And then there were none

Towards the end of Herman's illness, and particularly after we had him put down, Max went berserk.

He started using the dining room carpet as a litterbox.

He was uncharacteristically and violently affectionate.

He figured out how to open the sliding screen door.

And we haven't seen him since.

Going from two cats to zero cats in a week is very disorienting.

And heartbreaking.

Herman, remembered

I had to have Herman put down last week.

He came to us in 1998, a half-starved stray who had taken up lodging at the feed store, with his brilliant green eyes and stubby tail and bones jutting out where bones shouldn't be.  I brought him home and from the minute he took up residence, he radiated gratitude.

I'm not anthropomorphising this.  He was visibly, palpably content to be with us, and he was always around, always in the middle of everything..

Leaping up the stairs first thing in the morning, when Thing Two's feet hit the deck, for a spot of play and cuddles.  Greeting us at the door when we came home each day.  Underfoot in the kitchen.  Tucked in front of the fire.  Sitting patiently by my chair at dinner every evening, waiting until I finished and pushed back so he could jump in my lap.  Perched on the back of the recliner.  On my bed every night, always keeping to the highest spot - my hip, or butt, or chest, or, if it was a really cold night, up around my neck.

He was endlessly playful.  Kittenish.  A decent mouser when he could be bothered.  Very talkative; a cat you could dialogue with.

He had periodic respiratory infections that would slow him down a bit, but he always bounced back.  Until this time.  Something else was going on, and despite treatment, he declined very quickly.  He stopped eating.  He got scrawny again.  And weak.  It was his time.  I stayed with him while the vet gave him the shot.


Days later, I still feel like I've been punched in the gut.  I play the whole sequence of events out in my head in the middle of the night.

He was our buddy, and his absence leaves a pretty big hole in this household.

Tostitos the Fish

Like we needed another critter...?  This thing survived the end-of-term 9th grade science project so Thing One got to keep it.

Yay.

First hike of the season

One of the many conveniences of where we live is proximity (which can be measured in yards from the back door) to the Georges Highland Path.  Yesterday was a grand, warm early spring day, so Himself, Thing One and Wilson the Agoraphobic Goldendoodle went walkabout.

They started at a trail head maybe half a mile from the house (as the crow flies) and hiked the GHP back to the house - about six miles, mostly vertical, along the stretch of the trail that runs along the summits of Ragged and Spruce Mountains and offers breathtaking views of lakes, mountains, and the bay.

Our house is visible in the shot above if one knows where to look.

Incredible, isn't it?

I mean that literally.  After eight years, it still about knocks me out, what a beautiful place this is and how fortunate we are to live here.

Max update

By last weekend, Max could barely breathe, barely move.  He refused food and water.  We were drizzling Gatorade into his mouth with a syringe to keep him hydrated.  We said our goodbyes on Sunday.  I dropped him off at the vet on Monday morning, fully expecting not to bring him home. 

There are two vets in our practice.  Our "regular" vet, Dr. C., was not the one who diagnosed Max with CHF, but he was the one who saw him on Monday.  When I got the phone call that the tests were complete but Dr. C. wanted to meet with me, I assumed that was it.  Max was done.

Max, however, was not done. 

Medicine, Dr. C. says, is an art, not a science. 

(Translation:  Oops.)

Sometimes, Dr. C. says, you can have two conditions that present the same symptoms, and Max definitely does have something going on with his heart...

(The $600 you just dropped on X-rays and bloodwork was not totally wasted.)

...but these X-rays are clear; there's no sign of the fluid we would expect to see in a case of congestive heart failure.

(How 'bout those Pats?)

And the nasal congestion that has come up, well, it seems likely that he caught the same bacteria that we just treated Herman for, and the early symptoms of a sinus infection - nausea, coughing - those can look an awful lot like congestive heart failure.  And the medications for congestive heart failure could mask, or delay, the more obvious symptoms of a sinus infection.

