Sunbath

We went straight out the door yesterday morning and found a double cheeseburger on the ground. Stella found it incomprehensible that I didn't hand the entire thing over to her.

The difference an hour makes

Stella and I got a tour of Shelby Bottoms this morning courtesy of our friend Christine and her dog, Aurthur. Getting there in the morning traffic was a little bit of a hurdle but it was definitely worth it.  

Morning Dog Walk

Our everyday walk, the one we take through the neighborhood that is, is about two miles, or seven square suburban blocks. About four times a week I try take Stella somewhere new or different particularly if I'm forced to drive to some other part of town for work. Either way, we do the neighborhood walk, seven days a week. It gets boring sometimes but in the spring it's pretty wonderful and I have Stella to thank for actually getting me out of the house for the last (nearly) four years, rain or shine, whether I like it or not. It's been an education in the natural order of things. For example, we knew that spring was on the way long before the daffodils began to bloom. We know what critters are on the move when, the exact day the trees begin to bud, when the school bus comes, what time the neighbors go to work, who takes care of their dogs and their children and who doesn't, where the shade falls on the streets leaving icy patches, which drainage ditches flood, how much litter can accumulate over a weekend, and where's the best place to find a drink of water in a pinch. We're also blessed to live in a neighborhood with old beautiful trees and a little bit of history in the landscape. The rose bushes, the Iris and the Crepe Myrtle tell a story about what was popular decades ago. I'm sure many of them have died off over the years but it isn't difficult to follow the trail of DIY gardeners even across a few blocks. Having said all that - here are a few shots of our walk this morning. The fire plug is only included because I call it Stella's boyfriend of color.

The end of winter walking

Just pictures mostly. I was going to write something about how regularly walking a dog, you get to see an awful lot of things you wouldn't ordinarily have noticed. Whether you're out in the woods or in the heart of the city, if you're there in the same places throughout a season, you see the changes in a much more intimate way.

I wasn't much of a walker before Stella came along. I spent a a lot of time outdoors working but at those times, I was usually focused (literally) on other things. It may sound outlandish to some but I really feel that walking twice a day has reset my circadian rhythm. I sleep better, I have more energy & less anxiety and I've decided that if everyone who has a dog started walking it twice a day, there might be a lot less Ambien in the world (possibly a few less newspapers too).

Stay tuned for The Kitten Report...

Confirmation

For some reason I still wasn't convinced that Domino was pregnant. I think it was the water drinking. It makes perfect sense though, cats are only pregnant for sixty four days. That's a profound hike in metabolism. I had no idea how many days it had been (or has been) but I decided to clear out a closet to give her some privacy. I put a box of soft towels in there with some food and water and left the door cracked. She was doing a lot of pacing through the house and checked it out a few times over the next couple of days but it didn't pass inspection. She wanted in the guest bedroom. I resisted. She sat outside the door for the better part of a whole day and I finally gave in. The only comfortable chair in the house is in there and guessing that's exactly where she wanted to be, I covered it neatly with sheets and towels. Again, I left the door cracked so Stella wouldn't venture in (she could drag a Volkswagen down the street but doesn't realize she can push a door open). Domino however, went right in.

Just a few minutes later I returned to find what could only be described as a work of natural art. It amazed me and erased all doubt. She had pulled both a towel and a sheet down from the back of the chair and formed them into a nest for the kittens. If someone had drawn me a diagram I'm not altogether sure I could have done it myself and certainly not in such a short period of time.

That happened Sunday morning. Since then, the size of her belly seems to have doubled. I can see the forms of at least two kittens although they don't seem to be moving. She already has milk in at least two of her teats. She's been asleep in my bed for most of the last forty-eight hours only getting up to eat, use the litter box or sit for a few minutes in her new bedroom. She's also been pacing through the house apparently looking for something (kittens, enemies, hiding places?) I said yesterday that she could deliver sometime in the next forty-eight hours. The fact is I have no idea what I'm talking about. If you go online and look up all the feline signs of impending labor, she's had them all at some point since about Saturday, with the exception of panting or yowling. When either of those things happens, me and Stella are going to make a pot of coffee and stand back.

