Once upon a time there was a Young Lady- twenty years young, to be exact- who was, for the first time in her life, going to live alone. She was an introvert, so this wasn't as daunting as it might have been, and anyway several of her best friends were living in the apartments across the hallway and directly beneath her- but still, it was going to be odd, to come home to an empty apartment every day, and so she decided to get a cat.
She went to the animal shelter with her grandfather, and when they got there a small, pale orange kitten yowled at them, and reached out and popped the Young Lady's grandfather on the head: they took to one another immediately. The Young Lady, however, diligently walked through the entire shelter and saw all the available cats and kittens, before coming back to the noisy one, who was still "talking" loudly to anyone who would listen.
It would be nice to have someone answer when I say hello, thought the Young Lady, and so she adopted the kitten, whom she dubbed "Milktiger Kink" for his stunted, kinked tail, and the fact that his markings made him look like nothing so much as a tiger cub who had been dipped in milk.
She called him Kink for short, and brought him home to the little one-bedroom apartment, where he did, indeed, fill it with noise.
Kink, as it turned out, was a bit of a hellspawn. An evil, demonic hellspawn that gave the Young Lady (and others) a number of scars over the course of his kitten-and-young-adulthood. But the Young Lady had claimed responsibility for his life, and that meant sticking with him, no matter how bloodthirsty and vicious he could be.
Fortunately for the Young Lady, Kink finally mellowed out around age seven. How much this had to do with her moving him 3000 miles cross-country so she could get married, the world may never know. But the fact remained that Kink eventually settled down into a perfectly reasonable, non-attack-cat, who shared his human with first a husband, then a second cat, then two rats, a dog, and eventually two small humans who could be a little hazy on the concept of "gentle"- and not a one of them was ever so much as bloodied.
And then one day, about eighteen years after he'd come into her life, the Lady noticed that Kink seemed to be... going blind.
And she knew that the Downward Spiral was beginning.
Or, rather, that it was Accelerating- after all, it had been nearly a year since they'd had to start giving him fluids, and changed his diet to support his kidneys.
So the Lady took Kink in for his annual check up, and the doctor confirmed what she'd feared: he had gone completely blind, his blood pressure was high, and his kidneys were failing.
There were things that could be done to extend his life, the doctor said- but the Lady chose not to do them. Instead the Lady chose to bring Kink home so he could have a few final days of cheese and tuna and goodbyes to family and old friends. And then, two weeks later, she took him back to the doctor for his Final Visit.
Because the Lady had claimed responsibility for his life, and that meant sticking with him, no matter how painful.
Showing posts with label kittehs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kittehs. Show all posts
9.26.2019
10.12.2016
The Vivisection
(Remember this concept?)
***
"Mordecai!" I snapped. "Stop that at once!"
The boy looked back over his shoulder at me: not startled, not guilty, just curious. Inwardly I groaned. Curious was his most dangerous mood.
"Why?" A spray of blood had spattered across his face, creating a contrasting constellation to his freckles.
"Because it's wrong." This was not an answer that ever went over well: I always started with it, anyway. Mordecai cocked his head.
"Why is it wrong? You dissect birds all the time."
"I don't dissect them. I dismember them. And I do it after they are dead," I said, sitting back on my haunches and wrapping my tail around my feet. "It makes them easier to eat."
Mordecai looked down at the still feebly-moving bird. If it had been any other boy, I'd have been impressed that he'd caught it in the first place: magpies are highly intelligent and not easily trapped. But my ward's cunning put even crafty old toms to shame. "If I eat him when I'm done," he said, "Will it be not wrong?"
I kept my face carefully blank, knowing this could set a dangerous precedent.
"No. It is always wrong for you to dissect- or dismember- a still-living creature."
He considered this for a moment. "What if I killed it before I cut into it?"
"That depends."
"On what?"
On what, indeed. For all of his five years I'd been watching over this child, attempting to unravel what made things right or wrong- a task complicated by the fact that cat morality differed starkly from human morality, and I was attempting to raise him with human morals. I wasn't always successful, since more often than not I was having to argue something I didn't necessarily agree with.
"On whether or not you need to eat. If you need to kill," I immediately saw the potential loophole and quickly corrected course, "If you need to kill an animal for food, it is acceptable to do so. But you are a little boy who is fed regularly by your parents, so you have no need to be killing. And if you are not killing something to eat it, you must not carve it up, because, as I have said, it would be a waste of life."
