The Feline Has Landed
And his name is Theo.
I’ve never had a cat and have never had the desire to even contemplate owning one, until recently. It started with a mouse problem (that seems to be resolved) and then something a clinician said to me last year… How can I treat cats and understand their uniqueness (which I am finding out is indeed very unique) and counsel owners about their pets when I have no experience with them at all?
So I found a cat I wanted and applied to adopt him. I bought a litter box and dishes and toys and a bucket to hold his food in. I let Beau adjust to the presence of these items for about a week and then my kitty came home yesterday. My two classmates dropped him off to me and now I am officially a cat owner.
It’s kind of fun, I will admit.
Theo prowls around my house, meowing and chasing flies, checking out toilets and showers and watching the birds outside my bedroom window. I never know where he is and then all of a sudden, he shows up and I about trip right over him. He’s very interesting to watch and affectionate in a less needy way than Beau. It’s certainly very different than what I know from my dog ownership.
And Beau, he seems ok with the whole situation. He doesn’t seek Theo out, but if the two of them are nearby, Beau wags his tail and wants to play. The kitty has a different idea (I think he’s as inexperienced with other species as Beau is) and just hisses and swats at Beau. I worried at first how they would do when I left them alone, but I think because the kitty can hide in places Beau can’t go, everything will be okay. Beau seems curious and interested and non-aggressive, which seems to be a good sign.
So here’s to the next chapter in the life of the Moose and Girl.
musings | Comment (0)Guilty Pleasures
One of the reasons I am sure that Beau and I were meant for each other is that we are both incredibly, severely, irrevocably, creatures of habit. I like things to go in a certain order, he also enjoys the comforts of things remaining predictable and in a pattern easy on the mind. Sometimes he does try and revv up the schedule a little, or should I say, excessively early, but he is for the most part and incredibly predictable animal. Rather like myself. But you know, sometimes once in a blue moon I have to pee in the middle of the night, so why shouldn’t he also be able to stick his cold wet nose into my eye to ask to be let out at 3:47 a.m. four nights in a row during mid-term week? It’s only fair.
The alarm goes off at 7:15 a.m. most mornings, which in reality is actually 6:59 a.m., but in that hazy sleepy state reminiscent of alcohol overload or hours of memorizing parasites of veterinary importance, my brain says, “SHIT! SHIT! YOU ARE LATE, GET UP! getupgetupgetupgetupgetupgetup!!!!11!!!111!” So we scramble out of bed and, first things first, Beau gets to go outside to potty and then he gets his breakfast. Nevermind the fact that it’s gotten rather chilly in the mornings here - not arctic or anything, but I probably should be wearing more than a slight pair of knickers, even they even qualify for that much - and my stomach is growling and my body still smells of yesterday - Beau is No. 1 in not just my book, but that of the Order Of The Universe, and thus he gets his 1/2 cup kibble, 1/5 can beef breakfast and a little purple 0.6 mg Levothyroxine. At least my hair looks awesome because for some reason, I can sleep with my bobby pins and it still looks the same in the morning. Weird, I know.
After my shower it’s time for my coffee (a latte really, thank god for personal espresso machines) and my breakfast. And a gummy vitamin (the person who invented those should get a nobel prize for nutrition-not-the-size-of-a-gd-horse-pill). And then it’s time for guilty pleasure number one. Beau is asleep in his bed again, probably dozing in a happy food coma with his empty bladder, and I switch on the morning news (CBS, it’s all I can get over the rabbit ears and it’s in Hi-Def) and down my cereal or oatmeal or muffin, and then for the next 20 minutes I watch the news and sip my coffee. I cannot express in words how delightful this little morning ritual is. I feel so guiltily sinfully happy as I smell the decadant hazelnut aroma and taste a hint of cinnamon with each sip. And my house is always cold in the mornings so it’s a good way to warm up, to get the blood flowing again. Not to mention that without my morning latte - parasitology is seriously just not going to happen at 9 a.m.
