The Dutchess of York

Oh my goodness. It has been so long since I have written here. I have been hard at work helping my mom on her comprehensive exams. My job is to purr and curl up next to her on the couch while she works on the laptop. It's good to be able to say that I love my work.

I've been marking the slow progress into spring here. We've had lots of rain and then some more rain and then a little rain and then a shower or two and then some rain and this week...finally...a bit of sun. There's a patch of organic cat nip growing like mad for me in the backyard--all this rain has helped it double in size, so needless to say, I'm psyched on that.

Otherwise we've been pretty quiet here. I had a little allergic skin reaction to something and it messed me up for a while, but I'm back on track now and better than ever with my doseage of Wellcoat from Wellness. It works so well! We were all surprised, but very pleased.

The other surprise of late came a few weeks ago when upon returning from a weekend out of town, my parents brought in another cat!!! To my eyes--this cat is very small. I thought she was a kitten, but my mom says that she is a normal sized cat and I am size extra large (which is not bad or anything--just means I've got more scruffle to fluffle and belly to rub). The cat's name is York and she lives with my mom's parents usually. York knew my mom way back when and they seem very happy to be spending time together. Strangely, I'm not jealous, though Roo and Odin are in a complete snit about this fourth feline. I just want to get to know York better. I've tried approaching her with grace and referring to her as the Dutchess of York (to show some respect since she is about 10 years older than me), but she seems to be uninterested in me and maybe is a little afraid because despite her age lead, I've got about 15 pounds on her. I've only got a few more weeks to win over her friendship before she goes back to live at her home.

Maybe if I get a few pictures of her I can put up at catster page for her. How could she not want to be my friend after that?

Spring=Interrupted Naps

Now, I am an educated cat; my humans are both "over-educated" (as they say) and our house is FULL of books. So, I know what bias is. A bias is a preference or an inclination that generally prevents one from making an impartial judgment. In noting my awareness of this concept I mean to also acknowledge that I may suffer a bias in what I say next, but here it is: my mom doesn't usually make mistakes. In my humble view, my human is pretty on. She gets good food, gives good belly rubs, holds up her end of very interesting conversations with me...there's no end to the stuff that, from my perspective, she gets right.

However, recently, my mom royally screwed up.

We've had a long winter here. It's been endless and full of snow--about twice as much snow as usual, but yesterday it seemed to break. Yesterday, for the first time in ages, it was warm and sunny and the sky was a perfect blue. As for me, I find this to be mildly exciting--there's a prospect of open windows and sniffing interesting things on the air and feeling little breezes. My adopted sister, QuintanaRoo, however well, she gets highly excited by nice weather and so she began her campaign of reminding my mom how much she likes to be taken outside.

Roo is equal parts lovely, refined companion and horrible, demanding brat. It was that later part of her personality that was on display yesterday. My mom brings her outside and holds her for a few minutes of "porch time" everyday, even when it is really cold because Roo likes it so much, but no matter how much Roo berates her, my mom will not let Roo be an outdoor cat. The road outside our house is busy and there are almost always missing cat posters up and there are nasty cat fights, etc. My mom explains that all of us have been through a lot already and she's not going to let something else awful happen to us if she can help it. Roo finds this to be unacceptable. So, like a reasonable person, my mom proposed a compromise: a harness and leash.

Yesterday they tried out the contraption and it was a major success in one way in that it made Roo very happy. She ran around on the porch, yelled at everyone who walked by the house, smelled a bunch of stuff, rolled around a little and basically enjoyed herself. I know because I watched from a safe distance (through the window in the living room). I was really proud of my mom, she didn't back down on her position about keeping us safe, but she let Roo, the only one of us who actually wants to go outside, get some outdoor time. When they came inside though I quickly figured out that my mom had indeed made a mistake.

The trip outside clearly has turned Roo into what I can only describe as complete nutso. A demanding insane loud-mouthed meany of a nutso who wants to go outside some more. For the past 24 hours she has been running around the house, messing up the throw rugs, pouncing on people and cats, and yelling. Yelling and yowling and whining. Roo is part Siamese and by gosh, can she yell. And she won't stop. I have a splitting headache and 9 out of my 10 regularly scheduled naps have been interrupted by her. She's driving me crazy.

