Tag: cats

Betty

~ Crystal Sands ~ Leave a comment

Day 358 of 365

I feel I cannot end my daily blogging mission without telling a story about Betty, one of our cats. Betty and her sister, Bella, kind of landed in our laps just a week after we lost our Great Pyrenees, Gus, to lymphoma. I say “landed in our laps” because we had thought about getting barn cats for our homestead for years to help with mice and rats. I posted on Facebook about needing to look into getting a barn cat when a friend told her friend, who had two semi-barn kittens in need of a home.

The woman told me they were sisters and that they were fantastic and that she was really hoping to find a home where they could stay together. She was worried about them being separated. So, of course, I was like, “I think we must do this.” Ron, somehow, agreed, but we both agreed that we needed them to live out of our garage because Sophie, our very old and sick kitty, was so old and so fragile–and we needed farm help.

I researched and talked to people about how to care for barn cats and made a plan to go pick up the kitties. I expected them to be running around outside, but it was a chilly day. They were inside, and Betty was curled up on a chair in front of a fire. I thought to myself, “How am I going to take this beautiful kitty, so happy and content by the fire, and tell her she has to be a barn kitty?”

When I was leaving with Betty, the woman, who was just fantastic, said “That one’s super sweet and snuggly. I’ll bet she’ll be in the house in no time.”

Immediately, I could see what she meant. We turned our garage into a kitten play land, complete with carpets, toys, crates, boxes, and everything else I could think of. The plan was to keep them in the garage until they got bigger. Plus, we read that barn kitties need plenty of time to see your home as home before you let them out into the world. The plan was one month.

Of course, during this month, Ron and I and our son spent so much time in the garage with these adorable babies. And Betty just snuggled and charmed all of us. When it had been one month, Ron and I were heading to the garage with the idea that we were going to let them outside for just a little bit that day. But just as I was about to open the door, Ron said, “Let’s just bring those babies inside with us,.”

I was on it!

The first day they were in the house, Betty was in heaven. She slept by the wood stove and was sweet to Sophie. She was such a sweet baby at first. Then, when she was comfortable in the house, she went wild. Just wild! One time, in the middle of the night, she jumped on my face and sliced my eye lid. For weeks, I was scared to go to sleep. She climbed a lot of curtains and walls but eventually settled down.

In the year and a half since Betty and Bella moved in, I have loved getting to know them. Betty is still the biggest charmer, though Bella has her moments. But Betty is extra special to me because she has the soul of an artist.

It started when she discovered the paint brushes when she was little. Every day, she would find a new paint brush and carry it around with her. I would pick them up, and she would get them again. I kept them in the basement, and we would wake up every morning to paint brushes throughout the house. She was carrying these up the stairs and through a small cat door. They seemed to bring her comfort. She still frequently brings paint brushes through the kitty door in the middle of the night. One morning, Ron said he found a giant ball of yard pushed just almost through the little kitty door, but it was stuck. I want to put a night camera in our house just to see what all Betty is up to.

We discovered Betty also really loves cello. She wants to sit right next to our son when he practices his cello, but our son doesn’t let her stay in the room because she climbs on him. So Betty gets kicked out of the music room during cello. She gets to stay sometimes for our son’s piano practice because she sits on top of the piano.

When I practice cello, I try to let her stay, but I ultimately have to kick her out as well because she wants to actually sit on the cello. She loves the vibrations.

My favorite is when she plays the piano herself. If my son forgets to close the door to the music room, she will be in there playing the piano. Oh, and she loves to watch us play chess. I think she may love that the most. She seems to be studying the board. She never jumps on the pieces. She just sits over the board and watches every move. One time, we decided to play made-up chess where we didn’t follow the rules, and I swear, Betty looked confused. I understand if you’re skeptical, and I’m not for sure she noticed the differences in the moves, but I think she may have.

Her love of the arts definitely leaves me with questions, but mostly, I am just thankful to have a kitty who loves the arts like I do. Betty will be two years old in August. I am hoping for a long and wonderful life with this amazing soul.

