowl, though that had become mostly a non-issue.
No problem with the couch except it’s still there. I haven’t tried to lift it, but it’s likely not a one person job. Goober has done nothing to the couch since Smokey’s been gone, so… that was all Smokey. (But while it was going on, I put Goober’s nose in it and told him no, just in case, too.)
No clawing my chair. No trying to monopolize the attention, and no trying to steal Goober’s food. Goober has only spit up once, due to a scare, not his fault, and hey, cats do have hairballs and such, so I understand that anyway. Not nearly so much use of the litterbox, enough so that I have gone around a few times, worrying if Goober might be doing something elsewhere. No signs of anything elsewhere, except, hmmm, I need to dust thoroughly, next time I clean house. So Smokey’s smaller size means a smaller or more crowded bladder, and I had not realized the frequency was that much more different between them. Smokey could have something going on there, but it’s been steady, not any increase I’d noticed. — And I wonder if the couch was a misbehavior to assert territory or get back at me for any times I was busy working or with Goober, and therefore not giving Smokey attention if he thought he needed more. (Spoiled, he wasn’t lacking in attention.)
But…dang. I still feel like I let him down and let down my own principles, one of my most important. I put him out there in that carrier and walked away. I knew I was doing that and it wasn’t easy, but I had had so much, I didn’t see an alternative. And getting that fed up with him that I’d give him away or not want to deal with him anymore…means he did need a new home. I am just still unhappy with myself. It feels too much like I kicked him out or abandoned him, and here I have Goober, who doesn’t realize what I’ve done, only that he got the better end of the deal.
I am still trying to make peace with myself over this, what I consider a real personal shortcoming. Smokey’s behavior was really bad, but…dang it, he was my cat, and I let myself get mad, fed up, after several times, and let myself forget that my promise was to love him and not give up on him. This, when I’m at a time when I feel so isolated, and yet I feel I gave up on him. So yes, I’m still judging myself. Still gotta live with it.
I am going to try not to bring that up again. It’s now been almost 4 1/2 days. By now, he’s either been killed, or he’s in a shelter with veterinary care and awaiting adoption, or else someone took him in and he’s hopefully OK and not abandoned for his bad behavior. I realize this. My logical, rational mind gets it. My heart says I love him and miss him despite the bad behavior and despite how mad I got then and back in October, or two other times, less mad, when he’d done major misbehaviors over the years.
I am having to reconcile this and go on, and love Goober, and have promised myself never to let that happen again with any future cats. I still love the little guy and have been hoping and praying each day that he’s somewhere good with people who will love him and give him a good home, or that he soon will be, rather than the alternative; also praying that they won’t get fed up like I did and give him away or just throw him out.
I at least put him in a carrier with a note, so he had a good chance. He wasn’t out on the street, but within the gate at the apt. complex here, near where the dumpsters are. I’m also having a hard time with it that I didn’t get back there before the truck came by to empty the dumpsters. That thing is huge and noisy enough to worry a human, let alone a poor cat in a carrier. I do hope that he was picked up before it got there, but there’s also the chance that the guys in the garbage truck put him in their cab and took him to a shelter. (It’s a private contractor that works county-wide, rather than the city, so there’s a chance for a shelter that way instead of the city pound.) So… well, dang. I was the only human he’d had. He trusted me. I feel awful about this. I at least didn’t dump him, but put him in a carrier. I wish I’d gone back sooner.
So I hope he’s OK, somewhere out there. I am still convinced that there are not bad cats, dogs, etc., but bad owners. I couldn’t find the way to get him out of the bad behavior and habits, and I got to where I let my temper get the better of me, for so long that I’d want to give him away. That’s on me, not him. And ironically, I still love him and miss him, when I’m the idiot who gave him away. And living with that is its own punishment.
I know there are people out there who wouldn’t give it a second thought. I can’t understand people like that.
I know folks here have been kind and said, hey, I’m human, sometimes we get too much and can’t take it anymore, and we make mistakes. Yes, that’s true, and it’s true we can learn from them. I just wish I’d done better. I should’ve known; I know I thought about it and chose to do what I did instead of relenting and bringing him back in, or not putting him out there at all.
