MARKING THE FIRST MONTH AND THE NEW CAT

 

a.k.a ROMI PROGRESS REPORT

You might recall we adopted a new cat. DH named her Romi.

Romi spent the first six days hiding under a bed in her dedicated room.

On day seven, she came out, looked at me, and sat at the window making sure I stayed far away.

On day eight, she came and sat next to me.

Day nine was a watershed moment: Romi came for pets and even let me pet her belly. She has been doing this every day since.

Day sixteen was the first day I let her begin exploring the rest of the house. For the next six days, this was always while my two resident cats were safely closed off in my room.

From the second week on, I have been doing the “scent swapping” thing with towels and grooming brushes changing places, so all three could experience each other’s smell. Day twenty-three was the first day they saw each other.

 

Only a couple of days later, and Romi was playing well with my orange cat, Nougat.

 And a few days ago, day thirty-three, all three played together and then got rewarded with a tiny snack, per cat experts’ advice to associate good, friendly play with good, tasty things. They've been playing daily together ever since.

Patience pays. Here’s to happy homes, y’all.

A NEW BEGINNING 🐈‍⬛

 

Meet Romi.* She is now our new cat.

*DH Chose to re-name her, in lieu of her shelter name "Elsa."

She is people shy and for the next couple of months will be “decompressing”, as the rescuer put it. She was returned by a previous adopter because she hid for three weeks and they deemed the adoption a failure. I won’t give up that easily. But any input you may have helping "wallflower cats" is welcome. 

She really likes other cats, I’m told. The introduction to ours will be gradual, per their needs as well.

For the next couple of months, one bedroom is her dedicated room. For the first three weeks the door will be closed unless I can be there to supervise. I will be there when I can, reading quietly or communicating with friends on the phone.

This means that for DD's upcoming visit I will make a bed in the living room for our daughter. She wouldn’t want to sleep with a litter box next to her, anyway.

By the time she comes next, things should be back to normal, or our new normal. 🤞🏻

I guess life was too calm, so I needed to complicate it. 🥵

I hope you welcome the new Breen:

THE STORY of SOKOLOV’s FAREWELL

 

It’s been almost a month since Sokolov died.

 

I want to say “left us” or “crossed the rainbow bridge” or some such, because the word “die” doesn’t seem to suit him. He’d been sick for three years and there were many times when I thought he would not last long. But, like the phoenix, he rose up and bounced back to life. We began to think—hope— he would live forever. Maybe our inclination to deny death was doing a job on us.

 

But— no, he didn’t.

 

In late February, he began his final descent and this time he did not relent and turn back. He stopped eating despite medication that had worked before to stimulate his appetite. He stopped drinking. He became as light as a feather. The vet said he was in complete liver failure.

 

We made the decision to let him go at home, in peace, on his own schedule. This cat, who came to us as a feral rescue, who feared any person that was not us (with the vet being one of his greatest fears) was going to live to the last surrounded by people and cats he loved and in the home he felt safe.

 

His final descent lasted four weeks. He was stoic, affectionate, and maintained himself in a position where he could always see us and his favorite feline friends. Sokolov, who ran into hiding at the slightest suggestion of an approaching stranger, didn’t hide at all at the end. He chose to be close and look at us as his body was evaporating.

I won’t deny that letting him die at home was hard on us. I wouldn’t necessarily make that choice for our other cats. But I knew that for this shy cat who loved us more fiercely than others, this is how it had to be.

 

The last looks we exchanged were on the morning of March 28^th. I was typing and turned to say something to him. He was a foot away, sitting on my bed. He looked serene and blinked slowly. I kept typing. When next I turned to exchange looks, he was lying sprawled on his side. I kept staring to see if he was breathing. He did, one more time.

 

He is buried among the weeds in the backyard, very close to where this photo was taken a few years ago.

More CAT INDULGENCES

 

Once every few months, I just feel compelled to share snippets of the joy that are my cats.

 

No, I’m not a “childless cat lady,” but a child-full one. 😸 

 

No, I’m not a “crazy cat woman,” but a sane one. 😹

 

What I am is an unapologetic feline fancier. 😻

 

These marvels of nature are graceful beauties who do us a favor by allowing us near them.

 

Lucky plucky me, I have three such wonders close by.

