Garden Notes, 6/17/11

Earlier this afternoon, I was sitting in the gazebo in the back garden, being entertained by a woodpecker hammering away on a locust tree a couple of yards up the street and by a houseful of baby wrens about twenty feet away from the gazebo.  When they’re awake, they keep up a constant chirping which turns into quite a clamor when their mom or dad comes by with food.  When I first went out to the gazebo, I was heckled by one of the parents, who eventually figured out I was not a threat. The parents remain very vigilant when they’re pestered by the cats that now call our garden home.  

Last December we lost our cat, Michael T.  Michael was a great garden cat.  He was no threat to the birds, or to our thriving woodchuck population either. We used to think MT and the chucks hung out, watching TV, drinking beers and sharing stories. And I was convinced that a bird could land on his head and he wouldn’t care. 

While he was a friend to most garden creatures, it was only on the very rarest of occasions that we’d see another cat hanging around.  Now that Michael’s gone, we have several. There’s a fluffy black and white one we’re pretty sure is Bubbles from next door. There’s a petite gray tiger (with a collar) who has a regular path she follows when she stops by, meandering through the garden closest to the house then down the shady walk leading to the rose garden, checking everything out along the way. 

We also have another larger (collarless) grey tiger, who stalks the area around the bird feeders, which is very troubling. There’s a Mutt and Jeff pair of white cats, liberally decorated with gray. The smaller one’s short haired and skittish; the larger one’s long-haired and grumpy, usually snarling at or actually fighting with his mini-me. And last, there’s a long-haired black cat; this one we also think might be a neighbor, as we’ve seen a similar one in the upstairs window next door.

My Sweet Baboo tells me that a garden needs a cat. I know it’s hard for him this year without Michael, who kept him company here for 14 summers. And I'm honestly trying to get comfortable with the idea of letting ours outside, free-range, instead of keeping them be in their kitty playpen.

But I think everyone would agree that having six that don’t belong to us is a bit much.

There were only four to greet us...

The day we have been expecting, but not looking forward to, has come. Today we lost our beloved Michael T, the King of Cats.

Affectionately known as Mikey or MT, Michael came into My Sweet Baboo’s life back in 1996, as a little gray and white long-haired puffball. He was originally our neighbor’s cat, but spent most of the time on this side of the property line. Neighbor Bob offered the cat to MSB, and the rest is history. A cat named Zoey went to the vet, but Michael T was the cat that came home – you can hide a lot under all that fur!

Over the years, MT established himself as the king of the house, and more importantly, king of the garden. There were always other cats around, but he was the Big Shot, his gorgeous gray fur and pure white mane demanding attention not only from people, but from the other cats as well. He wasn’t at all interested in birds or squirrels, but adored the flowers, shrubs, and all of the little hiding places he found in the garden, and we always said that for MT, a bad day outside was way better than a good day inside.

Earlier this year, while MSB was doing some weeding out back, MT was at his side, helping out. One of his favorite things was to lie down either on our hands, on the weeds we were trying to pull, or on top of new plants we had just put in… This time, MT stood up looking as if he was going to chase something, then jumped, let out a yelp, and fell to the ground. Making a long story short, after a night at the emergency animal hospital, it was determined that he had suffered a heart attack, he had fluid around his heart and lungs, and a blood clot had likely cost him use of his right hind leg. Worse, we were given a very discouraging prognosis of only three to four months.

Well, MT had other ideas. Loaded up on Plavix, enalapril, Lasix, and aspirin, he fought back slowly but surely. Within a couple of weeks, he had regained almost full use of his hind leg. With good weather every day and the garden starting to come into bloom, he began to thrive, returning almost to the Michael of old. He spent his days in his favorite spots, on a bench out back in an untamed part of the garden, or hiding under the euonymus, or on the bridge over the dry creek bed – we didn’t know for sure where he’d be, and we were pretty nervous at first when we couldn’t immediately find him, but he stayed close to home, came in every night, and was just a happy cat.

As summer turned into fall, and the weather started to turn, he continued to enjoy his time outside; the gazebo became his favorite spot, where he could sit and survey the garden from a cushioned lawn chair, out of the sun. He’d come to meet us at the car when we got home, and when we’d head inside the indoor cats would race to him, greeting him as if he were a conquering hero.

Even when it got colder, he wanted to go outside, he didn’t want to waste a single day of it. Once it got really cold and we had all the snow, he’d grudgingly spend the day inside with the other cats. Every day when we got home, there’d be the five of them waiting at the door, MT in the front of the pack. If it wasn’t too bad, he’d go out and sit on the front porch, or maybe head out into the driveway, getting his curly belly hairs damp with the snow, and then hurry back inside.

Today, when we came into the house, there were only four to greet us. MT had seemed fine last night and this morning, but he passed sometime during the day while we were at work.  I like to think he just figured that all this snow would take way too long to melt, and he couldn’t stand the thought of being inside that long.

Rest in peace, MT.