(My associate effed up big time but I'm trying not to throw her under the bus.  Have I mentioned the $600 worth of tests gave us some really good information to go on?)

So what I'd like to do is cut the heart medication and diuretic to half of what Dr. D. prescribed last week - just in case -

(Because she might not be a totally out to lunch, overreactive, test-happy whack job... I suspect she is, but I'm trying to save face here...)

- and throw in this antibiotic that Herman responded so well to, and if all goes well after a week we can take Max off the heart medication completely and just monitor the murmur every few months or so.  Okay?

(Please don't ask too many questions.)

And so Max came home.  Within a day of starting the antibiotic, his activity level was almost back to normal.  He's eating like a truck driver.  He's harassing the dogs again.  He's sitting in the bathroom sink waiting for me to get out of the shower in the morning.  He's sleeping on the kids' beds.  Any moment now he'll catch a mouse, and then all will be right in the world.

CHF? WTF?

You know Max, that crazy, burly, fearless bundle of felineness that we inherited from my mother?

Yeah, him.

Heart disease.  Big time.

I took the cats (two of them, no longer three, as the third one succumbed to her neurologic event and faded peacefully away last fall) in for their rabies shots a couple of weeks ago and the vet noticed a heart murmer in Max.  That and weight loss - which we had ascribed to a larger house, more human and pet interaction and aggressive mousing - indicated either a benign condition or the possibility of a heart problem which, given his youth and activity level, seemed to call merely for a checkup in another month. 

Ten days later we were back under emergency circumstances.

And now it's touch and go.  The disease seems to have taken over and the medication is having a tough time keeping ahead of it.

Does this sound familiar? 

My mother was relatively young and vital, and then bang, Stage IV cancer.  Which was held at bay for a while and then roared to life and consumed her body; there was no stopping it. 

This was her cat.  She loved him.  He was clearly attached to her, but for all I could tell, he didn't give a shit when she actually died.  He didn't seem to notice; he doesn't care who's in his space.  He harasses my dogs during the day and sleeps with my kids at night.  But this is not his house, my kids are not his person, my dogs are not my mother's dog.

Is it possible this cat is dying of a broken heart? 

YOU tell him he's not a lap dog.

Mental Kitty

This cat is of my mother's is certifiable.

He has to get into everything.

Absolutely.

Everything.

To the point of compulsion.

Nothing phases him.

Seriously.

Would you mess with that?

Modesty

Summer Cruise, 2011: The Musical!

Not much of a story arc, more a series of tenuously connected vignettes...

Cast:  Himself; Herself; Things One and Two; various bit players on and off stage; a cat

Setting:  Harbor Road Veterinary Services; S/V L'Hérétique; Penobscot Bay


Overture (T-minus one week to T-minus one day):

Fly to Florida; spend three days visiting family and seeing the sights; fly home; spend one day at work; spend one day in Portland presenting at the Maine MEP conference; arrive home to discover one of the cats has had what the vet eventually described as a "neurologic event."

Act One, Scene One (Saturday). 

Curtain opens to reveal regular veterinarian is not available; on-call vet provides splendid, compassionate response and recommends hospitalizing cat to see if a bit of hydration and antibiotic could get her over whatever is going on.  Ka-ching. 

Himself and Herself finish packing food and clothing for seven days and load up the S/V L'Hérétique.  Thing Two exits stage right to board his schooner.

Remaining characters sail to Pulpit Harbor on North Haven.  Wine is consumed by those of legal drinking age while characters sing a ballad about a glorious sunset over the Camden Hills.

Pulpit Rock.  The osprey nest on top is at least 150 years old.

Act One, Scene Two (Sunday).  Aboard L'Hérétique;; cool and overcast; no wind.

As curtain rises, L'Hérétique is motoring north to Castine.  Characters note irony of using the engine on a sailing trip.  Receive phone call that cat appears to be recovering. 

Unidentified large biting insect attacks Thing Two's shoulder, resulting in unprecedented histamine reaction, including widespread hives and throat constriction.  L'Hérétique motors faster.