I say, put her out and leave her. Mom, if you're reading this, don't feel bad, but you really messed up by giving into that cat. You need to set some boundaries, calm her down, chill her out. This is insane. Just tie the leash to a post outside or something--leave her out there. Or, where are those sleep-inducing pills I get to take when we travel? How about those? Just conk her out for a few hours. I may be biased, but I believe that Roo needs to shut up. Make it happen, mom, and my faith in you will be fully restored.

birthdays

There have been a lot of birthdays around here lately. Just this week three friends and one grandmother had birthdays and on Tuesday, it'll be my mom's 25th. So, with all the cards, calls and presents around here we've got birthdays on our minds.

I don't really have a birthday, or rather, I do, but no one knows what it was. The beginning of my life, the moment that would be used to mark the start of me, is completely unknown. My memories begin with a human who treated me horribly and hurt me physically before dumping me out into the streets. Then there was an alley next to a butcher shop where I hid out and ate scraps for many months. Then there was a shelter, followed by an adoption where people got mad at me for being too scared of them and gave me back to the shelter. Then there was here. I think the day of coming here was kind of like a birthday because it was the first time people celebrated me being in the world and being with them. Or maybe my birthday should be the day the people from the shelter caught me because without them I'd still be on the streets soon to die or dead already.

Cat birthdays need to be thought about differently than human birthdays, especially for the many of us who aren't wanted, aren't celebrated at the moment of our birth. The National Pet Alliance projects that about 40% of the total cat population is stray, unwanted. That accounts for many cats, too many to think of really. I did some research about how many of those stray cats are euthanized every year, but all I could find were numbers for local shelters. Those numbers were horrifying enough, so if you try to add them all together it will make you sick. The lucky cats, like me, who do get to have a birthday, a coming to a real home day, have to remember how many cats never will. There are those who go to shelters and are euthanized and there are those who will live on the streets until they die.

Research by the Humane Society of the United States found that the average lifespan for cats who have homes is 12-15 years, whereas cats who live outside have an average lifespan of only two or three years. At the upper ranges then, cats who have homes will have five times more birthdays than those without homes.

So, that's the sad stuff I've been thinking about concerning birthdays, but as drawn as I am to mull over the depressing facts out there, I did also find some interesting things in my research on feline life spans.

There is a common saying that a cat's age can be compared to a human age if you multiply the cat's age by 7. My vet guesses that I'm 4, so that would make me 28 years old and older than my mom, which I think means she should stop calling me "baby." Apparently though, research has shown that such a simple formula is not an accurate portrayal of feline aging. According to the BBC, studies are showing that cats, as compared to human aging, physically age more rapidly in the early part of their lives and slow down in the later parts of life.

A chart I found at http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/A707942 illustrates this:

CAT 1 month 2 months 3 months 4 months 5 months 6 months
HUMAN 6 months 10 months 4 years 5.5 years 8.5 years 11.5 years

CAT 7 months 8 months 9 months 10 months 11 months 1 year
HUMAN 13 years 13 years 13 years 14 years 14.5 years 16 years

CAT 2 years 3 years 4 years 5 years 6 years 7 years
HUMAN 25 years 31 years 35 years 38.5 years 41 years 46.5 years

CAT 8 years 9 years 10 years 11 years 12 years 13 years
HUMAN 49 years 54 years 58 years 61 years 64.5 years 68.5 years

CAT 14 years 15 years 16 years 17 years 18 years 19 years
HUMAN 72 years 75 years 78 years 79 years 85 years 86 years

Pretty interesting huh?

On the Subjects of Tooth Extraction and Shane MacGowan

At the end of January 2005, Contact Music reported that famed Irish front man, Shane MacGowan, was going to buy new teeth. MacGowan has long been famous not only for his presence in bands such as the Nipple Erectors, the Pogues and the Popes, but also for his rather shockingly bad teeth, which were (at least according to common rumor-mill wisdom) rotted away by excess alcohol consumption. His own fansite describes him as “a man of many words and few teeth.” It is not, I have determined from careful consideration of his countenance, that he does not have teeth, it merely appears that he has no teeth because they are so worn away. All in all, given what he has to work with, it probably it is best to completely get rid of them and work from there. It is wise of MacGowan to put some of his Pogues royalties toward a new set of chompers.

I however do not receive any royalties with which to pay for dental surgery and further, the developments in feline cosmetic dentistry have been somewhat limited. So. I just don’t have the option that is open to MacGowan. I had to have five teeth taken out today and they are just gone gone gone. There will be no new teeth for me.