How I Spent My Fall Staycation

I've been on staycation this past week; you all know about staycations, right? A staycation is when you don't go anywhere on vacation, but instead stay home either to save money, to avoid the stress that's inevitably present when you're trying to plan and enjoy a relaxing trip out of town, or in my case to kill a hard-earned 40 hours of vacation. Here are some definitions; my personal favorite is #5, what's yours?

For my staycation, My Sweet Baboo went off to work every day, and I stayed home with the kids. Two of them (the brother and sister pair) were a bit under the weather -- Galway due to dental surgery, and My Angel the Fen because she had a horrible cold. Rightfully so, the two of them got quite a bit of attention, and of course the love must be shared with the other two as well...you can't talk to one cat without talking to all of them. And while I had lofty goals of getting some work done outside, and reading a couple of books, and getting summer and fall/winter clothes organized, and cleaning the porch, and doing something with the plastic storage containers that fall on our heads whenever we open that one cupboard door in the kitchen, and trying to sterilize some dust bunnies, and and and...I fell quite a bit short:

• the lawn is mowed (front and back)
• the garage is cleaned out (OK, that was a MAJOR accomplishment!)
• the brownies got made, as did a cake for someone in MSB's office
• several dust bunnies are now RIP
• I started one book, put it in the "why did I buy this?" pile, and started another
• the new printer is hooked up
• and I spent a great day with my Mom, which was the high point of the week (well, maybe second to getting the garage done...)

I also spent some time organizing the pictures I took on our September trip to the Adirondacks and Lake Champlain. This was one of our classic weekend trips, where we take eight hours to go three hours away, take tons of pictures, stop the car at the drop of a hat to pick up rocks for the garden, and eat someone else's cooking. MSB did the math for me and advised me that had I been using my Minolta instead of the Canon digital, I would have used 28 rolls of film... in four days. Clearly, I have issues.

And I also have only today to finish up the things on my list...and get the last of the bulbs planted, and make some roasted pumpkin soup, and finish the laundry, and...and...

Here's the first set of pictures, which include Ausable Chasm, the Westport area (where we stayed), one of the Lake Champlain lighthouses, and some 'end of season' shots that are typical of the towns on the Lake. Enjoy!

Cats of Character

When My Sweet Baboo and I first got together, we joined not only our stuff and our lives, but also our cats and their lives. At that time I had two, Jeckyll and Hyde, and he had five: Belleek, Molly, Bradley, Mom Kitty, and Michael T. Don't get nervous - it's a big house, and we had four litter boxes. Of the original family, the only one we still have is Michael T.

Michael (aka MT or Mikey) is a very big boy, a gray and white longhair, and the only one we have who's an indoor/outdoor cat. MSB insists that Mikey is "not full grow'd yet", even though he'll be thirteen this year and pretty much beyond any major growth spurt. He patrols the yard (and frankly the neighbors’ yards too) regularly, and we've been told by our mailman that MT is in fact an attack cat - apparently he can be a little vigorous in defense of his territory and has chased the mailman across the yard. As a kitten, he was called Zoey by his original owners, our former next-door neighbors. His first trip to the vet was an enlightening one, to say the least!


He’s not quite as fond of winter as he used to be, but loves to make us get up and let him out several times a night, even if he's only outside long enough to feel the wind in his whiskers and come right back in. He’s not very interested in birds, fortunately, as we have several feeders and birdhouses in the garden. A couple of nights ago, he brought a bat into the house – which MSB was able to get away from everyone and put back outside while it was still in one piece.

Next in line we have Galway Bay and Fenway Park- a brother and sister pair that our vet says bear a striking family resemblance. I'm not sure if she thinks that because they always go to the vet together, in the same carrier, or if they really do look alike to the trained eye. In reality, they look nothing alike. Galway's our 'black Irish' boy, a tuxedo cat, and Fenway -- well, put it this way. When she was little, the girl we adopted her from called her 'Messy Face', which I never thought was nice, but was true. She's a gray, white, and tan calico, but that's doesn't really do her justice. Galway's favorite place to be is on the back porch, sitting on the open step ladder looking at the birds. Fen - her favorite place is my right shoulder, with her head and front legs hanging down my back, purring up a storm. We had the names picked out before we found the cats, and I think we found the perfect pair. They'll turn four in May.

The last of the brood is StellaBella Valentine, an admittedly huge name for a tiny kitten we adopted when she was six weeks old to the day - and yes, her middle name is in honor of her birthday, February 14th. Stella's goal in life seems to be making as much noise as possible, announcing her presence every time she enters a room with a loud and long meow as if to say "here I am, did you miss me?" She'll continue meowing until she's acknowledged, which sometimes we'll put off until we can't stand it anymore, laughing all the while at her persistence. Her other noteworthy talent, if that’s what it’s called, is staring – intently staring – at things only she can see. We call this ‘lookiting’, after the Peanuts cartoon where Charlie Brown’s little sister was jumping rope or something and trying to get his attention by saying “Lookit, Charlie Brown, lookit, Charlie Brown” over and over until he finally yelled, “I’m lookiting!” That’s our StellaBella – she’s always lookiting at something.

Different in every way, they're each great kids and life would be very boring without them. Enjoy their photos!


Sue

Cats of Character