I hope he is OK. I hope I never have to suffer what he did. I hope I never do that to a cat or other animal again. And I hope that if I ever do have another cat, dog, etc. and get fed up with behavioral problems, that I handle it in a way that makes certain the pet will get a good home and proper care, rather than leaving me worried they might not have.
Goober has been with me, right with me, most of the time since then. A little jealous celebration from a quiet cat? Or he figures I made my decision as leader of the pride? Or he just doesn’t know what happened, what I did? Or he does and wants to be sure he’s not next? I don’t know. But he’s sure sticking by me.
Poor Smokey. I am not happy with me. I am seeing that things are different around here. I’m going on with things. I just wish life could be better, and I wish I’d handled it better. I’ve never been like that, except with Smokey. So he did need a new home. Having to deal with it, but I don’t quite know how yet. I’m just having to tell myself I made a major mistake and didn’t follow my own principles, and now I have to live with the results, and more importantly, so does he. 🙁
Well…time to feed Goober and myself. Later in the day than I thought.
I hope all of you are having a better day. Someday, I’ll take in another cat. For now, and for Goober’s lifetime, unless some surprise happens, it’s him and me, and he gets some peace. If anyone gives me another cat, or one shows up somehow, I hope that kitty will be a better match for Goober, who’s now a senior kitty. He could enjoy a relaxed, not-so-competitive, or very loving cat. But for now, and as far as I know, it’ll be just us.
Smokey needs a family where either he’s top cat and maybe the only cat, or where any other cats won’t take any nonsense from him but will include him fairly as one of their pride. I hope so.
_Mind_ _Blown_ — There was a knock on the door. It took a minute, because I’d gotten the wrong door first. “Hello?” I looked around, and of course, my vision’s not what it once was.
A man said, “Oh, I’m sorry, we’re looking for Hispanic people.”
“Oh, that’s all right…” I got out, almost laughing, while my mind was still processing that.
I went back inside and shook my head and laughed for a minute. I hadn’t thought to switch to Spanish and say anything. I should be able to do that, and around here, I should know to do so easily and quickly. My Spanish is not back to my high school fluency, but it’s not bad either.
The man asking sounded polite, good manners.
Er, and of course, as I’m going back in, I’m thinking, “What, I’m not Hispanic enough for you?” (I look and sound very Anglo. I have a big-city accent, not a lot of Texas accent, even though I’m native here.) But gee….
I do know what he meant. He was either looking for friends or relatives, people he knew, and who were Hispanic, bilingual, with accents, probably, like his. He hadn’t knocked on any other doors, so he wasn’t looking at random.
Er, but gee, I’m not Hispanic enough? Hey, there are plenty of people who don’t “look” Hispanic who are, with European roots like mine, whose families have been over here for as long as mine have. — So now I sorta-kinda feel like I had a brush with reverse discrimination. Except I am also sure the man did not intend for it to come out that way and didn’t mean it to be discriminatory. He was probably just covering for a faux pas from knocking on the wrong door, and that was what slipped out. Understandable. (He sounded like a nice guy, and probably educated. You can tell a lot from an accent bout all kinds of things, and we all make such guesses every time we meet anyone, on personality and intentions and background.)
Just, gee, guy, I’m Anglo, but I’m also friendly and I live around here too, and I speak more than just English. (Laughs.) Oh well, I don’t think he meant any harm by what he said; he just wasn’t thinking, and I guess neither was I, or I could’ve responded more. I wouldn’t have known who he was looking for or which apartment they live in, but oh well.
At least he didn’t say I was too white or too Anglo. — Thank goodness I’m not one of those guys who’d wear a MAGA hat or some racist. Seems we have more of those around than I had thought, which is not good.
