And now, the hard part, part II

We are currently fostering some mothers with nursing kittens. One of the kittens, a tiny orange tabby named Holly, was rejected by the mothers, and by the time she came to us, she was skeletal. Brian and I did what we could, giving her formula with a syringe, which she lapped up eagerly. Within a day, she recognized us as food-bringers, and would run to us when we came in the room. If we didn't feed her right away, and had to leave the room (such as, refilling the water dish in the room), she would sit at the door and give a tiny mew.

Mother cats often reject a kitten because they know something is wrong, even if we can't tell. When Brian and I went in for her 6pm feeding, she was on her side, listless, with agonal breathing. Not long after, she passed, cradled in his hands. She was such a tiny baby, weighing only half a pound, and adorably sweet. Lots of "ifs" go through my mind, including wondering if we'd have been able to do better if she'd come to us sooner, but I don't think so. I am reflecting on her short life, and thinking of the good we did for her, while she was with us.

If we'd never fostered Holly at all...

...she would never have known a moment's peace from the fleas that covered her body in angry, red bites. She instead had nearly a week of flea-free living, enough for her skin to heal, and for the painful bites to cease.

...her last days would have been with an empty belly. Instead, she was fed to satiation by humans to whom she was so grateful, she came running to them whenever they came into the room.

...she wouldn't have been cuddled and stroked in her last days, because her mother didn't want her. Instead, she was held and cuddled by the humans who filled her belly.

...she would likely have died alone. Instead, she passed in the gentle hands of a human man who loved her dearly.

...she would have died nameless. Instead, she was carefully named with great love and consideration, and there are stories to be told of her short life with us.

...there would have been no one to remember her with love, and give her a shady resting place after her body failed her. Instead, she is immortalized in my foster diary, and she has a grave which will have a namesake bush planted in her honor. She is also near another kitty's resting place, so she is not alone (Teya, we miss you).

My sweet love

I have been very busy of late. Last week was spent preparing for a surprise birthday party for the love of my life. It went perfectly, and he was quite happy. I wanted to talk about how much I love him, because I don't say it enough.

Brian works from 10am til 2am with a two hour break inbetween.

When he comes home, I like to watch him sleep, because he is so beautiful, and I like to look at him. I don't see him very much anymore, so every moment I get to be in his presence is precious to me. I don't want to sleep through those moments. I kept him up a bit late last night, first by having him help me clean Graycie's ears, then by making love to him, so I let him get to sleep right away tonight (he took a few minutes before going to bed to say hi to Graycie. She loves him).

I love to see him sleeping, so peaceful and lovely. His face is just so endearing to me, and I love cuddling up to him, sliding my hands over his smooth skin, feeling his muscles, stroking the little patches of body hair. I especially love the patch right below his navel; his body hair is very fine and smooth. He also has a patch right on his sacrum that I enjoy petting. Of course, I also play with his long, lovely head of hair, stroking it back from his face and clutching a lock of it while I press myself against him.

He's so warm and smooth and soft, and he smells so good. He doesn't understand that part; he isn't very big on smells, but his natural scent is intoxicating to me. I've never been able to date someone who didn't "smell" right to me, even if they were perfect in every other way. I also love to nuzzle my cats, enjoying their individual scents. Aakhu smells like a dry, dust summer breeze. Dom smells kind of like a fresh bandaid out of the package. Ptera, oddly enough, has a sweet vanilla odor--one that even Brian was able to detect.

Nuzzling Brian's back, neck, shoulders, chest...the scent of him just makes me want to eat him up. I have to restrain myself from nibbling on him when he needs to sleep; I want my sweetie to be rested enough to work safely, although I do want him to know how much I love him, and how much he turns me on.

And his sweet sleeping face, so guileless and relaxed. I adore his face, the strong nose, his full, well-defined lips, the high cheekbones, the naturally arched eyebrows, and, most of all, the beautiful smile. The smile is the first thing I noticed about him, so sweet, charming, and friendly. It reflects his kind, gentle heart. If I kiss his cheek, forehead, or, best of all, that little birthmark on his temple, he smiles in his sleep. That gives me a little thrill, a shiver that feels like it's deep in my body.