"But I'm learning," he said, annoyed. "And learning isn't a waste."
Damn human morality, anyway.
***
"Mordecai!" I snapped. "Stop that at once!"
The boy looked back over his shoulder at me: not startled, not guilty, just curious. Inwardly I groaned. Curious was his most dangerous mood.
"Why?" A spray of blood had spattered across his face, creating a contrasting constellation to his freckles.
"Because it's wrong." This was not an answer that ever went over well: I always started with it, anyway. Mordecai cocked his head.
"Why is it wrong? You dissect birds all the time."
"I don't dissect them. I dismember them. And I do it after they are dead," I said, sitting back on my haunches and wrapping my tail around my feet. "It makes them easier to eat."
Mordecai looked down at the still feebly-moving bird. If it had been any other boy, I'd have been impressed that he'd caught it in the first place: magpies are highly intelligent and not easily trapped. But my ward's cunning put even crafty old toms to shame. "If I eat him when I'm done," he said, "Will it be not wrong?"
I kept my face carefully blank, knowing this could set a dangerous precedent.
"No. It is always wrong for you to dissect- or dismember- a still-living creature."
He considered this for a moment. "What if I killed it before I cut into it?"
"That depends."
"On what?"
On what, indeed. For all of his five years I'd been watching over this child, attempting to unravel what made things right or wrong- a task complicated by the fact that cat morality differed starkly from human morality, and I was attempting to raise him with human morals. I wasn't always successful, since more often than not I was having to argue something I didn't necessarily agree with.
"On whether or not you need to eat. If you need to kill," I immediately saw the potential loophole and quickly corrected course, "If you need to kill an animal for food, it is acceptable to do so. But you are a little boy who is fed regularly by your parents, so you have no need to be killing. And if you are not killing something to eat it, you must not carve it up, because, as I have said, it would be a waste of life."
"But I'm learning," he said, annoyed. "And learning isn't a waste."
Damn human morality, anyway.
9.02.2016
She is Not a Tame Wife
I don't like the word domesticated, as applied to myself. I like the idea of being a Wild Creature.
But I'm not.
I'm not a Wild Creature anymore. I'm married. I'm a mother. I have to consider more than just my own selfish instincts. And so perhaps it's time for me to come to terms with the word domesticated.
But then I remember that cats are, technically, "domesticated". Cats who don't come when you call, but will curl up with you in bed and keep you warm. Cats who will put a bloody corpse in your bed to show that they love you.
Domesticated, but not tame.
But I'm not.
I'm not a Wild Creature anymore. I'm married. I'm a mother. I have to consider more than just my own selfish instincts. And so perhaps it's time for me to come to terms with the word domesticated.
But then I remember that cats are, technically, "domesticated". Cats who don't come when you call, but will curl up with you in bed and keep you warm. Cats who will put a bloody corpse in your bed to show that they love you.
Domesticated, but not tame.
7.21.2016
Cats Around the Corner
7.11.2016
Seen On a Walk
I try to take a walk every afternoon. I generally see at least one interesting or amusing or lovely thing. Today I got to see all of the above:
Who knows what tomorrow will bring?
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| Given all the Pokemon GO action going on in the world, I halfway expected this to attack. |
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| This cat literally did not even look up as I approached. He was unconcerned AF. |
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| A particularly nice collection of vivid colors |
2.23.2016
Seed, Sprouted
So after I uploaded yesterday's photo, I had a bit of a brain-wave about a story-seed I planted a few years back, with the working title The Breath Stealer. The premise was that cats do, indeed, steal the breath of babies (thereby killing them), but only babies that are fated to grow up evil. I never shared it on here, until now:
When I was very small, eyes still blue and fur still tufted into ridiculous spikes, I lost a brother to a hawk. I don't remember much of him- I'd only known him a few weeks, after all, and then primarily as a competitor for the most free-flowing of my mother's teats. What I remember quite clearly, however, was how my mother mourned for him. There were six of us left in the litter, six tiny lives to love and care for, but still she cried for the one who had been taken. Sometimes, in my most private nightmares, I hear her crying still, but it wasn't the hawk who killed her baby-
It was me.
There was a bit more, but that was the hook. At any rate, that's been percolating in the back of my mind for, as I said, a few years, until yesterday when I posted that photo of Krumps and suddenly thought, "But what if, this time, the Cat chooses not to kill the child, but instead to attempt to rewrite it's fate?" which lead me down the rabbit hole of the Cat trying to raise a tiny sociopath to be a force for good rather than evil, and the hilarity that might ensue from that.
We'll see.
When I was very small, eyes still blue and fur still tufted into ridiculous spikes, I lost a brother to a hawk. I don't remember much of him- I'd only known him a few weeks, after all, and then primarily as a competitor for the most free-flowing of my mother's teats. What I remember quite clearly, however, was how my mother mourned for him. There were six of us left in the litter, six tiny lives to love and care for, but still she cried for the one who had been taken. Sometimes, in my most private nightmares, I hear her crying still, but it wasn't the hawk who killed her baby-
It was me.
There was a bit more, but that was the hook. At any rate, that's been percolating in the back of my mind for, as I said, a few years, until yesterday when I posted that photo of Krumps and suddenly thought, "But what if, this time, the Cat chooses not to kill the child, but instead to attempt to rewrite it's fate?" which lead me down the rabbit hole of the Cat trying to raise a tiny sociopath to be a force for good rather than evil, and the hilarity that might ensue from that.
We'll see.
2.22.2016
2.19.2016
First Baby
My first baby, who is now an Elder Statescat:
He's going to be fifteen this year. Crazy pants.
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| Snoozing is for Winners |
1.31.2016
1.21.2016
11.28.2014
Things You Don't Want to See Broken
Let us back up to earlier this week, Tuesday morning, as a matter of fact, when I popped down to the cellar to get something or other. Little Cat, like the brat she is, slunk in behind me, and refused to come out. So I left her in there, shutting the door to ensure none of the other animals joined her, and went to work.
Around noon I texted Nathan to check on her and see if she wanted to come out. His response? "Not yet, apparently."
That afternoon I discovered a wretched ant infestation, and after raining down my wrath upon them, further discovered I was out of paper towels in the kitchen. So back down to the cellar I went, calling again for Little Cat. This time, not being in a rush to get to work, I stood perfectly still and listened for her. I did not hear her, but what I did hear, was... water...
I followed the sound and noticed a large damp stain around the water heater, and then realized that it was leaking- not just dripping, but a small stream trickling out of the seal around the drain-faucet. "Huh," I said to myself. "That's probably not good." And then I called Nathan down to take a peak at it, because he knows more about the bowels of the house than I do.
"Nope, not good," Nathan agreed, and went outside to turn the water off. And can you guess who came prancing in the front door as he did so? Yes. You are right. Little Cat can walk through walls.
::sigh::
Anyway, flash forward to today, skimming over the parts where we'd been living mostly without water (we'd turn it on for a bit in the morning and at night, just to do things like brush our teeth, etc), and the plumber finally is able to come out. He and Nathan troop downstairs, and then I hear a lot of angry language and the plumber rushes back up, then back down, this time with a huge bucket. And then the three of us are engaged in a twenty-minute long race to move who knows how many gallons of scalding hot water from the cellar to the bathtub using two buckets and two large bowls. Exciting!
What had happened was that when the plumber tried to open the drain, the entire thing just... broke.
His angry words were mostly for the guy who'd installed such a cheap part in the first place (apparently brass from different parts of the world has different levels of quality to it- who knew?) and fortunately for us the whole thing was still under warranty (we replaced the entire water heater last year, literally the day after my first miscarriage, which is why I was so hazy about the whole thing) so we only had to pay for labor.
...well, that and the massive amounts of water that I literally just poured straight down the drain. ::sigh:: Ah, home-ownership... at least we caught it in time. Thanks, Little Cat!
Around noon I texted Nathan to check on her and see if she wanted to come out. His response? "Not yet, apparently."
That afternoon I discovered a wretched ant infestation, and after raining down my wrath upon them, further discovered I was out of paper towels in the kitchen. So back down to the cellar I went, calling again for Little Cat. This time, not being in a rush to get to work, I stood perfectly still and listened for her. I did not hear her, but what I did hear, was... water...