The road goes on forever..

and the party never ends. ~Robert Earl Keen

Well, it is officially spring here at Casa de Stella.

Just in case anyone is inclined to debate the issue, I submit the first in a short series of posts that have little to do with raising dogs and everything to do with cats and nature and so-called "animal rescue". Before we move on to the good stuff, I should say that although I've occasionally managed to tease out the negative aspects of various local pet owners on this page, that doesn't always translate to them being bad people. There are most certainly other factors involved, things I don't personally know about in their lives and things that they themselves can't control so I'd like to go on record as saying this isn't about them so much as it is about things moving forward, whether you're ready for them to or not, whether you're qualified to handle it or not and whether you like it or not. One day you're bored out of your mind and the next day it's your turn to get thrown into the swamp; you swim, you get out and you clean up the mess and maybe you're still alive and wiser than you were when you started. Maybe.

With that in mind, somewhere in the neighborhood of last Thursday, a light bulb went off over my head. It blew out immediately because of a little thing called denial. I think my exact words at the time were: "Oh God, no".

Domino, our (catnip junkie) squatter from the neighborhood recently took up what seems to be permanent residence here. My original cat Gigi isn't that crazy about her but she and Stella are sweet on each other so I decided to extend her lease. Her owner still leaves food out on the porch (presumably for the one cat that stayed on) but all of the cats and probably a raccoon or two, stop by regularly for a meal. They eat here at my house too, so life is pretty good. I noticed the other day that both Gigi and Domino had put on a couple of pounds and I threatened to cut them off if they weren't able to regulate their own impulses. Gigi is going on nine years old and according to Domino's (former) owner, she's about three, a "rescue cat" who lived in an apartment prior to their moving here sometime the middle of last summer.

So one morning not long ago, we all get up and Domino stays in bed half a day and I didn't think much of it. Then for a couple of weeks she takes to napping at my feet when I'm sitting at the computer and I don't think anything of that either. Then one day she starts drinking water and she does it probably five times that same day and now I'm worried. My last cat died of kidney disease and excessive water drinking was one of the first symptoms. Domino isn't losing weight though, in fact, quite the opposite. In my mind that rocks the boat back to another wonderful cat I lost to a strange illness that causes cats to retain fluids until they literally drown in them. So I ponder this for a couple of days and while I don't have a lot of experience with dogs I tend to think I'm fully proficient when it comes to felines and therein lies the problem. With those two exceptions, my cats have lived long and carefree lives. No diabetes, no cancer, no seizures, nothing - save a few scrappy tom cat encounters and the occasional hairball.

Last Thursday, Domino threw up in the living room. I picked it up in a napkin and when I walked back into the room I found she was relaxed but lying flat on her stomach with her chin stretched way out in front of her. I hadn't ever seen a cat lie down in this position. She looked like the top of a long, fat exclamation point.

"Domino" I said,"it might be time for you to go to the vet little girl."

And with that I reached down and picked her up. There it was: "Oh God, no!" I set her down immediately, like she'd caught fire or something and studied her with a disbelief that would last two more days. Her girl parts were engaged.

Colorful words followed. All this time I assumed she'd been spayed because she was "a rescue cat." She stayed out all summer and fall and now that she is living with me and her real parents are (oh did I forget to mention?) moving out of state - she's managed to go out and get herself in trouble. Suddenly I remembered a day back in early January when she bitched me out at the back door. At the time, I compared it to a cat in heat but without all the rolling around on the ground. A day later, she was fine. If you all will please excuse me I have to go now and hack up a hairball myself.

That was then
Today is Tuesday.. I'll be very surprised if we make it forty-eight more hours. Meanwhile, she's busy practicing her new mama skill on a pit bull. I'll keep you posted on the state of the white bedspread. (Update: I removed the bedspread for now and replaced it with a giant towel)