Arrive historic Castine; allergic reaction has calmed.  Cast disembarks and explores town.  Receives phone call that Grandmother has been readmitted to hospital with various ailments.  Returns to L'Hérétique, where more wine is consumed.

Act One, Scene Three (Monday).  Aboard L'Hérétique; decentish weather.

Characters re-fuel L'Hérétique at the dock in Castine, singing a light-hearted ensemble with boatyard workers about the comedies of parallel parking a 28' sailboat, then set out for Bucks Harbor at the top of Eggemoggin Reach.

Receive phone call that cat is released from cat hospital.

Once moored, characters observe the arrival of several schooners, including Thing One's.  Thing One rows over to L'Hérétique, drinks a quarter of the week's supply of milk, and rows back.  Himself and Herself celebrate with wine.

Act Two, Scene One (Tuesday).  Aboard L'Hérétique; cold, rainy, virtually no wind.

The soggy trip

Characters opt for longest sail motor on the worst day, weather-wise, of the week.  After a soggy trip down the Eggemoggin Reach, L'Hérétiquearrives at Mackerel Cove, Swan's Island and anchors as a high pressure system pushes the rain out to sea and the sun breaks through the clouds.  Cast joins hands and sings a spontaneous hymn of thanksgiving.

Thing Two catches and eats a fish.  The other two drink wine.

The sun breaks through

Act Two, Scene Two (Wednesday).  Aboard L'Hérétique; sunny, light winds.

L'Hérétique weighs anchor and sails - sort of - to Merchant Row, dodging thousands of colorful toggled bouys over some of the most active lobstering grounds in Maine, whilst the characters join in a clever patter song about how cruising yachtsmen ought, at all costs, to avoid pissing off Stonington lobstermen by tangling their gear with sailboat props.

Beachcombing on McGlathery

The L'Heretique drops anchor off of McGlathery Island and the characters foray into the thicket of spruce and blowdown in search of trails; hours later, scratched, grumpy and footsore, they return to their vessel.

Act Two, Scene Three (Thursday).  Aboard L'Hérétique; the day dawns thick-a-fog.

Herself awakens early and from the cockpit sings a quiet morning ballad describing her longing for land after five nights of cabin leaks, poor sleep, and wildly inaccurate weather forecasts; the refrain touches upon her nostalgia for the days when she was still charmed by sights of porpoises, harbor seals and ospreys.

After breakfast, the characters decide to stay put until the fog lifts; meanwhile, they take another crack at McGlathery Island, having somewhat better luck at finding a trail but ending up scaling some impressive boulders in order to get back to L'Heretique. 

In the late afternoon, they weigh anchor for a quick late-afternoon run across to Vinalhaven.  On a falling tide, Himself pilots the boat up a shallow, narrow, tricky passage to the head of Winter Harbor; Herself nearly has a heart attack when L'Hérétique's keel scrapes the bottom.  Himself tells Herself she needs to relax.  Herself has two large glasses of wine and spends the rest of the evening fantasizing, sotto voce, about marriage to someone normal.

Act Three, Scene One (Friday).  Aboard L'Hérétique; actually kind of a nice day.

Himself awakens early and from the cockpit sings a quiet morning ballad expressing his longing for another week of sailing.

After breakfast, the characters pile into the dinghy and motor up the shallows to the very mouth of the harbor, where a small river empties under a bridge.  They stow the dinghy and hit the road, singing an enthusiastic trio about how nice it will be to visit Carver Harbor which looks, on the nautical chart, like it should be just a hop, skip and jump away.

Swimming in the quarry

More than an hour later, they give up and hitchhike the last few miles with a friendly native.  They have lunch, visit the bookstore, and swim in the quarry before hitching back to the dinghy and returning to the vessel for wine and a second night in this anchorage.

Act Three, Scene Two (Saturday).  Aboard L'Hérétique  fog, of course, but plenty of wind.

