Equal time for My Cats

I've said so much about Sally-Dog while blogging my walks that it's definitely time to spotlight the cats. Lowman is asleep on the computer table, having transferred himself and his impression of an inkblot from the pile of clothes awaiting attention on the daybed. Libby is on my bed, ejoying the open window.

Libs and Lowmie are the last of three siblings whom I adopted together. Fourteen years ago I went in to look at an abandoned litter that had been rescued and brought to my vet. A calico was indisposed, having sprained her paw by jumping down from the cage onto the concrete floor before she could be stopped. The other girl, a tabby, marched right over, put her paws on my chest, and stood there purring. I put her gently aside twice to talk to her two brothers. She came straight back. Anyone who didn't know better would have assumed I had always been _her_ human.

The cage attendant was surprised. She said this kitten had never been very outgoing or friendly. I realized I'd been the one who was chosen. Once I got home, I phoned and officially adopted her. Somehow I knew her name was Elizabeth, Libby for short. No idea why.

Libby couldn't come home with me at once, because the kittens were all being treated for ringworm, acquired while they were abandoned. Also, my poor dear Nicholas, a golden tabby who was only eleven months old, had been diagnosed with feline leukemia. My other three cats had all been vaccinated but Nicholas was very ill and I hoped to nurse him through his outbreak into remission. (He got much worse and had to be helped across the Rainbow Bridge not long after.) Then the new girl would be given her shot and move in once it had time to take.

During the ensuing two weeks, I decided I had to have Libby's gold and white brother, who turned out to be Lucius. Came the day when I was to take Libby and Lucius home, they were all ready for me in a big cage in the waiting room. I put them in a carrier.

That was when the other kitten, a little black boy who had been polite but uninterested when I first met him, began to cry. He stood up on his haunches, and balanced with his paws on my hand, then, still crying, climbed up onto the water bowl which was attached to the cage door. This was as close as he could get to his brother and sister, now settling into the carrier on a chair.

Halloween was approaching, and the office manager (an old friend of mine and mother of the cage attendant who'd been surprised when Libby adopted _me_) remarked that it was time to move the black kitten to the back. I couldn't leave him to waste the rest of his kittenhood all alone and lonely in a cage, even if it was to protect him.

He joined Libby and Lucius in what another staffer had once called my brigade of cats. :) I named him Lowman because he was so nice and had black fur. When I was a preschooler, the grocery store my mother patronized had a kind young man on the staff, black, by that name who was wonderful with children. I regarded shopping trips as my chance to go see Lowman! So when I needed an L name for the black kitten, I named him after my childhood friend. (Thank goodness the calico kitten had been separately adopted or I might have ended up with her, too.)

I've never regretted including Lowmie. He grew up to be a magnificent long fur with wide yellow-green eyes and a thunderous purr. He's not the world's brightest cat, but he's in the running for the sweetest. When, after our move to Indianapolis, I got the dog from the Humane Society, Lowman was the first to accept her. Later he had to have a $1200 radiation treaty for an out of control thyroid. He was and is worth every penny.

By the Light of the Silvery Moon

Actually it was pale yellow-white when Sally and I set off for our walk at 9 p.m. The humidity combined with the high eighties during the day to make even a short walk unpleasant for a plus-sized human and a heavy-furred dog. :)

While we were walking, the sky went from late twilight to dark. Fortunately we have good street lighting, since the moon isn't quite full. It's amazing how much difference time of day -- or night -- makes. People actually sat on their front porches. At one house a dog which I've often heard but never before seen thought we might be burglars, and warned us sharply against joining him/her and their humans. Most houses had lights on. Sometimes the blinds stayed up, showing the inside of the room like a stage. Interesting how interior decoration and furniture doesn't always match the outside.

I think we'll keep evening walks in mind for unpleasantly warm and humid weather in the future, maybe even for variety.

Flowers and shrubs lead down memory lane

The rhododendron in the foundation plantings at the base of my porch is starting to bloom. At least, I think it's a rhododendron. It took me three tries to pass Biology in college, and a D was the best I ever did in the Botany section. I like flowers, but only recognize a handful by name.

Roses, daffodils, irises and violets are the only ones I know without thinking. I do recognize azaleas, camellias and forsythia of the shrubs. In Columbia, S.C., where I grew up, azaleas are the norm around the outer front walls. You could tell my father, who chose ours when the house was built, was color-blind. We had the strangest color clashes. . Later I lived in East Tennessee, and forsythia was used instead of azaleas. I _love_ forsythias, and if I hadn't bought a house with established plantings, that's what I'd have put in.

It was also a house with established poison ivy twining up the brick posts that hold up the porch roof. Fortunately I'm not allergic,didn't even know what it was until our postman told me. :)

Oh, and I do recognize wisteria and crape myrtles. Every time the latter blooms along my backyard fence, I remember how much my mother loved them. She was the gardener in the family. My father liked to grow vegetables. Me, I can kill even plastic plants. :)

Yes, Virginia, there is a lisamcdavid

Although I've wondered myself over the two months since I created this account. :) I did it because I wanted to be in FK ficathon, to which I've just posted my entry. Now my life is back in rhythm after a break for Census training -- which I finished but decided not to take the job -- being sick and various other obstacles. I hope to post regularly.

This is my second attempt to get the above paragraph done. Lowman, my big, black, long-furred cat, stood on the phone cord and knocked me offline. His sister Libby (long-furred tabby with orange inclusions) does this too. They believe humans are always better employed in paying full attention to cats.

Sally (Humane Society special, probably a Keeshond mix) is generally content to curl up on the floor beside the computer table.

If there's anyone reading this, have a great day. I'm off to take a nap. Sally and I took a walk in hot, high humidity earlier. If I had a swimming pool, we'd both have jumped straight in, leash, clothes and shoes.

New kid on the block

Ok, ok, new old lady on the block. :)   I'm just learning my way around, so it will be a while before I do my profile or get a picture.  I don't have a current one in digital form. it may be the Aunt Clara from Bewitched that I once used on Facebook. She was the sitcom character who most, IMHO, resembled my personality: well-meaning, more than a little eccentric, and accident-prone when it came to her magic. In my case, that's daily life,  <g>

I'm a librarian on early retirement (i.e., my job went away when the economy tanked), living in an Indianapolis 1920s bungalow with my two cats, Libby and Lowman, and my dog, Sally.  They are my living immediate family.

More later, I hope.