Life: Idiotropic

See.  If they can get along...

Don't worry.   They are just playing.  And the cat enjoys this.  In fact, half of the time, the cat starts this.

So the dog is genetically wired to want to eat the cat.  Her little brain waves are going "chase, attack, throw around like a chew toy."  But somewhere along the way, she stopped and though, "but the cat is not a horrible conversationalist and if I eat him, then I'll get fur stuck in my teeth and I really hate flossing."  And so, if even to prevent the pain of flossing, the dog decides to think another way.   She goes to have a chat with cat.

Cat's brain wants to arch his back, hiss menacingly, and run from dog.  But, he thinks a bit.  "I do lay around and do a lot of nothing and may be a bit of one on one will keep my muscles rippling more than my flabby belly."

So dog and cat converse and come up with this wrestling play plan that will lead outsiders to believe that they are ferociously fighting,  but to a trained eye, you can see that the claws and fangs don't actually penetrate.  They are Hollywood style superstars of play fighting.

They are the children that chase each other all around the house up on beds and down and make a ton of racket until I stand up and find them and shout as if they were young siblings, "Would you both please stop fighting and settle down!  Enough!!"

Who knew that a drive down McLaughlin Boulevard could make such a difference? A hand-written sign in a dingy pet store window. A cage of kittens all sleeping. Except one.

A feisty ball of soft grey fluff. An only kitten and a mix - only half-Persian. Within the budget of a 14 year old girl.

So I proudly plunked down $40 of my own money and took my kitten home. More claws than cuddles, she took a while to mellow into the lap cat that most knew. But she was always my Misha.

She chattered at flies in the sliding glass doors of our Oregon City home. She played amongst the jungle of flowers in my mom's garden and hopped bunny like across the snow.

She stayed behind when I went to college, but was there on my return. Moved with me to Clackamas, then to Sherwood.

She came with me when I got married and moved to Missouri. She took walks with us in the evenings until she got too old, then we carried her half way. I remember pushing Arianna in the stroller with one hand, pregnant with Luci, and carrying Misha in the other. She was there for all my girls as babies. Ran to the crib with each of Tiara's cries and curled up at her feet while she slept. Watched them grow, cuddled with them, stood just far enough away to encourage excited crawling chase and those first few steps.

She lived in Oregon, Missouri, Texas, Florida, and Oklahoma, then slept in a Samsonite bag under the airplane seat as we flew across the Atlantic for our European journey. She lived in Germany where she befriended Tante Tinny who cooked her chicken and watched her when we were away. And she crossed France moving with us to Spain where she spent her last 6 months.

She turned 21 this last spring.

For months now Kirk and I have often looked at her, then too each other. Is it time? We didn't want her to suffer, but the idea of ending this is too painful to talk about. We'd start talking, my eyes would well up with tears, I'd pet her gently, and the discussion is suddenly over. Next month, next week... later. Not now.

And then, it was just time. And I finally knew. And I hated it, but it was the right thing to do. So Kirk went with me. And I held her and cuddled her as the vet gave her a shot to help her sleep. I laughed through tears when she threw up on me. Feisty cat - she had to have the last word. And I held her tight, pet her and talked to her while she calmed, relaxed, and fell asleep.

The girls would be coming home on the bus soon. It's time to go. Good-bye, Misha. You will be missed. And you are so loved.

Yesterday I had to take 5 minutes in the car outside my favorite coffee shop to collect myself before going in. Logan had an appointment to be fixed. I thought I'd just drop her off and go, but they asked me to stay with her to calm her after they gave her a shot to relax her. So I stayed with her as she got limp, laid down, and barely held her eyes open to look up at me. They lifted her to the table then and I stayed with her while they shaved a bit of her leg, put in her IV, then shaved a large portion of her stomach. She was awake - aware, just unable to move. Killed me. They told me I could go and as I left, Logan lifted her heavy head, turned, and looked at me as I walked away. She's a dog. I'm really in trouble if my kids are ever really sick. Stupid me had to pause and look from the cracked door as they carried her out of that room and towards the operating room. She saw me too and turned to see me as they passed by.

That afternoon I picked her up. She was weak and obviously still drugged. Her tail didn't wag. She didn't make a sound. Seemed so ghostly. Walked crooked. Threw up some horrid bright yellow. Grossness. Tiara and I worried and stressed over her all night. She wouldn't keep water down. Nothing stayed down.

I've never been so happy to see a tail wag - by this morning, she was almost normal! Wagging tail and tiny moans. She's on an antibiotic and pain meds for over a week. Once she had food in her stomach, she was back to normal.

But... if you've seen Up, it's hard not to laugh now at our silly puppy with her "cone of shame." Poor thing was a mess the first day bumping into everything and getting stuck not knowing to back out. She isn't too much better now, but just pushes herself through. A miracle she's only gone through 2 cones this week.

This afternoon my doorbell rang. The vigilantes (security folks that drive around our neighborhood 24/7) were at the gate to tell me that my gray cat had been found. He gave me the address and I was out the gate and running before he'd even gotten into his car to drive away.

Misha was at 28 Porto Coeli, a good 3-4 blocks away - far for her. The man there was so kind. He said he found her on Wednesday evening (the day I last saw her) crossing the street, so he stopped and brought her in knowing she was old and not a stray (strays here are never grey and just don't have her look). I don't know why it took them 4 days to call the vigilantes, but today they did, thank goodness. Misha was sleeping curled up in a little corner between one door and another on the side of their house. I talked to him, his mother, and his two daughters for a few minutes before I walked home holding Misha tightly.

She had a can of "welcome home" tuna and is curled up happily on my bed as usual.

21 years and still going. This cat is amazing. Tomorrow I'll be baking some nice pumpkin bread "thank you" loaves for the family and the vigilantes.

It's 1:42 am and I've already been up a while after being asleep may be an hour. Two little girls lay on the guest bed behind me curled up having just fallen asleep to the soothing music of Jim Brickman. Twenty four hours ago we thought we'd be packed now, heading to Barcelona in the morning. But this afternoon we canceled our hotel and for the first time ever canceling a trip, I actually felt ok.

I should be blogging about the bull run or the parade we saw tonight. The culture is rich and endless in Spain.

But no matter where I find myself, there my family is, as it should be, and tonight - these last couple days, they are the ones that occupy my thoughts. My girls, their school, our family time together, and Misha.

It's been almost 50 hours since I've seen my cat. The most amazing cat who's been in my life and part of my family for over 21 years. I saw her last on Wednesday afternoon as I backed out of the driveway. She was sitting by the garage door wanting in, but I was in a hurry, running late, and wouldn't be gone long. She never goes anywhere.

I got home, I took care of the girls, I grilled hamburgers for dinner. I didn't think about Misha. She's always there. All the house doors were open. She could come in at any time. But she wasn't by my pillow that night. She wasn't curled up in the sunny spot in the garage the following morning. I've searched everywhere. I told the security at the gates and the ones who drive circles around the neighborhoods all day. We called the animal shelter. We've taken walks.

The parade tonight was great. I saw the costumes and took pictures. But being home kills me. I keep looking for her where she should be, wandering to the garage door where I saw her last. Twenty one years. I know she lived a wonderful life. It was going to be "time" eventually, but I want her here now. I need to see her, to know she's ok, or to know where she is and if she's hurt. She transcended "cat" a long time ago and became, everything. A friend, family, caregiver of sorts. She ran to my girls when they cried as babies. She'd jump into their crib and sleep always by their feet. Sweet, patient. They loved her and she tolerated even their most difficult stages. She used to take walks with us...

So we're here. Waiting and hoping. The house sitter who was going to stay with the dog and cats had a cousin in town and it didn't feel right to leave anyway... not if there was any chance of Misha coming home. So I hold out hope though it's fleeting fast.

My youngest two sleep soundly now. I hope it lasts the night. We all need sleep. Who knows what tomorrow will bring now.

This is Alex. She was a stray cat that lives in the gardens at the place that we're staying. From the first day we arrived, the girls have showered her with love, affection, and a name. Arianna is the one that named her. Elise picks her up and carries her all over the place. Alex just goes limp in her arms and tolerates it all. She purrs, she follows us around. She is absolutely wonderful. Within a week the girls were campaigning to keep her. Kirk thought yes. I said no thinking that Misha is old and shouldn't have to deal with another cat. Two days ago I noticed that her belly was getting big and her teats were swollen. Alex is pregnant. I thought yes. We need to make sure these babies have a chance. Kirk said no. But then, he saw Alex laying on "her" chair on the porch. He saw how the girls loved on her. He likes tabbys anyway. Then he fed her all the leftover scampi. That was it. There's no going back now. So, we now have enlarged our family by 4 paws. She'll have her kittens in a couple weeks (I think) which will be a wonderful experience for the girls. Then, when they are old enough, we will find homes or take them to the shelter with the hope for a happy outcome.

Misha is still with us. She's 21 and starting to really show it, but she did wonderfully on the move and I think she likes the small accommodations where she can't get lost and always find someone to snuggle with. Still affectionate, she is slowing down which worries me. Her hips are arthritic to the point that she her hind end falls over once in a while. We want to get her into our house and see how she does there when the stress of this move is over and she's in her permanent home. But we'll see. I'm worried and don't know if she'll make it to Christmas. I don't want her to suffer. So, we're all enjoying these moments. The littles argue over who gets to sleep with her and Tiara enjoys her quiet presence while she chats with friends on MSN. How she'll deal with Alex? I think she'll be ok. She's dealt with a lot of critters in her life and wold rather curl up on a bed than battle with another cat.

On Saturday our house will expand again, by another 4 paws, this time canine. We saw a puppy last Saturday that was adorable, but the situation was odd. We thought we were going to go see a little of puppies and had read about how to pick one. We were prepared to see the mother, watch the puppies play, then hold and play with our favorites. We arrived, were led inside the gate, then Esther went inside her home and brought out one darling white golden puppy and set her on the table. We didn't see the little, the mother, or where she slept. No choices. Just, here's the puppy. We all liked her ok, but didn't feel bonded with her. We wanted choices. So, this Saturday I'm driving to Barcelona (3.5 hours away) to see a breeder who has 3 puppies left for us to see and choose from. She's very nice, understands well what we want to do, and also guarantees the health of the puppy which the other breeder doesn't do. So, I think we'll come home with a puppy - a dog that Tiara's been wanting for years. At the top of her birthday and Christmas lists for, oh, probably the last 8 years or more.

Elise and Misha are kindred spirits. They've always taken to each other and remain both gentle and loyal. This afternoon I walked into the living room to find them resting together - quite a sweet pair.