L'Hérétiquesails home.  Really sails.  Characters rendezvous with Thing Two at the schooner wharf and all head home and the act closes with a joyful ensemble about terra firma, the cat, the happy news that Grandmother is home from the hospital, and a hell of a lot of laundry.

Curtain.

Did I mention the cat?

Ah, yes, the cat.

This is Max.  As in Mad Max, from Where the Wild Things Are.  

My stepfather brought him home as a young kitten a couple of years ago and my mother had to do more childproofing to her house than she ever did when my kids were little.  

Some of his favorite tricks include hiding in the tub and launching himself through the shower curtain at unsuspecting souls who have just settled down on the toilet; hurtling full-tilt around the perimeter of the entire house while carrying two or three stuffed dog toys in his mouth; eating houseplants; terrorizing dogs; thrashing around under the covers in the middle of the night; and chewing up Algebra textbooks.

I was not - repeat, not - in the market for a third cat, but we were unable to find another home for him, and he was such a comfort and constant companion in my mother's last months that I felt we owed him something.

Surprisingly enough, he has assimilated well into the household, allowing the two resident felines to retain the impression they're in charge while simultaneously whipping 210 pounds of clueless canine into respectful submission.

The kids said they'd scoop the boxes if he could stay.

He's caught two mice in four days, so he's earning his keep.

I'm not rationalizing this decision....

Things I Have Inherited from my Mother

An antique platform rocking chair and a twenty-pound cat with an attitude.

Shave and a haircut

Wilson the agoraphobic goldendoodle got clipped this week. 

This is always stressful for him because 1) it involves leaving the house and 2) his fur is his habitat, and a trim leaves him feeling a bit naked and exposed.  For a few days he turns into the neediest, most annoyingly clingy animal you can possibly imagine.  I mean, even more so than normal, which is sayin' somethin'.

The Spare has taken it upon herself to provide gentle encouragement and reassuring ear rubs.

He'd be curled up inside her cardigan if he could possibly fit.

Pat's Pork Chop Casserole

Early yesterday morning the indestructible parakeet finally clapped out for good and all.  I swear I did not think I would live to see this day.  

(Its name was Pat, after the ambigendrous Saturday Night Live character from the 80s – please tell me someone else remembers that.  Although I’m fairly sure that the bird was, in fact, female, it was some time before we had any degree of certainty about that; hence the name.)

And then about an hour later we got slammed with that nor’easter that wreaked havoc in the southeast earlier this week.  It was a terrific storm, the kind that drops a foot and a half of snow in a matter of hours, blows like hell, stops traffic, brings down electric lines and compels cynical teenage boys to dig forts and make snow angels.

Comfort food was called for, and nothing screams “comfort food” like some combination of pork chops, stuffing and cream of mushroom soup.  

Pat’s Pork Chop Casserole

For the pork chops:

4 bone-in pork loin chops, ½ - ¾” thick

1 tablespoon olive oil

For the stuffing layer:

2 tablespoons butter

1 stalk celery, sliced

1 yellow onion, diced

1 tablespoon minced garlic

1 teaspoon dried thyme

1 teaspoon dried rubbed sage

1 tablespoon parley flakes

1 1-lb loaf hearty white sandwich bread, lightly toasted and cubed

2 cups chicken stock (approximately)

For the mushroom topping:

2 tablespoons butter

2 yellow onions, sliced

1 13-oz can sliced mushrooms, drained

1 tablespoon minced garlic

2 cans condensed cream-of-mushroom soup

½ cup vermouth or white wine

French fried onions

Chops:

Season pork chops liberally with salt and pepper.  Sear in oil over medium-high heat so they are golden-brown.  Remove to ungreased 13 x 9 baking dish.

Stuffing:

Melt butter in stock pot and sautee celery, diced onion and garlic until tender.  Season with thyme, sage, and parsely, plus salt and pepper to taste.  Stir in bread cubes and enough chicken stock to moisten.  It should hang together.  Spread on top of the pork chops.

