Introducing MANGO

 My New Toy Boy: 

 

 Some of my good friends will say it was inevitable. The more practically inclined may shake their head, ‘At her age, she’s nuts.’ But I hope all will be as delighted for me as I and Lilliput are. The latter’s reaction is still ambiguous – though she seemed to miss our Big Boy Tinker, and has even taken up his nightly caterwauling.

The history of this new fur ball is that I had been feeding his mother Abby over the last two winters. Her 2019 March litter of five, alas, is now two one-year olds. 

Nature’s way also reduced the 2020 March litter of four down to three. Two blondes, one pure black kitten. Because of our ‘situation,’ the nearby timeshare complex was completely deserted except for the occasional maintenance and landscape guys. And there was I, faithfully traipsing across our road serving breakfast and dinner.

Abby had periodically moved her kittens around, down one hill, across the drive under this deck and that, behind yet another three-story building. But always, she would lead me to them. It was idyllic – until Wyndham Timeshares opened up for the American Independence Day celebrations. Off and on, I enlisted the goodwill of occasional visitors and cleaning crew at least not to discard my dishes (some still were).

Over the Fourth holiday, I had to hide the bowls below some rock ledges (clambering was involved), as people, cars and boat trailers rattled about.

Before this commotion, the kittens were so used to their gravy train, I could touch and comb them. With our woods all around, it was amazing: Not one flea or tick – except for ‘beggar’s lice’ (those pesky seed pods that latch onto one’s pants).

Anyway, on July 2nd (Mango’s Gotsha Day), I popped him into my bag having already prepared the guest bathroom to get him acclimated. As soon as I put the bag down at home, he pushed the zipper open. So much for a well-laid plan.

From day one, this feral kitten used the litter box (oh, lucky break) and quickly preferred sleeping on my bed rather than the ample choices of cat beds. This, of course, entails the predictable early (early!) kitten-romp and toe gnawing (mine, not his).

I must remember to look down when walking as he tends to be underfoot.

My old Lilliput sleeps a lot these days. She keeps eating less and less and I sadly sense her decline. I stroke her gently often to let her know I love her. For a few minutes, I try to make her play with a cord but she lazily lies down rocking back and forth. (Can’t fault her. I did the same at the gym and called it exercise.) She has always been such a good no-fuss girl, over the last 15 years putting up with the more playful characters of NickNack, Pasha and Tinker (I remember them all so fondly).

Now, there is MANGO! 

And, no, he's not a toy; 

but hopefully a boy - vet to confirm - to be another long-lived fuzzy sweetie. 

(Such is the excitement in my life these days. But as I sigh, I smile.) 

           

R.I.P. TINKER

This sweet cat joined my household in September 2018, late in life (his and, alas, mine too). Despite several vet visits including teeth extractions, the dreaded renal disease caught up with him in May of 2020.
Despite her aloofness, Lilliput - now over fifteen herself - misses him. I know, because she has taken up his habit of yowling in the middle of the night.

I miss him too, but am glad I could give him care and love for the last two years of his life.

RIP, sweet boy.

#NameYourCarDay

PETUNIA

Today, I celebrate another “pet.” My Petunia. She is a 1991 Volvo 240DL - and presently ailing. Nothing gets me more frazzled than when this darling has a seizure. I love her; built like a tank. (What do they say about owners resembling their pets—it better not be true about cars). It is also a good thing I am no longer young and foolish. She is the only fire-engine red Volvo in town. Everyone knows her; hence they always know where I am (no dilly-dallying for me).

Monday night, I parked in my garage as usual, then got up bright and early Tuesday morning, ready to drive to the gym—to walk. Couldn’t shift out of “park.” None of the “Googled” solutions worked. Good thing my mechanic makes house calls—even though, in Arkansas, “right away” means “not quite right away - but soon.” (If you are lucky.) He finally got it so that I could drive it to his shop, parking it in “neutral.” (Yes, guys, I did set the handbrake.) I am now marooned for a few days awaiting a new shift lever.

Of course, I could always WALK the two miles to the gym to go and walk my usual two miles there...

Never EVER Say “Never”

     Why? Because you’ll be eating crow; or, in my case, fur.

     A while back, I posted just such an article (slightly snooty about my friends caving in by adopting another Corgy after they had said “enough, no more”).   Well, this time, the joke’s on me – but what a lovely thing having to admit.

     After Pasha passed so suddenly Over The Rainbow Bridge, I did indeed say “After Lilliput goes, that’s it. No more cats.”
      But former neighbors of mine didn't put too much creed into my protestations. And so, one day when I invited them for a glass of wine, they brought - and left - their 8-year old cat with me. They knew he would be loved - and free to roam the house (once Lilliput allowed him to), without having to contend with a gaggle of dogs.
      So, there he was: TINKER. What a Face! They had rescued the kitten back in Texas as a stray and, of course, took it to the vet, having named it "Tinkerbell."
     When they requested the vet to spay her, he shook his head. "Can't do. However, I can neuter him." Hence, not only was this cuddly kitten ignobly snipped where prescribed, but so was its name.

INTRODUCING TINKER

    I think he might have a little Maine Coon in his checkered DNA; perhaps also Ragdoll. (The Coon-part is my opinion and I am sticking to it). Another mysterious part may just be "Howler-Monkey." 
    On the dot, every night at 3:00 AM, he emits very loud and demanding yowls. Some nights, I resists - for an hour. But it's no use. I have to get up and give him a scoop of "crunchies." 

     The side-effect for Lilliput is not good. She has already gained at least two pounds through these additional feedings. 

 Snoozing all day without much exercise also keeps the pounds on

While they are not bosom-buddies yet, 

at least they are comfortable with synchronized sleeping.

 And there you have it: "Never say Never." 

I did, failed miserably - and am glad of it.

  

R.I.P. Sweet Pasha

Thursday, October 27, 2016 - 4:25 PM

Best Ever Cuddler,

Joy-Giver,

Kitten-Sitter,

Big Brother to Lilliput.

Out of the blue, Pasha cried as if in great in distress. I found him lying on the floor spread-eagle, panting frantically, his pupils dilated. When I picked him up he hung in my arms limp. When I put him down gently, he could not stand. I immediately called my vet and tore down the winding hill at top speed.

The vet took one look at him, then at me; she said that I needed to sit down. Pasha had developed a fatal blood clot and was in great pain as his blood was pooling in his hind quarters (Saddle Thrombus).

I sat with him as he went to sleep.

Thank you, sweetest of cats,

for the years of pure joy you brought me
(except, of course, when you bit me - but we know whose fault that was).

Lilliput already misses him - it's no fun having the pillow all to herself.

A Pirate and A Pony

What does a pirate have in common with a pony? 
They both inhabit Author Helen Hollick's newest Sea Witch adventure,
though only one of them lives on her Devon farm.
Alas, it isn't Jesamiah Acorne. That may be a good thing since this Exmoor Pony is described as "rather stubborn."

(Well, those of us who have made Jesamiah's acquaintance perhaps deducted the same thing about him - only in times of stress, of course.)

 You can read more about Helen's horses, ducks and Wonky Donk here:

https://leaningonthegate.blogspot.co.uk/

Helen's fifth book in the Sea Witch Series is available for Pre-Order now.

ON THE ACCOUNT
will set sail for purchase on July 7th

US:  http://tinyurl.com/z4vnt64    $5.99

UK: http://tinyurl.com/zff2reo £3.99

Read my Interview with Jesamiah Acorne on my other blog:

http://devilwinds.blogspot.com/

Meet a Jaguar

  This big cat is as deceptive and dangerous

 as the man who sits behind the wheel.

Read on my other blog, 
how Edward,
my oh so charming bad boy,
fits into the

Legends of the Winged Scarab series

http://devilwinds.blogspot.com/

(Of course, he does not appear in KHAMSIN -
that would make him way too old to still be charming the ladies the way he does with elan and impunity)

You can Download

Edward, Con Extraordinaire,

from Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B009BQZ1JY

Never Say Never

 ...because at the end of the rainbow bridge, there could be another little soul waiting just for you.

When I volunteered at the shelter, how often did I hear, "When this one is gone, that's it. No more pets."

When my friends told me about losing their beloved Corgi Tessa (right after having lost two of their other aged dogs), I couldn't blame them for feeling just that.

Well, yesterday, I heard that "Charlie" had come all the way from Texas up to North Central Arkansas via a couple of volunteer animal transporters.

"We found him on the Internet through a Corgi Rescue Group," my friends beamed. Hm, how come they were sniffing around on the Internet for corgies?

It turned out they had spied Charlie just in the nick of time, as the young dog had been scheduled to be "sent over the Rainbow Bridge" (via lethal injection) the very next day.

Cardigan Corgi Charlie, 

ready to be catered to and spoiled 

with home-cooking from his 

new daddy's own Recipes

(available from Amazon -
the recipe book, not Charlie. No way!).

               

         Dog Food Recipes by Rupert C. Robertson III

                                                                   Never say Never!









And don't fret. 
There is one for you Fussy Felines too:








http://www.amazon.com/Food-Recipes-Cats-Health-Problems

They Waited for Spring

This week, three friends had to tell me they lost their four-legged, much loved pets. Why suddenly now, I wondered. Then I realized: They all had waited for spring for them to cross over the Rainbow Bridge.

Squeaky, born and raised in Egypt before moving to the US, surely is an

"Old Soul."

I know they will always be fondly remembered, just as I often think of my first Himalayan, Bombo (who flew all alone from Denver to Boston at eight weeks old--and then joined me via American Airlines six months after I had moved to San Diego. At that time, he was nine years old and lived in all that sunshine until he was eighteen).

One day, I scooped a little starving tuxedo urchin off the rocks at the Redondo Beach Pier while visiting a friend.

I named her "Samantha (Sammy for short),"

because her fur was like black velvet ("Samt" in German).

My San Diego Himalayan, Tiffany, was seemingly glad to get a friend after Bombo had passed away.

Lastly, after driving with an already ailing seventeen-year old Tiffany all the way to Arkansas, rescued Turkish Van "NickNack" eased Tiffy's loss the very day after I played "It's Time to Say Goodbye" to Tiffy (bad idea actually, just prior to the final appointment with the vet - because it'll make you late due to a severe crying fit).

And so, as they pass through our lives, they stay in our hearts.

My poem, excerpted from "Memories of the Heart," is to remember all these loyal companions:

                A Last Wish

Spring, you joyous youthful knave,

touch me, smile at me, lend me your strength

to brace myself, and to be brave

against the icy winter’s length.

Spring, don’t waste the time, come quick, I pray.

I want to greet you just once more

before my breaking spirit goes its way

to pass eternity’s awaiting door.

Spring, I waited. Hoped so much to catch,

through my slowly closing, tired lid,

your first triumphant thawing patch

to tell me that you’d come.

            And Spring just did ...

Death by Toilet Tank

 When you get to a certain age – and live alone – invariably you ponder 'how will they find me one day.’ While I certainly hope it won’t be half-eaten by my two cats (being a writing hermit, nobody might miss me for weeks), the following scenario had not entered even my inventive mind.

Every couple of years, I look into my toilet tanks. Not just for something better to do, mind you, but to check on the bolts. Even though they are made of brass, they seem to disintegrate into mushy blobs after a while. It was time to change them.

Trip #1 to the hardware store. It may have been my accent, or the clerk’s perception...but I came home with bolts that (I found out after the tank leaked like a sieve) anchor the toilet to the floor! No wing-nuts, no rubber washers.                     

Wrong

Trip #2: Getting the right bolts – and while I was at it, also the big new seal between the tank and the toilet.

So, where does death come into all this, you ask?

Getting the old disintegrated bolts off, I forgot the nut between the tank and the toilet top – and used pliers on the bolt thread, naturally flattening it. Then, once I discovered the nut, no matter how I tried, I couldn’t get it off over the mangled threads.

Hacksaw! After thirty years of use, it took a while. I straddled the closed toilet seat, sawing away until my tongue hung out of my mouth.

Not only was the toilet seat slick, so was the seat of my pants. As I slid backwards, I didn’t want to rip the tank off by holding on to it. Within a split second, I was ignobly deposited onto my tailbone. As if that wasn’t embarrassing enough, my head whipped back and hit the tile floor rather hard.


Damn, I thought, that’s all I need. Being found on the bathroom floor with an old hacksaw in my hand ...

gnawed over by Pasha and Lilliput.
Not the scenario I had envisioned which often included lying in bed, a blissful smile on my lips, sexy nightgown on a recently-toned body (darn, I missed gym again this morning).

To add insult to injury, it took days of on-and-off tweaking the leak from the intake valve (that had never leaked before), and the flapper that also had not leaked before.

Trip #3: Bought new flapper – didn’t fit; leaked.

Trip #4: Another flapper. It fit, but still leaks, just less.

Apparently, Oprah has fixed a leaky toilet or two in her time.

Still, I think, I’ll wait a while before I tackle the perfectly functioning toilet in my guest bathroom...

Or, I might just call the plumber.



PS - The kitchen faucet has been dripping for a while - and I just happen to have a little repair kit handy...don't worry, I'll be standing up for that one.