Dental surgery is a pretty nasty business and I do not recommend it to anyone except those in the most dire of need. Shane MacGowan qualifies there and I guess I did too…although I was loath to admit it. I wish Shane MacGowan the best and would highly recommend that he set up his appointment with my doctor, who did an excellent job on my dental work today and even called this evening to check in (a very kind gesture especially since she could probably have just guessed that I am sore, groggy, $400 poorer and feeling very sorry for both myself and Shane MacGowan).

The Boulevard of Bad, Bad Songs

My mom studies the marketing of pop music to young people so, even though it’s not usually what’s playing around the house when she’s at the helm of the stereo, sometimes we listen to the “modern rock” or “true alternative” radio stations. As for myself, I don’t mind much. Some of it stinks, but that’s life—much like a litterbox, sometimes it’s clean and sparkling, sometimes…not so much. There’s this song that has really been bothering me lately though and yesterday it all came to a head and I will say this with all my resolve; I have had it with Green Day.

I believe it has been established that I am a fan of the mopey. I admit that I love a good wallow and to be honest, I often indulge. It’s not that I am unhappy with my life, far from it. This is probably the best things have ever been for me, but, well, call it a stage or call it character, or call it the influence of something left over from sadder times before I was rescued and finally found a good home, but it’s just the way I am right now. Now, with all of that said, it would seem logical that I would in fact enjoy Green Day’s newest dirge, “Boulevard of Broken Dreams.” Oh contraire my friends, it is, in point of fact, bugging me something fierce. For those unfamiliar with the song, it goes:

“I walk a lonely road
The only one that I have ever known
Don't know where it goes
But it's home to me and I walk alone

I walk this empty street
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams
Where the city sleeps
and I'm the only one and I walk alone

I walk alone
I walk alone

I walk alone
I walk a...

Ah-ah, Ah-ah, Ah-ah, Aaah-ah,
Ah-ah, Ah-ah, Ah-ah”

What crap! Famous, rich, thirty-something-year-old men in pop-punk turned modern rock bands should not be allowed to carry on this way—I for one would like to know just what broken dreams are on this particular Boulevard. Not that I’m saying they can’t or don’t have problems, but geez! And further, if they are going to whine on in this manner couldn’t they finish writing the song? If you’ll notice, there are several verses in the song that have no lyrics, it’s just ahh, ahh, ahh-ing. And further still, the clichés are killing me. The fact that it is stuck my head is also not helping matters. It is my understanding that this is a very popular song and I don’t want to offend any of my feline friends who have been enjoying it from the radios of their own homes. So if I have stepped on anyone’s tail, I do apologize. Let me suggest though some of my favorite albums for moping; they are all at least 95% less annoying that that Green Day song, which I hope my mom will never make me listen to again.

Oslo’s Top 5 Albums to Mope to:

The Cure—Disintegration
My Bloody Valentine—Loveless
Rainer Maria—Look Now, Look Again
Echo and the Bunnymen—Ocean Rain
PJ Harvey—Rid of Me

First Internet Foray

When my mom found out about Catser I was immediately worried. I do not like to get off of the couch except for the essentials: eating, playing with Odin, a little litterbox trip, snacking, snacking, etc. snacking, all of which is to say that, I am no social butterfly. I keep to myself. I've got my friends: Odin, mom, dad, sometimes Roo (when she's feeling generous anyway). Having myself up on the internet just seemed scary, but this morning when mom checked email and told me that some cats on Catster had seen my page and wanted to be friends--I just couldn't believe it. I stood up, stretched and decided to take a walk into the office. I put on my happiest album (Cure, "Boys Don't Cry) and resolved that I can maintain my mid-couch existence AND have a vibrant internet life. I can still write moody poetry and be somewhat gloomy and eat snacks and only snuggle with Odin and mom AND I can make friends with cats all over the place. My mom tells me that it's no different from what thousands of teenage kids are doing these days anyway.

I'm going to give this journal a shot--stay tuned for my poetry and my thoughts on the disagreement I'm having with mom over a trip to the vet for a dental cleaning. My mom just won't relent to let me have teeth like Shane MacGowan of the Pogues. She insists I get a cleaning. I disagree. It's a stalmate.