Topping:

Melt butter in a skillet and sautee sliced onion, mushrooms, and garlic until tender.  Stir in cream of mushroom soup and vermouth and season with salt and pepper to taste.  Spread on top of the stuffing.

Cover the baking dish with foil and bake at 350 for 1 hour or until pork is done.  Remove foil and sprinkle with French fried onions; return to oven for 15 minutes.  Serve.  

Christmas Eve Eve tradition

Let's call this one "Introduction of the Animals" or "Inter-species Fellowship." 

It has everything to do with the spirit of the season and nothing at all to do with mildly antagonizing the cats.

And nothing at all to do with harassing the lobster.

The lobster has long since come to terms with his fate - he is about to give his all for lobster stew.  Watch this space.

Herman

This is Herman. 

He came into our lives in 1998, I think it was.  I’d gone to the local feed store, and there in the warehouse was this scruffy, starved, half-grown tiger kitten hiding among the bags of grain.  He looked like he’d been through the wars – I’d never seen bones sticking out of an animal like that, and his tail was just a little stub.

He was skittish, but not feral, and there was something about him that I fell for, hard.

The people at the store said he’d just shown up, and they’d started feeding him, but they were hoping to find a good place for him.  So Herman came home with me.

The vet said the thing with his tail was how he was born, not the result of an accident or abuse.  We had him fixed and got rid of the load of worms in his belly.  He filled out and grew up into a good-sized cat.  And he’s been with us ever since, always underfoot, always asking for food (I suspect once an animal has starved they never quite get over it), always in the middle of whatever’s going on, and living this whole time with an almost palpable air of gratitude for the grub and chin-scratches and warm place to sleep that we’ve given him. 

When we lived in rural Pennsylvania he was an indoor/outdoor cat.  Our rabbit infestation disappeared almost overnight.  Rodents did not stand a chance; once he even caught a bat in the house. 

Since we moved to Maine, we keep the cats indoors and Herman doesn’t seem to mind.   He’s as affectionate and playful as ever, although he’s starting to act a little older; not as graceful as he used to be, a little wobbly sometimes. 

Herman had to go to the vet today for a touch of sinus infection.  Even when he’s sick, though, homeslice here still does his thing:  when I got home from work yesterday I was greeted by pieces-parts of mouse scattered around the kitchen floor.  A good mouser is a mixed blessing….

Who's YamDankee?

I’m a facilities manager, chauffer, housekeeper, financial planner, homework coach, social secretary, event coordinator, chef and laundress.  One of those things is actually my day job.

I have one husband (Himself) and two kids – a 13-year-old boy (Thing One, or the Heir – he is smart and funny and has an obsession with World War II that borders on bizarre) and a 10-year-old girl (Thing Two, the Spare – she is smart and funny and has an obsession with nail polish which she did not get from me).  The household also includes two mutant dogs (combined weight is a bit north of 200 lbs), two neurotic cats and an indestructible parakeet. 

We live in midcoast Maine.  The house is eight or nine miles inland, but if the wind is in the right direction or it’s one of those heavy, foggy days, we can smell the salt water and hear the foghorns.  It’s close enough to the coast that we are able to rationalize sailboat ownership.

Walk out my backyard and you can pick up the Georges Highland Trail, or head just down the hill through the woods (follow the old stone wall) to the shore of the lake, and that’s where we keep our canoes for when we hanker for a paddle. 

Within three miles we have Thing Two’s dance studio and a rec center with a seasonal ice arena.  Five miles gets us to a ski slope.  Ten miles and we can take our pick of concerts, lectures, art exhibits and some really top-notch events – the Lobster Festival, the North Atlantic Blues Festival, the Boats Homes & Harbors Show, Christmas by the Sea, farmers’ markets, and fairs.

The schools are good. 

I really do like my job.  I also like reading, cooking, sailing, music, and fiber arts. 

I have everything except enough time for it all.