Took the ten babies and Google to adoption days today and found a possible home for Google and for Rosco. Will call the vet on Monday to see if he will neuter Rosco (who is only two pounds right now) before placing him in the home. He doesn’t like to neuter them that little, but he will. There was a recent study where they followed 200 kittens neutered at this early age and they found the kittens had less behavior issues, no separation anxiety, and didn’t spray when neutered that small. It was a successful but exhausting day and I am still trying to regroup from being with my parents recently. Will write more later when I get my feet back under me.

Slowly, they come from where they have been lurking since I have been gone. The first to appear was Tover, my two year old black kitty. Tover’s mission in life is to make it extremely difficult for mom to get on the computer at any time! I hadn’t seen him since I hit the front door, and last night as I typed, I thought I heard him in the room. But he is a black kitty and most of the main lights were off. I didn’t see him.

Suddenly, there he was larger than life in my lap. He head-bumped my chin and looked up at me as if to say: “Where have you been?” Bending my head, I kissed the top of his. He crawled up my chest and lay with his head on my shoulder. Of course, it was my right shoulder as I am right-handed. He always likes to make things difficult! He sensed something amiss and settled in my lap for a snooze.

Next to appear was India. She too is black. She is shy until you pet her and then her shyness abates. She couldn’t get enough pets from me.

I have not seen anyone else approaching me. I understand they are unsettled because even though Mike lives in the same house, they don’t have interaction with him much beyond the living room and hallway. It is difficult for him to get around except in the chair.

They know I am home. My voice carries down the tunnels and they are figuring out that familar routines are just around the corner. It will take time as I have never left them for this long. I don’t really believe that cats get angry with their owners when they leave. I think it is more of a settlement issue. They are set into a routine and it is disrupted. It causes confusion and sometimes even unexpected aggression. But, when the owner returns- things settle down once again to the status quo.

Yesterday, I received 65 bags or dry cat food and 65 bags of kitty litter! Knowing the delivery was on its way, I had to go to the shed outside and rearrange the contents so the food and litter would fit. The delivery is a blessing as things are tight as always.

I am glad to be home but for the first day, it seemed strange not to have Mother yelling at me! LOL Why is it that when we visit our parents, we turn into 2 year olds in their eyes? I know she is stressed and scared but my older sister is there for her now. Gwen has always been her rock. I have always been her crying towel. I’m exhausted beyond belief and my energy comes back when I am in the bedroom and 10 kittens come scampering up to say “Good Morning Mom- here we are! Aren’t we handsome? All is right with the world because we are in it!”

The diagnosis is in- Daddy has Leukemia.

Within the circle of grass, Georgy lay quite still. The long blades had been pressed down into a ring near her. At first, I thought maybe the fairies had visited her during the night making her bed bigger. But when I said her name and she didn’t stir. I knew something was wrong.

Although she was lying in the sun, napping was not her intention. Her eyes were open and staring and her breathing, frantic and irregular. At the time of this discovery, I was to little to understand about the importance of resperation, heart beat and vital signs in cats. All I knew was that my friend was in trouble and there was only one person I knew who could save her.

Georgy (her real name was Georgia) was a very large, orange and white cat when I was growing up in Southern California. She was one of many strays that seemed to find us, or that my Dad found on his way home. He worked for the postal service and walked to and from work every day.

I used to pick this cat up, (who was bigger than me) and lug her around like a doll. Holding her by her front legs, I would heave her up my chest. Her front legs would curl around my tiny arms. Her long lean body dangling down my chest and legs meant her back paws were scrapping the ground when I walked. She would lean into my chest when I walked and allow me to carry her in such an undignified fashion. She never complained, or bit or scratched. We were friends.

When I saw her lying there, I knew something was wrong. My bare feet slipped in the wet grass as I ran screaming into the house; “Daddy…Daddy… come quick! There’s something wrong with Georgy!”

Daddy captured me in the hallway and scooped me up into his strong arms and hugged me. The familar smell of aftershave and Old Spice calmed me down. I hugged his neck and whimpered “Something’s wrong with Georgy.” He said “Show me.” Lowering me to the ground he allowed me to take his hand and pull him impatiently out to the yard. I stopped and pointed “There, see there?”

He sat down next to her, picked her up carefully and laid her on his lap. His fingers began to gently explore, prodding and searching her whole body. This once energetic orange girl lay quite still under his fingers barely stirring. I sat nearby watching the two of them.
He didn’t feel anything out of the ordinary with his fingers, and as I watched, he placed the palms of his hands down into the grass and pressed his hands firmly in the ground. Then he took the palm of his hand and passed it slowly over her body right above her fur touching neither her skin nor her fur. He told me he was looking for a “hot spot” a place where heat would rise to his palm and then hopefully be able to find the “problem.” Georgy lay quite still letting him do his “cat scan.” When he got to her tail-head, he stopped. He had felt something. He located a bite that was just starting to fester. Picking her up, he carried her inside and I followed.

He cared for her for a week with me by his side. Back in those days vets weren’t a necessity. Spaying and Neutering were words barely heard. Daddy had been a Corpsman in the Navy for thirty years. His medical knowledge was admirable. He used all his tricks and soon Georgia got better romping in the grasses, chasing butterflies and stalking bees.

This memory came flooding back to me two days ago, when I laid Daddy’s latest rescued cat “Calico” near his side at the convalescent hospital. Daddy, admitted to the rehab center only a few days after a bad fall was unrecognizable to me. I had seen him a month prior. He was ambulatory at that visit, a bit frail looking but held no resemblance to the emaciated man reaching out now for this dilute calico kitty he dearly loved.

His once muscular arms that had scooped me up so many times in my life were now shriveled and dry, resembling toothpicks Although speaking is difficult for him now, he said her name, welcoming her.

Calico stopped mewing and pacing. She calmly walked out of the carrier and lay under his arm. Daddy’s smile spreading across his face as he stroked her soft fur was angelic. They laid together, both finding peace again. As I watched this unfold, I knew that when she returned back to where Calico calls home, she will no longer vanish from sight outside, meow constantly att the window or pace the house searching.

No more banging the blinds by the sunroom in the morning looking in vain for the man who rescued her long ago when neighbors would chase her with brooms or hoses out of their yard when she showed up looking for food.

Within the circle of stray cats that Dad has rescued over his lifetime, Calico’s life holds a special, bittersweet distinction; she is his last.