Bella

~ Crystal Sands ~ Leave a comment

Day 274 of 365

This is Betty in front and Bella in the back sitting on the table this morning. This is their glass of water. We have a deal that if we provide them with a water glass filled with fresh water, they will stay out of our water. It usually works. Betty is a charmer. She loves everybody. Bella is particular, and I can’t figure her out. All I can tell about her so far is that she has big mood swings and always looks surprised. And, recently, she’s been considering gracing me with time in my lap. We’ll see!

I was going to write a post about our hen, Schumann, and bumble foot, but I can’t write tonight. Bella, the kitty who never wants to sit in laps, is considering sitting in my lap. I must behave appropriately, else I will be rejected by Bella.

Betty is always in my lap, but Bella hasn’t decided about it. Tonight, she is close, and writing with a laptop in my lap is not conducive to winning over this beautiful kitty.

I will write about Schumann tomorrow. It’s a worthy story. Tonight, however, I must play my cards right with Bella.

Resolutions Part 1

~ Crystal Sands ~ 2 Comments

Day 237 of 365

Ron does not believe in making New Year’s resolutions, but I kind of do. I just make them really specific and something I want to work on anyway. I have three this year: One is to take cello lessons. Another is keep real records from my egg sales to see how much selling eggs helps with feed costs. I know we don’t make money, but the chickens provide for us in many ways. They are worth their weight in gold, but it would be good to know where we stand on the sales. I have a very unrealistic dream of having a real chicken farm one day.

The third is to finish crocheting a chunky blanket I started making four years ago. Four years ago! I cannot believe it is taking me so long, but I am slow. Plus, I decided it was going to be a giant blanket that we could all snuggle under. I was definitely too ambitious.

Still, I am about 2/3 of the way finished. It is my belief, if I really put my mind to it, I can finish this blanket this year. Plus, this blanket means the world to me. I saw one similar on Etsy for like $250, and I was convinced I could just make it myself. Of course, I spent $100 on yarn, and four years later, I still have no blanket. I would be so proud if I could make it though. I am a novice in terms of crochet. I would love to do more, but it seems important to finish this blanket before I move onto anything else.

Every year, I would work on it with Sophie’s “help.” She loved this blanket. Part of the reason I am so slow is because of her. She would get on part of it while I was crocheting and be so comfortable that I couldn’t make her move. So, instead of making progress, I would just sit and snuggle Sophie. Her fur is still in the wool of the yarn of this blanket.

Interestingly, it was this blanket that helped me win over our kitty, Bella, last night. Bella is shy and sensitive and wants to be pet but just can’t sit in your lap. Betty is a lover and a snuggler and is in our laps all the time, but Bella is more distant and reserved. In fact, I have a very hard time figuring out Bella. She is pictured first. That’s Sophie on the right.

Last night, I was working on the blanket, and I saw Bella was interested. She was lurking around, expressing interest in all that yarn. I started to call her name in the sweetest voice I could muster. I coaxed and coaxed–ever so gently–and it worked! Last night, Bella snuggled me for the first time since she was a baby! I felt so honored. It reminded me of how honored I felt when Sophie first decided to get into my lap and snuggle.

This morning, I found Bella sleeping on the blanket. She loves this blanket just like Sophie did. Maybe the blanket can help me win over Bella.

I am resolved to finish this blanket this year.

Requiem for a Queen

~ Crystal Sands ~ 13 Comments

Day 129 of 365

How does one honor a queen with words? If I could write music for her, I would. All I have are words. I am such a peasant, but I have had the good fortune of knowing a queen. And, over time, she became one of my dearest friends. 

I am allergic to cats, so I didn’t have a cat in my life until we adopted our kitty, Sophie, in 2011. I had always wanted one, and Ron, my husband, had always been a cat person. I think he missed having kitties around. I assessed my experiences with cat allergies, and I seemed to do better with cats with lighter fur and longer hair. One Friday night, we stopped by the Humane Society “just to see what they had,” in case they had a kitty with light fur or long hair. The had one single adoptable kitty in the whole place. 

It was there that I met a kitty so beautiful I almost couldn’t believe it. Her eyes were large and green and outlined in thick black lines. She looked regal. And, in her cage, she was snuggling a soft blanket. 