Man, how far we still have to go in America. My apartment complex is largely Hispanic, with Spanish at least as common as English, or more so. The kids and many of the adults are varying degrees of bilingual, though some people are effectively Spanish-only. There are a number of black families too and some white families, and probably a few Asian families. So where I live now is a melting pot, a cultural and linguistic stew, and I’m in the minority here, despite being the majority overall. For my city, the breakdown is still just under 1/2 whites, nearly 1/8 Hispanics, nearly 1/8 blacks, and what I suspect are an undercounted percentage of Indian Americans, Asians, and others, with a small percentage of Native Americans. Plus there is overlap, because now, multiple “racial” or ethnic backgrounds and mixed, multi-racial heritage are counted as overlapping all those. (And here, it is common enough to have Anglo and Hispanic parents, or other blends, some of which are so blended that it points out why the whole thing is so ridiculous anymore.) And yet we still have, all of us, those preconceived ideas and things we don’t even think about when we do them, even those of us who are not (or don’t want to be) overtly prejudiced. I’d put the man I just saw in that category too, someone who wasn’t trying to be, but those tendencies slipped out. I’d say my own tendencies did too, or I would’ve said something in Spanish or English to carry on the conversation. However, he was excusing himself, ending the conversation with what he said, and not really being rude, either.
It points out, though — We have a long way to go in America before it makes no difference to anyone what your racial background is.
I was reminded this past week about this, in seeing a couple of YouTube videos from Brazilians, whose backgrounds were so blended that it would be hard to say which “racial” background was in the majority in their ancestry: European, Native American, African, possibly Asian, all in there in their skin tones and the tiny nuances of facial structure we all claim count for “race.” (Yes, Brazilians do that too, still.) — America is probably headed for a profound racial blending, as more and more people get to know one another, live nearby, and love and sex do what biology and romance have always done among humankind. Education and familiarity, getting to know more about each other, for most people tends to blur those boundaries, and for some folks, they look past that in minds and bodies, and voilà, there are kids and families and friendships, and those old racial divides mean a little less than they did, until someday, maybe no one will think anything more of that than they do about hair color or eye color, just differences in features. And dang it, that’s how it ought to be. History and human nature are on the side of that blending and that equality, even if some folks want to get isolationist and xenophobic and clannish. (Or Klannish, pun very much relevant there.)
OK, I guess I should get down off my soapbox. I’ve certainly proven the past couple of weeks that I am not perfect either. I’m just as flawed as any other human being, and have been very much reminded of it.)
So I’m taking this as a humorous lesson, as well as a very telling look at how far we have to go before it is no longer even a factor we think about at all. If our globalizing, mass-media, trade and travel civilization continues without blowing itself to bits or collapsing with a whimper, then we are all likely headed for a blending of the human species and a fusion in cuisines, with those old things of culture and language and some degree of ethnic differences still ongoing over a number of centuries, not entirely gone, still there, but so blended that it doesn’t matter to most people.
The racists don’t get that history and human nature are not on their side, that it is in human nature to experiment, to try new things and go new places, to make friends with the exotic, just as much as it is in our nature to be cautious of what seems too different. We can fear what is strange and unknown, and that can be healthy in some situations. But overall, people, well, that urge to merge is powerful enough to overcome a whole lot, and the need to love and be loved is powerful enough to overcome too. It is too bad the racists out there do not get that.
I would like to think that the man I talked to would, in other circumstances, probably be just as happy to be friendly as I would, and we’d probably laugh and shake our heads over being so foolish for a moment. Something in how we interacted gave me that impression too, even though we had a social misstep, what the words “faux pas” mean.
Presented for your edification and amusement. And we should be able to laugh at ourselves at the same time as we learn to do better. I would hope. Yes, I am still very much a dreamer. Always have been, always will be. I would like to think that being an idealist is a good quality. I want better than what we’ve got, particularly in how the national and global current events have been going lately. Lord, how did so many small-minded, self-serving, greedy idiots get in power in so many places? It’s getting so that finding someone who’s actually interested in serving the public good is a true rarity, a novelty. Thank goodness there are still a few, and some of them are new and bright.
Meh, I now relinquish the soapbox. Someone else might want to use it for a while.
Your line was, “No comprendo ¿Hablas español?”
¡Jajaja! Lo deberé que recordarle para el Tiempo próximo. — Hahaha, I will have to remember that for next time. :grins: