Scout – Page 11

A Familiar Sight

Sam and Emma have been with us long enough that their personalities are really starting to come out. It’s been fun to get to know them and see them blossom as they truly understand that they have found a home for the rest of their lives. All three cats are getting along well and in the mornings they’re usually all snuggled into bed with us. And even though I’ve been glad to see them develop their own distinct personalities, I have been amused that they each share a trait or two with our dear departed Templeton.

Emma has mellowed out a bit, she used to follow us underfoot every time we went up and down the stairs, which was good exercise for her, but I’m glad she’s comfortable enough now that she can see us leave the room and be OK with that. She won’t let me go to the bathroom without opening the door and coming in, but Templeton used to do that too. He didn’t push the door quite so wide open though, he at least left with me a shred of dignity.

Emma’s not the best groomer, something we suspected when we first brought her home. She does OK with the parts of her body she can lick directly, but the top of her head and back of her neck don’t get quite so clean. Scout is a fastidious groomer (almost too much so), but she won’t groom anyone else. Little Sam, though, appears to share another one of Templeton’s traits, in that not only is he a good groomer, but he’ll help you out too. He loves to lick your hand if he thinks it needs a cleaning, and I’ve seen him give Emma a little help too.

Today though he wasn’t bashful about it, he grabbed her head with both front paws and went to work. It all went well until he got a little rambunctious with the sleepy Emma. Emma had been sleeping in an Amazon box, one of Templeton’s favorite places to sleep. She’s been sleeping there a lot lately and doesn’t seem to mind the gray fur that lines the edges of the box from Templeton’s many hours in there, I just can’t bring myself to clean it out.

As far as greeting me at the door the way Templeton did, Emma comes the closest as she often sleeps near the door around the time I come home. I don’t know if she’s doing it on purpose or if she just likes sleeping there, but she’s usually at the door by the time I get it open. Sam follows Scout’s approach and usually comes running in from wherever he’s been sleeping.

It’s at those moments, though, that I wished God had blessed me with three arms to pet the three cats who come running up to welcome me home.

Happy Birthday Miss Scout!

The queen of the house turned seven years old yesterday (March 25th). Her mother was feral and Scout and her siblings were born under the house of a friend of ours. She’s slept me on me just about every night since we brought her home. We definitely got the pick of the litter!

This picture of her is from May of 2001, her first month with us. I had a hard time photographing her at this age since she didn’t want to leave my lap when we were playing, but the scratching post gave me a good opportunity. I’d put a little furry mouse on the top and she’d come flying across the room and jump to the top to grab it. On this occasion she knocked the mouse off with her flying attack so it’s not in the picture.

A Moment of Grief

I had President’s Day off a couple of weeks ago and the weather was unusually warm, so after heading up to Ridgefield in the morning and working outside in the afternoon, I cleaned out the inside of the Civic and prepared to wash the outside. Realizing I had forgotten to replace the broken hose in the front of the house and with it too late to go hiking, I decided to let the cats out into the backyard for a little bit.

Scout is an old hand at backyard time, but it was the first time for Sam and Emma. I quickly realized I wouldn’t be able to keep a close enough eye on both the kittens to make sure they understood that they were to stay in the yard, so I gathered them up and dropped them inside while I let Scout stay out a bit longer.

Turning from the door and seeing Scout alone in the yard I was overwhelmed with the thought that Templeton wasn’t there. A sudden wave of grief hit me and I was thankful Scout didn’t want to stay out long. The grief passed quickly, but it was so strong and so unexpected that I felt it physically long after. Every day during the warmer months, we’d go out back when I came home from work, so we spent a lot of time together there. Back inside, I was unable to concentrate on anything and eventually went up to take a bath and not think about anything.

The cats came up when they heard the tub filling up, they always look at me like I’m half-insane for intentionally submerging myself in water. They took turns sitting outside the bathroom door and sitting beside the tub, waiting for me to come to my senses and get up out of the water.

The Lineup

When I woke up this morning, pressed up to my side were Sam, Scout, and Emma. As I scratched the heads of Sam and Scout (Emma was out of reach), a cacophony of purrs reached my ears. As I rolled onto my back, Sam curled up between my knees and Scout lay down on my chest. I had only a few minutes before the alarm was set to go off, but it was a lovely few minutes. Sam is growing like a weed — a long skinny weed with sharp claws. I trimmed his nails tonight and got a nice cut on my finger for my efforts, this one can’t be blamed on invisible wolverines. I probably shouldn’t have done it right after I got him all riled up by playing with him, a lesson for next time.

Emma is also growing like a weed, but since she’s full grown we’ll need to cut back on the wet food she likes so much. She did need to put on weight when we first brought her home as she was too thin, but she’s filled out nicely now and we’d like to keep her that way. Her bumps have mostly disappeared so she won’t have to wear the bib any longer. She only had to wear the bib for short durations at the end, and she’d tolerate it just fine for a while but when she decided it needed to come off, she got it off. I’ll have to take a picture of it some day, it’s badly shredded and on its last legs. Some of that is Sam’s fault for when they roughhouse, but Emma certainly knew how to get out of it when the time came.

Six Weeks

Sam and Emma have been with us for six weeks now. It’s been fun to get to know their personalities as they get more and more adjusted to their new home, I think we really lucked out with these two. And I say that even though I have a cut across my forehead thanks to waking up this morning to Sam chewing on my head. Normally Emma has been the target of his head biting, hopefully this phase will pass quickly. I seem to recall it not lasting long with Scout, but then again that’s easy for me to say since I wasn’t the target of her affections.

Hopefully Emma’s bib will come off on Monday, she does okay with it most of the time but it does drive her crazy when she wants to clean herself. She manages to get out of it on her own at times — I told you she was an escape artist — but even when she does, she doesn’t seem to go after her shaved patch, so that’s a good sign. We should know more about what was causing the bumps on her skin early in the week.

Both she and Scout are recovered from their respiratory infections and don’t need oral antibiotics any more, to the relief of everyone. My wife handled the majority of medicine time. Scout was pretty easy to medicate actually, she never went to the Templeton School Of How To Not Take Your Medicine. Emma wasn’t too bad either, although the first time I ended up with more medicine on me than down her throat. Sam is getting his last dose of ear medicine, we think his ears are all cleared up so this is just to be sure.

The three cats are getting along well, Sam and Emma play well together (which is fortunate, as they burn off a lot of energy chasing each other all over the house). Sam and Scout sleep together at times, and lately they’ve all been joining us in bed. Every time I shift my position I hear murmurs from the peanut gallery, Sam and Scout are usually on or next to me and Emma’s usually at the foot of the bed, so I have to carefully adjust my legs to avoid kicking anyone.

Today’s picture of Sam is from a couple of weeks ago, it was the first time he used the window perch on his own. I took a really cute picture of him looking down at me, but it was hopelessly blurred since the camera missed the focus in the low light, but I’ve ranted about that enough for one evening.

Infirmary

Emma had a scheduled visit to the vet today for shots which she didn’t end up getting. We had noticed some bumps under her fur so they shaved the area and are going to run some tests to see what might be causing them. In the meantime, Emma gets an ointment rubbed into the area, antibiotics, and this lovely bib. Scout, who still has one more week of antibiotics her own self, came over to commiserate. Emma may not look too thrilled to have her moment of indignity posted to the web, but she joins some mighty fine company.

She did manage to get out of the bib earlier tonight, I heard a loud thump in the litter box room, then Emma came running out sans bib and I found the bib rubbed into some fresh droppings in the litter box.

She knows how to make a point, I’ll give her that.

A Little Good News

Scout passed her yearly exam at the vet with flying colors. My wife reports that she was even snuggling up to the staff and giving them her little headbutts — probably trying to make up for the last time when she jumped up to the little gap above the cabinets and settled in for a nap, forcing them to get a stepstool to get her down.

And no matter how it may seem, this blog hasn’t gone all cats, all the time — it has helped me a great deal to talk about Templeton here, but I’ll start mixing the cat stories in with some of my wildlife pictures, as I have a bit of a backlog building up.