“Well, she likes soft stuff, just like I do,” I told Ron. 

But we had to do an allergy test. The worker at the Humane Society opened the cage, and I gave Sophie some good, long pets—only her name wasn’t Sophie at that time. It was “Ginger.” Sophie’s fur was long and black and white. Ginger didn’t seem right for her, but that’s what it said on the card on her cage.  

We went home that Friday night and waited for some potential allergic reaction. It never came. I thought about her all weekend, longed for her, panicked at the thought that someone might get to her first. That Monday was President’s Day, so I had to wait until Tuesday. I called as soon as they opened that morning, and after teaching that day, Ron picked me up from work and took me straight to the Humane Society.

After a short interview, that kitty was ours, and I was so thankful. Ron asked me what we should name her, and I knew immediately it was “Sophie.” Truly, Sophie seemed to accept and appreciate this name right away. 

Sadly, she did not accept or appreciate me right away. I didn’t know how to pet or hold–or not hold–a cat. I didn’t know how to read all of her communication. I didn’t know that the belly was a trap. She showed me her belly, just like a dog, but I was not supposed to scratch the belly. Ron, the cat person, offered instruction, and it helped. He adored Sophie too and was so great with cats, but he held back to let me try to bond with her. 

My allergies also flared up. I struggled to breathe sometimes, and my eyes were a constant mess. I started taking some over-the-counter allergy meds, and they helped in the immediate. Over time, I didn’t need them anymore. Interestingly, either due to the meds or due to my allergies, I completely lost my sense of smell in the first year we had Sophie. To this day, my sense of smell has never returned. It’s great for cleaning the chicken coop, but it’s a heartbreaker that I can’t smell fresh bread or vanilla or flowers. 

Still, it was worth it. Sophie and I began to figure each other out. We both had trust issues, it turned out. Sophie was three to five years old when we adopted her and had already had a rough life. She had been found on the streets, covered in fleas, and due to allergies, she had lost much of her fur on her back legs and all near her tail, which wasn’t quite all the way grown back when we first got her (it would later fill in beautifully). She held herself back from me, and I, a little bit scared of those claws, held myself back from her. 

But, oh my goodness, she was regal. She held herself in just this certain way, with such dignity, so reserved and sometimes in full judgement of your simple human brain. Ron, who had had quite a few cats in his life, said that Sophie was indeed royalty, that she was unique in his experience. What an honor to get to live with a queen. 

And she loved my fluffy robes I would wear in our Maine winters. We had this in common. We loved soft and fluffy, and we bonded over this. I would sit on the sofa and call for her. Over time, she got to the point where she just couldn’t help herself. She would sit in my lap, snuggled into my robe, and knead and purr. 

Sophie’s purr was magical. It was deep and soothing. In my life now, I have met many cats. I have yet to hear a purr as deep and powerful as Sophie’s. We healed each other. I gave her the adoration and soft robe she required, and she purred for me, healing my brokenness. 

I will never forget the first night I felt safe enough to put my face into her face. In the first year, if I got too close to her face, she would hiss at me, so I just gave up. But, late one night, after about three years together, Sophie came up behind me to get into my lap for a nightly snuggle in my robe. For some reason, on this night, I just felt this urge to try to connect more deeply with her. I slowly leaned my forehead into her forehead, and, miraculously, she leaned in right back. We held this position for minutes, just taking it in. It felt like we were both saying, “I trust you.” It was one of the most powerful experiences I have ever had with an animal–and I’ve had some amazing experiences.

When a queen lets you get that close to them, you feel honored. 

We went along, so well, for years. We became so close, such good friends. She ruled our household with grace, and she fell into this absolute trust of me. I could touch her feet, her ears, and even her belly somtimes. She was my kitty teacher. Through Sophie, I learned what all the tail movements meant, the howls, the yowls, and I learned that cats love to get involved with both crochet and quilting projects. I also learned about how kitties love to “help” with puzzles.

Then, about three years ago, she started losing weight. I took her to the vet, and after some tests, the vet told me Sophie probably did not have long. “Maybe a year,” he said. “Maybe.” 

But I gave her the thyroid medications every day. And when her kidneys started to fail from the side effects of the thyroid medication, I bought the special cat food and did all the tricks to get her to eat that special cat food. I fed her six to ten times a day every day. Then, in late 2020, in the middle of the pandemic, I found a lump on her throat. The vet told me it would be a risky surgery for her because of her overall health problems but that the lump was blocking her windpipe; there was no choice but to operate. 

In the weeks leading up to the surgery, Sophie was especially clingy to me. She slept on my head and was with me at every opportunity. The day she had the surgery, in December of 2020, I was a wreck. I knew she might die in surgery, but I prayed to the universe “just one more year,” I begged. 

Sophie lived, but after the surgery, she was changed. The surgery damaged her vocal cords, and she lost her purr. She wouldn’t snuggle me like she used to. For a while, I thought she was just holding a grudge against me for the surgery. She was a fantastic grudge holder. Unfortunately, it was no grudge. She would try to snuggle me, but snuggling me led to purring, and the purring disturbed her damaged vocal cords, and then she would cough, and then should leave. She was frustrated. I was heartbroken. 

Still, there were good parts of our new existence. We had a woodstove installed during the pandemic, and she loved that woodstove more than I can express. A woodstove warms your bones in the Maine winter like nothing else I have experienced, and Sophie appreciated this. She would sleep in front of the woodstove, under the woodstove, beside the woodstove, and behind the woodstove. When our new kitties, Betty and Bella, came, they wanted to be in Sophie’s spots beside the woodstove,  but the queen would not allow it. And she usually stayed near me throughout the day. And she would still involve herself in all quilting and crochet projects. 

Then, September came, and she took a turn. She got very sick. The vet said it was time to prepare for the end. He looked me in my eyes and was a little teary, and said, “You did well. She made it far longer than I thought she would. You did well.” Still, as I do, I tried to remain hopeful, and I didn’t really want to entertain the possibility of the end. I wanted her to at least make it to woodstove season. She loved it so. 

It was not to be. Today, we took Sophie for her last vet trip. At about 12:45 this afternoon, my Sophie, my queen, left me. As she went to sleep, I put my forehead to her forehead. I wanted her to remember that night—and me. 

We decided to bury her on our property—not next to Gus—he hated Sophie, I think because she was his competition for my heart. Ron dug a grave for her next to my Poe. Ron actually worked as a gravedigger with his grandfather when Ron was young, and he digs graves properly. When he was finished, he came to the house and told me and our son that it was time to bury her. I picked up her little box from the vet, and somehow, we naturally formed a funeral procession. Ron and I both noticed this formation. We walked, single file, in mourning, from one side of our property to the other. Somehow, it seemed proper for Sophie to have a formal procession. 

Now, I get to figure out how to get on with my life without her. Because she had so many health struggles the last few years, my life is going to be so much easier. I will no longer have to feed her ten times a day or pick her up to her special spot for drinking from the sink every time I turn around. There are no more meds, no more helping her fight the mats in her beautiful, long fur that came at the end, as she got too sick to care for herself.

But I have lost one of the most magnificent beings I have ever known. I would give just about anything to be able to serve her again. 

Pet Love in the Time of COVID

~ Crystal Sands ~ 3 Comments

Last week, my cat had to have surgery. She’s an older cat and the only cat I have ever had. I have cat allergies, but when I met Sophie at the Bangor Humane Society one Friday night, I decided I really couldn’t live without her. I had to test my allergies to her first though. I petted her, rubbed my face, and went home to see what the reaction would be. There was some reaction, but it wasn’t too bad. I could certainly handle some itchy eyes and sneezing in order to have my very first cat. The power of love, I suppose.

The Humane Society wouldn’t be open again until Monday, so even though my allergy test was necessary, I worried all weekend that someone else would adopt my cat before I could get there. No one did. Sophie came home with me.

Sophie had a hard-luck story. She had been found on the streets of Bangor, Maine in January, with little fur and near death. When I met her, she still didn’t have all of her fur grown in, but she was already the most beautiful cat I had ever seen. Sophie has gorgeous green eyes and the cutest pink nose in the history of the world.

