Before I begin, let me mention that Milhous is at the water dish, and Edsel came in from outside wanting water, so with his 10-year-old, bad-hearted, arthritic self he minced over there, saw Milhous drinking, and walked away.
“You can share!” I said brightly, injecting myself into the dynamic that is my pets. “Everyone can drink from the bowl! Let’s pretend we’re antelopes at the watering hole!”
But Edsel wouldn’t do it. He walked away, head low.
Oh, I was worried. He needs his water. He’d been in the bedroom with me all night, not drinking (I should really put a bowl in there, shouldn’t I?) and then he went outside in the July sun and now he’s acquiescing to a yellow cat.
splish splish splat
splish splish splaoot
When Milhous is done delicately lapping at the water bowl, he enjoys putting his foot in there and splashing the water all across the kitchen floor. It’s why I’m having him put down later today. “Edsel, now he’s just playing with the water like an elephant,” I said. “Let’s go back and get water.”
He wouldn’t do it. He allowed Milhous this private time and won’t be doing any interviews of him during this trying time.
GODDAMMIT. So now Edsel is over on his living room bed, probably dying of dehydration, while Milhous is satisfiedly cleaning his toes.
As you can see, there’s a can of paint on my floor that should be up on my porch ceiling. I went with Meander Blue.
I got it Sunday afternoon but didn’t see my neighbor and felt bad knocking on his door saying, The paint is here! Come paint for me for free on a Sunday! I’ll just wait till I see him, which I guarantee you will be in the next 46 seconds. He’s a very visible neighbor.
For someone in isolation, I got out and about this weekend and am riddled with coronavirus now.
On Saturday I had to get up fairly early because I had my trainer. Whose cockamamie idea was it to see her 3x a week? Now all I ever do is get out a sports bra. I see her ass again tonight. Yeesch.
Anyway I got up early and had nutritious coffee so I’d be at my best during my workout, and then as soon as I was done with my rigorous Rocky training I had to STAMPEDE to the kitten room and get them in a carrier, oh the breezy getting-ferals-in-a-container technique, and head to the shelter so they could get their shots, which were at this point overdue because GETTING FERALS IN CONTAINERS.
I did it, though, by putting spoons of baby food at the back of each carrier. I was able to just pick up Hissy like a normal cat and get her in there, but Fitz slowly, slowly oh my god SLOWLY went in there. The noises they made on the way to the shelter were noises I never heard cats make. When we got there, it was, you know, Saturday at the shelter, so I sat outside on a corona bench waiting my turn and getting a viral load.
I looked in the carriers and Fitz turned his back to me, which will break my heart forever.
After their shots were done, the shelter vet came out and said she thought they should keep them there, as they have taming-feral techniques that might help Fitz better than I was able to. I didn’t know this was the END of Hissy and Fitz, and I got my usual combination of sadness and relief.
This was the last picture I ever took of Fitz, who didn’t hang around my cats really at all but did enjoy seeing Milhous, who ran in there whenever I opened the door to take out litter or refill water (always water with that cat).
Anyway, the drive home was a lot quieter than the drive there. It took about an hour to clean that room of the myriad kitten things.
I have these five girl cousins from Detroit. A few times a year, my aunt and uncle would round them all up and bring them over to gramma’s (the nice one, not the one I turned into). The whole weekend would be chaos and jokes and things getting moved, and then they’d go. I’d stand on the porch with gramma, waving goodbye till their car was out of sight. When we’d go back in, she’d inevitably end up saying, “Isn’t it so quiet and sad?”
As an only child who was basically a piece of furniture over at gramma’s—I was there constantly—I could see how the atmosphere was … different, and yes, sad, but I was also completely overloaded and relished the quiet of just the click of her maple leaf clicking back and forth on her cuckoo clock.
Anyway, wasn’t it so quiet and sad Saturday after the kittens were gone? No more mysterious thumps coming from that room. No more things being knocked over. I hope Fitz gets unferal and has a good life. Hissy will be 100% fine.
The good news is Edsel didn’t have his usual after-kitten depression because he didn’t get to know this batch.
On Sunday, I was so bored I couldn’t even stand it, so I got in the car and drove around. I drove past my old house, and down past the neighbors whom I had given puppy Ava after Edsel ate her.
I think it’s been four years since that day. I was kind of thinking of Ava when
THERE THEY WERE!
The whole family was outside! I rolled down my window. I’ve had 87 cars since I lived there.
“JUNE!!” they all shouted, running to the car, including
growed-upildy Ava! Oh she’s such a wire-haired muffin.
I sat outside and talked to the neighbors for 15 minutes, which I mentally timed because that’s catch-COVID time.
I was so glad to hear what was new and to see Ava and their collection of lovely cats, including a silky-haired beautiful black one and a grand, bob-tailed orange one who looks like a lion. Basically I left my dog and cats to go visit other dogs and cats.
I knew the dad of the house had been a doctor, but what I learned that day was he was a doctor FOR THIS MILL. All his patients had come from the mill that everyone in this neighborhood worked for. Isn’t that weird?
Small world. Wouldn’t wanna paint it. You know what else I don’t wanna paint? My porch ceiling. Where’s my neighbor?
Anyway on Sunday I ended up going for a long walk with a neighbor from THIS neighborhood, my neighbor R. So now I’ve done so much socializing that I have nine kinds of The Virus.
You can see I have humidity curl up at m’forehead, whereas the rest of my hair has refused to curl lately and is back to looking like insulation, a thing I mentioned on social media last night but it’s true. I’ve no idea what’s up other than I haven’t had one of my specific cuts for curly hair since, you know, November. Also, despite two citronella candles and DEET-filled bug spray, all of my skin was eaten last night and I am writing to you with just bones.
I’d better go, which I’m sure you’re sad about seeing as I have talked about pets for nine hours.