Dreams

I had the nicest dream last night, which is certainly not the norm.

It was a sunny afternoon, and Templeton and Scout and I were all playing in the backyard, just like we did every summer afternoon. It was one of those dreams that just goes on and on, nothing but the three of us playing. When it was time to go in, I went to the door and called the cats. They came running to me, and as Templeton ran up to me he vanished before my eyes.

Gone but not forgotten.

Today’s picture comes from this summer, I had taken them outside after work like always. It was getting late in the evening but still plenty of light so not time to go inside. Scout was sitting in front of one of the rose bushes when a scrub jay landed on the roof, causing her to look up.

One Week

It was a week ago that we first realized something was wrong with Templeton and rushed him to the vet. We picked up his ashes this morning. On the way out the door, I was reminded of the Monty Python skit in which the undertaker tells a young man that they can cremate his dead mother and “then you get a box of ashes, which you can pretend are hers.”

The little tin we picked up (which was surprisingly heavy) has a sticker on the bottom that says the ashes are from a certified private cremation for Templeton, but I have my doubts. As we drove home, no ethereal howls emanated from the tin.

None.

Templeton hated riding in the car. Sometimes before we were married, I’d bring Templeton up to my apartment to visit for a week. When we left my wife’s apartment, he’d already be meowing at full strength. He’d keep it up during the half hour drive, somehow getting louder on the way, so that by the time we pulled into my parking lot the car windows were rattling and passers by were giving me dirty looks.

So you’ll forgive me for thinking that even death couldn’t silence Templeton during a car ride.

On the plus side, Scout has been doing as well as I could hope. She’s clearly bothered by his absence and staying closer to us than normal, but towards the end of the week she’s increasingly been sleeping in her old places. She’s eating and playing and sleeping with us at night. Today’s picture was taken Thursday night while she was curled up in the cat bed beside my desk.

We’ve been talking about the right time to add another cat or two to the household. I’m ready but it’s hard to say about Scout — I think she’ll be happiest with other cats, based on how much she loved having Templeton around, but I don’t want her to think we’re trying to replace him. She has her yearly exam on Monday so we’ll see what the vet thinks.

The upcoming holidays would be a good time since we’d be home as they got used to each other, but we’ll see.

A Gentle Soul

If you were one of the vets who looked after Templeton during his life, “gentle” is not the first word that would come to mind when describing him. Or the second word. Or the third. Or the tenth. Or the … well, you get the idea. He hated going to the vet. It was nothing personal, we had some great ones here in Portland and in Salem, but his personality changed completely and he got very stressed and hostile.

Legends were written. Tales were told.

“My name is Templeton, cat of cats:
Look on my paws, ye mighty, and despair!”

Even at home, he wasn’t too crazy about strangers, particularly young ones. He could run away to a safe spot at home, though, and he certainly mellowed out later in life and would even come up and greet some of our visitors. But with my wife and I, Templeton was gentle and loving, he loved to curl up on our laps and purr like mad. Even so, we weren’t quite sure what he’d make of Scout when we first brought her home in May of 2001, as he had been the only cat for much of his life.

We needn’t have worried.

He didn’t like to cuddle up with Scout, but he did play with her at times, he groomed her, and he just flat out put up with her when she had lots of kitten energy but not lots of kitten sense.

This isn’t the greatest picture, it was taken with a little compact camera, but it illustrates how good he was with her. She had been with us less than two months at this point, and would sometimes spring onto his back like she was a rodeo rider, and then start biting on his head. At this stage, he’d let her get away with it and let her work out her energy. Eventually he started giving her a gentle little wap to the head when she played too rough, training her on how to get along with others, and she came around and stopped the head biting and learned to play nice.

He never lost his love for play, even right up to the end. He lost some muscle mass in his last year or so and certainly couldn’t jump as high as he used to, but he and Scout would still chase each other around the back yard during their supervised outdoor time, and even at fifteen years old he was so fast that he could easily keep up with Scout.

We should all age so well. We should all live so well.