I followed the sound and noticed a large damp stain around the water heater, and then realized that it was leaking- not just dripping, but a small stream trickling out of the seal around the drain-faucet. "Huh," I said to myself. "That's probably not good." And then I called Nathan down to take a peak at it, because he knows more about the bowels of the house than I do.
"Nope, not good," Nathan agreed, and went outside to turn the water off. And can you guess who came prancing in the front door as he did so? Yes. You are right. Little Cat can walk through walls.
::sigh::
Anyway, flash forward to today, skimming over the parts where we'd been living mostly without water (we'd turn it on for a bit in the morning and at night, just to do things like brush our teeth, etc), and the plumber finally is able to come out. He and Nathan troop downstairs, and then I hear a lot of angry language and the plumber rushes back up, then back down, this time with a huge bucket. And then the three of us are engaged in a twenty-minute long race to move who knows how many gallons of scalding hot water from the cellar to the bathtub using two buckets and two large bowls. Exciting!
What had happened was that when the plumber tried to open the drain, the entire thing just... broke.
 |
| Not good. Not good at all. Also, see how nice my nails are when I'm not climbing regularly? |
...well, that and the massive amounts of water that I literally just poured straight down the drain. ::sigh:: Ah, home-ownership... at least we caught it in time. Thanks, Little Cat!
11.17.2014
A Two Cat Morning
It's been getting super cold and icy up in my 'hood, lately. and it's baffling us all.
Normally November is cold, but not this cold. Not ice cold. Where is our rain, dagnabit?!
Anyway I am fortunate that I have lots of fuzzy creatures to snuggle with and keep the cold at bay. (Plus extra blankets!)
I went to Powell's tonight, to go holiday shopping for my niblings (they all get books: that way I know they'll fit). I'd forgotten just how pleasant it can be just to browse in a bookstore. It made me miss my Borders day.
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| see how confused they are?! |
Anyway I am fortunate that I have lots of fuzzy creatures to snuggle with and keep the cold at bay. (Plus extra blankets!)
I went to Powell's tonight, to go holiday shopping for my niblings (they all get books: that way I know they'll fit). I'd forgotten just how pleasant it can be just to browse in a bookstore. It made me miss my Borders day.
9.16.2014
7.25.2014
6.03.2014
The End of a Vacation
Nothing much to report today, except that the flight out of Reno was much easier than the one in.
The cats were initially pretty pissed with us, but, you know... then we fed them.
The cats were initially pretty pissed with us, but, you know... then we fed them.
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| All is forgiven. |
5.14.2014
4.18.2014
Little But Fierce
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| tiny cat does not have time for your photography bs |
3.25.2014
3.09.2014
She Seeks the Pattern in All Things
It's a good day, as Sundays often are.
Nathan heads off to church while I am still making up my mind about my feelings towards Daylight Savings, but once I get up, I get going, and where I get going is on a bike ride to the climbing gym. It's one of those mornings where the rain is thinking about what it wants to do with the rest of its day, but for the time being it's happy enough to have given the sun and sky a freshening lick-and-a-promise.
The gym is wonderful, as it always is- my home-away-from-home, filled with strangers who are more than willing to be friends, and puzzles that twist my mind and body into new and satisfying shapes. Afterwards I pedal home again, contemplating an afternoon of laundry and baking and writing oh my!
I accomplish all of those things, as well as some seriously high-quality time with my husband, whom I subsequently send out to purchase our birthday-gift-to-ourselves: a new grill. He will spend the darkening hours putting it together, and I will spend them however I choose.
A very good day, indeed.
 |
| Good Morning. |
Nathan heads off to church while I am still making up my mind about my feelings towards Daylight Savings, but once I get up, I get going, and where I get going is on a bike ride to the climbing gym. It's one of those mornings where the rain is thinking about what it wants to do with the rest of its day, but for the time being it's happy enough to have given the sun and sky a freshening lick-and-a-promise.
The gym is wonderful, as it always is- my home-away-from-home, filled with strangers who are more than willing to be friends, and puzzles that twist my mind and body into new and satisfying shapes. Afterwards I pedal home again, contemplating an afternoon of laundry and baking and writing oh my!
I accomplish all of those things, as well as some seriously high-quality time with my husband, whom I subsequently send out to purchase our birthday-gift-to-ourselves: a new grill. He will spend the darkening hours putting it together, and I will spend them however I choose.
A very good day, indeed.
2.26.2014
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