Guilty Pleasure Number Two is when I get home. I finally got Beau to stop playing the washboard on my laundry room door as soon as he hears the garage door go up (don’t ask how, one day he just stopped), and he waits patiently. He doesn’t wag his tail, he doesn’t perk his ears (I can see him through the slats). As soon as I call out to him, his ears go up, as soon as I open the door, he takes one moment to make sure it’s me, and then he bursts into his octopus/worm dog act and can no longer contain his excitement. He follows me around, he high-fives me, he won’t let me do anything else, not even pee in privacy, until he gets a satisfactory amount of scratching, patting, hearty thumps on the chest and of course, a cookie for going out side and going potty. And of course, this happens every day, everytime I come home in fact. It’s habit.
Guilty pleasure number three is part of the routine of emergency situations. Examples of emergency situations include: Loud noise in the dark of night, thunderstorm in the dark of night, house creaking in the dark of night and noseeums in the dark of night. I wake up in the dark, disoriented, probably from a good dream, and Beau is staring wild eyed at the foot of my bed, directly at me as if he can see through my soul. Or he’s pacing in and out of the kitchen, his toes clickety-clacking on the laminate. Every time he comes in to my room, he shoves a wet nose onto the most accessible piece of my body (this is why I sleep with the covers over my head now mostly) and then proceeds to saunter slowly around the kitchen and back. The only way to get him to cease and desist such irritating behavior is to throw open the sheets and pat the mattress. Usually before I can say, “up!” he’s there, pupils like saucers and ears flat on the back of his head with a tucked tail, curling up into the smallest possible ball that he can make right in the crook of my body. Beau has technically been banned from the bed since we moved - white comforter cover and all that I have now - but on these nights when he can’t sleep, and by proxy also does not allow me to sleep (misery loves company I suppose) - he’s under the covers with me and I once again get the great pleasure of snuggling up close to him. Usually I have to go turn the A/C down a degree or two though in order to keep his hot furry body from cooking me slowly like a crockpot.
better than hanging out with humans, musings, there's nothing wrong with being quirky | Comment (0)
Back from the Midwest
I went to Omaha recently to see the food manufacturing plant for Natura, the company I work for. Compared to the Hill’s plant I saw in Etten-Leur, The Netherlands, it was amazing. The plant itself is only a few years old and the impeccable cleanliness and dedication of the staff there impressed me greatly. The scary thing is, this plant, three years ago, was running at half capacity - and now it’s barely got enough room and manpower to fill all the orders. Maybe because people are realizing that nutrition is the foundation of good animal husbandry - if your nutrition is poor, you can’t expect to be healthy - just like in humans, and just like the large animal industry has known for years. Why should it be any different with companion animals? Mostly, I enjoyed hanging out with people with the same interests and mindsets as myself for a couple of days. Even in vet school there are a wide variety of opinions (often strong, narrow-minded ones) and it’s nice to sit down with fourteen people who think like you do about nutrition and behavior and where the future of this occupation is going. All in all it was a good trip, even if my flight to Dallas got cancelled and I was delayed in O’Hare twice.
The dogs were of course very glad to see me when I got back. I was so happy to see Beau wagging his tail at the staff (something he never does) when I dropped them off, but he got sick a couple of days later (probably because he had half a can of canned food before he left) and I worried about him a lot. But he’s fine now, happy to be home, and Faye is enjoying being outside as much as possible per her usual self. I’m starting now to walk them in the mornings, since in the fall I won’t have class until 9 (except on Tuesday) and if I get up at 6 and walk them for an hour, it will give them a chance to burn off some sleep-energy while I am gone until 5 everyday and they won’t get another walk until 8 or so when it cools down.
I bought something amazing called the AlphaPac. This unique hands-free walking device is absolutely awesome. After a few adjustments and a couple of practice lessons, the dogs seem to have a pretty good handle on the situation and Faye walks on the left while Beau walks on the right. It may look a little goofy, but it’s so much easier to hold a poop bag and the garage door opener and a cell phone when you don’t also have to keep switching leashes between your hands and untangling dogs and being yanked in all directions. It was hard enough to do that with one dog (and Beau is very well leash trained) and now I don’t have to do anything at all but offer praise and stroll along with them. We walked almost 3 miles this morning and it was the best walk I’ve had with the dogs since Faye came home. And of course, it will only get better as we begin to walk more and more now that school is rushing its way towards us.
housekeeping, musings, nutrition | Comment (0)