Of course, after such a rough go in life, it would be a long time before Sophie would trust me. Interestingly, having never had a cat, I was unsure about her as well. I never knew when I might do the wrong thing and get a warning bite. Her teeth were scary to me, as was her unpredictability. I was a long way from dog country–a country I had lived in all of my life.

I did learn pretty quickly to never pet the belly, though she would stretch and display the belly as if she surely wanted me to pet it.

But I will never forget the first night we touched noses, and I put my nose next to that perfect pink nose as she leaned into to my face. We were best friends after that. She was my cat, and I was her human. It was like we were announcing to each other that we trusted each other, and it was as if we knew we were put on this Earth for each other.

That powerful night occurred after having her for three years;  it was over five years ago now. During this time, I have fallen deeply in love with the magnificence that is a cat.

Unfortunately, as Sophie has aged, health problems have emerged—thyroid and kidney issues. I thought we were going to lose her in May, but she pulled through. Our vet seems amazed at Sophie’s strength, but he doesn’t know her back story. Sophie is tough.

I was still very nervous about her surgery last week to remove part of her thyroid. Thankfully, our vet called after the surgery and said Sophie had made it through but that she would need to stay until 5:00 PM for more tests in the afternoon.

It’s December in Maine, so it gets dark very early. When I arrived at the vet’s office to pick her up, it was completely dark and had been raining pretty steadily, but I could see the parking lot was packed with people waiting in their cars.

I was arriving when everyone else was arriving to pick up their pets after a day of surgery. I managed to find a parking spot. I called into the office, as there are no in-person visits right now due to COVID, and then I waited.

And it was while I was waiting in the parking lot that night that I witnessed the most beautiful thing in the world—love.

One by one, I could see veterinarians or vet techs bring dogs outside on leashes or small dogs or cats outside in crates and then start searching for the right cars, the right owners. And, one by one, I saw people jumping out of their cars with arms spread wide open, clearly so joyous to see their animals. And the best part was watching the animals.

The ones I could see, the dogs on their leads, were just as joyous—even more so. With ears down, tails wagging, bodies wiggling, I could see they were saying, “oh thank goodness you’re back” or “I’ve missed you so,” or “I’m so glad I get to go home” or maybe even “there, there’s my human.” It was so beautiful, so beautiful to see this much love between humans and animals.

I thought about the tough times we have all had due to COVID. While I have known people who have died from COVID, it has not touched my family directly. Still, we self isolate, and the isolation is wearing. I thought about how close I have become to my animals during all of this. My dogs (we share our home with two Great Pyrenees) have become more than my family; they are my only friends I get to see.

My Sophie has also become even more dear to me. She wakes me up each morning at the same time, and I feed her and say hello before heading out to care for the chickens and ducks. And since I rarely leave the house, Sophie is near me almost all day every day of my life.

I realized that this must be the case for so many people. And, for so many animals who love their humans to the moon and back, COVID has been a blessing for them. Their humans stay home.

I wonder how universal this powerful and growing bond really is. I felt like I could see it last Tuesday night sitting outside the vet’s office. I am sure this must be common, and I hope, even when we have a vaccine and can return to more “normal” lives, that we will always have this extra special bond with our animals. After all, they will have been through a pandemic with us.

Sophie was the last one out of the office. After a bit, I did start to worry some, but, finally, I saw the vet and vet tech come out of the front door with Sophie’s crate. And I, like the other humans before me, jumped out of my car in my joy and started calling her name as she came closer.

She was definitely a little worse for wear, but my kitty was going to come home with me and be with me a little longer. And Sophie’s drunken purr told me she was happy to see me too. My amazing vet had given me the greatest gift—more time with my kitty.

Because she is my cat, and I am her human.

Outside my vet’s office there is a sign someone made and left anonymously at the front office door at the start of this pandemic. The sign reads “Heroes work here.”

As I watched all that love pouring out in those reunions that night during surgery pick up, I thought to myself, “they most certainly do.”