 

Here, have some:

{{{TO MY FABOULOUS FANCY FELINE FRIENDS 🍻}}}

🙏Please think good thoughts for Sokolov, 🙏

🙏our black cat, who is very ill 🙏

P.S. Edited to add: Our Sokolov, the furry black cat, passed away March 28th, 2025 😿

HOME IMPROVEMENTS, ANYONE?

 How do you deal with the (frankly endless) home improvement challenges?

Warning, this is one big (pictorial) KVETCH.

So, once upon a time it was thus:

Same kitchen corner, now:

May it (soon) return to sanity, our style~~~

August 19th, 2024

Edited to add:

What a difference a week makes⌛:

🎉🎉🎉

THE TAIL/TALE OF TWO CATS

 

Many years ago, in a land far away, I had two cats who grew up as brothers.

 

One, named Kitten, was no kitten but a hefty oversized gray tiger cat. The other, named Blue Boy, had a more apt name because he was a Blue-point Siamese with the bluest eyes.

 

Here they are in an old photograph—

These brothers, no genetic connection, got along well. They even devised plots together to fool their parent, which was yours truly.

 

You see, they were put on special diets because of health (Blue Boy) and heft (Kitten) issues. They were not supposed to have the same food. They agreed on this point, but not on which food was for each. No matter how carefully and cheerfully offered, the moment I turned my back I’d sense them sleekly sneaking their way, each to the other’s food bowl.

 

My stern look and vocal admonition would quickly make them reverse course back to their assigned places. But then, if I looked away again, there they went doing their switcheroo.

 

This got me thinking about the human aspect of coveting what others have. In some instinctive way we share this with animals.

 

There’s a reason it’s one of the Ten Commandments. (Number ten, to be exact: “Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s house, thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife, nor his manservant, nor his maidservant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor any thing that is thy neighbor’s.”)

 

My cats told me it is basic, instinctive, and not rational in the least. 

A reminder when bringing fictional characters to life that reason does not rule them.

About TENSION *

 

*In storytelling and in life

In a manuscript, a writer pays attention to tension. Keeping a certain level, which even when reduced must never leave the narrative, is crucial.

It’s a curious thing that in daily life most of us want to reduce tension. We want things to go smoothly and without worries. When something stresses our veneer of peacefulness, we yearn to “get back our lives,” as if our real lives are a calm sea with a lovely sailboat gliding over sweet-smelling waters.

But when we pick up a book, or start a session of movie watching, we’d quickly drop that if the tension they exude doesn’t grip us by the back of the neck.

I watch my cats as they invent chases with nonexistent entities because their lives do not include the kind of stressors feral cats and wild animals must contend with. Their make-believe play hunt and chase is something akin to what we choose as stimulating entertainment.

I doubt people who are in the midst of real-life mega-stressors would do that. So called thrillers are for the fortunate among us. Tension-filled stories are what our domesticated species made to round up life.

Just musing here, as I contemplate amping up tension in my WIP.

SEASONS and SEASONINGS

 

Where I live, in California’s bay area, there is basically only one season.

Lucky us, the season is SPRING.

It goes something like this:

Bay area summer = Spring with morning fog

Bay area fall = Spring without the morning fog

Bay area winter = Spring with some rain

Bay area spring = well, just spring

I have dealt with this boring blessing by creating seasonality in artificial ways.

Example—

I change the bed’s quilt, and thus my bed reflects seasonality.

SUMMER^

FALL^

WINTER^

SPRING^

The cats are perennial.

 

It occurred to me that the stories I write are similar. My life is a steady road with mini-bumps for variety. The stories are life accentuated, outlined, marked with eye-popping swatches of drama.

The bed frame is akin to the daily discipline of writing, and the cats (i.e., the stand-ins for the narrator who is me) are the constant sentient beings. The quilts serve to delineate the titles from each other. 

Thus, stories are life with spicy seasoning.

🌻Happy Spring🌻

Better with CATS

 

A few years back, a friend who only lives with humans asked me what use are my cats.

“They don’t, like, improve anything. You take care of their needs and they do nothing,” she said.

 I tried meekly to pry her feline guard door. “It’s better with cats.”

“What’s better?”

“Everything.”

I should have known better. Some folks just don’t get it.

So indulging here and celebrating with those who know how cats improve on everything.

{If you’re allergic, I’m so sorry for you. But a blog post won’t make you sneeze.}

Better with food~🙀

Better with drink~😺

Better for R&R~😸

I think I learned these lessons early~😻

Long, Languid, Lolling, lounging---

                                             Days of Summer

 

Allow me to indulge and share my favorite lounging partners once again.

For season’s sake, it’s summer~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

^Miss Nougat cooling her belly^

^Mr. Sokolov showing his belly is fluffier^

^Ms. Clara Schumann: “I can’t bear to see any more bellies.” ^

😻Fair enough. Stay cool, everyone😻

SUMMER INDULGENCES

I’m allowing myself to indulge in some just fun (for whom? for me) photos I  post here. I hope you, too, will enjoy looking at today’s peek into another's life.

Hey, it’s summer. 🌞

Summer used to mean a break. 👙

I haven’t earned a break, but I’m sort of taking it. 🍨

So here are some of my favorite things:

{Technically, only the first and last are “things”}

One crust apple pie with streusel topping^

Miss Nougat^

Ms. Clara^

Mr. Sokolov^

One enchanted evening from my window^

How about yours?

What Is Your Mascot/Avatar/Spirit Animal?

 

Paraphrasing question #23 on the same list of better questions to ask a writer,  I decided to have fun today. I mean, the question itself echoes the infamous Barbara Walters school of interview standards, “if you were a tree, what tree would you be” silliness. (It should also make anyone question if the list labeled “better questions” merits this title)

 

But you know what? Be we as children if we deem to write for young spirits.

 Let’s play. I go first.

So what animal would I be?

 🐺🐯🐮🐨🐫🐴🐼🐰🐋🐭🐶🐱🐦

 

Could you guess?

 👀

A decent guess, knowing me even a wee bit, would suggest a feline of some sort.

 That would be wrong.

 I admire felines. I am in awe of their beauty and grace. They are far-away, god-like beings. So aspirational as to not even be my aspirational avatar.

I am no such thing.

😞

 For me, this one does it:

The giraffe is a peaceful animal who manages to stay above the fray. Giraffes have a great perspective, having been graced with the anatomical advantage of a perennial outsider, seeing more of the whole picture, not tangled in the weeds below. And unlike birds, Giraffes do this with their feet firmly planted on the ground.

That is what I aspire to. 

DD even drew one for me when she was four-years-old:

Do share yours, if you dare to play. Like the giraffe, I may bat my long lashes. But I won't judge you.

Giving Thanks...

Giving Thanks for---

^Friends who stop by^

^Felines who hang out^

^Family, Always^

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone

More CAT Tales

Allow me to indulge is some wee cat tales, and also tails. This links to writing in a roundabout way, I promise.

All three of our cats are, well, cats. This they have in common. They have whiskers and pointy ears and fur and, yes, tails. But here is where they differ.

^Clara, the oldest, has never done a bad thing in her life. She never sharpens her claws on anything but the cardboard we provide for such purpose; never nudges anyone off their food bowl; never attacks the others, and has never met a person she doesn’t like. She does not assume you want her on your lap, so she looks to your invitation and will leave with the slightest sign you’ve had enough. She’s the best (and only, actually) real mouser, and has kept us rodent-free as fee for her care.

She is the cat you want if you need one working feline.

^Sokolov, our only male, was of feral stock. To this day, he only accepts five humans, us plus a friend. When I say, “accepts,” I mean he runs to greet us at the sound of our footsteps, the way a loving dog would. No other human will ever see him, as he zooms to hide long before they are at the door. Visitors have to believe me Sokolov exists, because no one gets as much as a glimpse of his black furry tail. He constantly challenges the others (and us) for our food, and proceeds to leave vomited hairballs everywhere. You’ll have to take my word that he’s more than worth all that trouble. Sokolov is the most intelligent and, at least towards us, the most affectionate.

^Our youngest, Nougat, is a senseless goof. She gets herself into spaces she can’t get out of, considers everything a batting toy, and talks all the time. She can hold a continuous conversation for half an hour, as long as you keep responding. Her sentences are as varied as they are entertaining. She prefers your company and play to a tasty morsel every time. Folks who think cats are just food motivated, haven’t met Nougat. “Food? What food? Play with me, I tell you. Meow-meow, I’m talking to you!”

This brings me to writing. Yes, they’re all cats, of the Felis Catus species. But they are individuals. A good reminder not to have generic characters when telling a story. 

Cheers!

Here's a happy prescription to get in the holiday mood.

First, steam some lactose-free milk.

Second, use a whipping foamer and make it light and airy.

Third, share it with an eager feline---😻

Who will be filled with foam and thankfulness.

You're welcome!

💝Happy Thanksgiving 💝