And then, there is his tendency to be surrounded by the feline family. His sleeping form is a cat magnet. They love him so very much; they see him as I do, as a gentle, tender soul who can be trusted not to cause harm. At the moment, little Ianto, just a troubled child of a cat, is pressed against Brian's hip, sprawled on his back, with a paw covering the face. Morgan is in her usual spot, tucked into the bend of his knees. Earlier, Dom was on Brian's pillow, a plush, purring hat, and sweet little Anya was snuggled against Brian's back. Ptera, at least, prefers me, and is frequently curled up in my arms, or under my blanket, pressed to my side. If she were here right now, she'd be in my lap, between me and the keyboard.

We all love him so much. His gentle touches, his harmonious voice, his snuggly body. He is so willing to cuddle and be cuddled. He is so unwilling to cause harm, purposely or inadvertently. He is always eager to use his hands to soothe aching muscles, give loving caresses, provide food and water and shelter to all of us. He is the most generous man I have ever known--generous with his material possessions, his body, his strength, and his feelings. I am the most fortunate person in the world to have chanced upon him; I could not ask for more, except to wish I'd met him sooner.

Another one back, after a month :(

Some of you might remember that Owl was returned to us after a month at his adoptive home. He's weird, but he's mostly doing okay here.

Clarence, who was Calvin's brother. was returned by his adoptive family because they said he was unfriendly, refusing to be held or cuddled by them. They said he would hardly even allow them to touch him. Over a month ago, Clarence and his sister Chloe came to us so we could work with them and help them overcome their fear of people. Chloe adapted very well, but Clarence was a tough little nut to crack. We got him to come to us and curl up on our laps, though, and he purred for us a great deal. So I was overjoyed when he was adopted to the same family as his sister--they love each other very much. Unfortunately for the kitties, the family returned only Clarence and kept Chloe.

We got Clarence home tonight, and we are still reeling from the damage done by this savage, feral monster. The third-degree burns on our laps from his warm little body curled up on them, and the shattering of our eardrums from his horrific purring--which also gave us severe bruising from the vibrations--all necessitated a visit to the ER. When I attempted to clip his very dangerous, pointy talons (because, such a vicious creature's scimitar-bladed paws could hardly be dismissed as having mere "claws"), Clarence's calm acceptance of our ministrations was so terrifying that we both fainted dead away.

Or, maybe, he spent the whole evening cuddled on our laps while we watched DVDs and read books, getting traded back and forth when one of us had to get up. He's not happy, but he was doing the best he could, I think.

On Brian's lap:


On my lap:


Meanwhile, you want to see a cat that hates me right now, my sweet, angelic little Ptera needed a bath tonight due to some litterbox clumsiness. She didn't utter a peep, but she broke free several times, sliding around on the bathroom floor and landing on her face. She also refused to make eye contact with me during and after. I look forward to being forgiven. She'd also climbed up on the bed prior to the bath, so we had to change the sheet. This all happened after we had retired for the evening, so that just made it all the more special. I did not do her the indignity of photographing her in her full drowned-rat glory, but I did snicker a bit between kisses and apologies while I dried her off.

Animal compassion

A few years back, there was a wonderful story about some elephants that very deliberately and cunningly freed some antelope that had been captured and penned up by humans. I won't rehash the whole thing, but the elephants waited until the humans were settling in for the night, circled the enclosure, and waited while the herd's matriarch figured out the latches on the gate. They waited until every antelope was out, then walked away.

There are many tales of elephants doing compassionate things like this. One story describes an elephant that was trained to place logs into holes for building a structure; the elephant balked at one point, and the mahout giving commands discovered that the elephant was avoiding harming a sleeping dog. There are plenty of stories of elephants being kind toward injured or helpless humans. They are also exceptionally compassionate toward one another, and become deeply grief-stricken when one of their herd dies, visiting the bones for years after the death.

They aren't perfect, of course. Elephants that have been treated badly by people sometimes snap and cause injury or death. They are fiercely protective of their young, and have no problem stomping someone who messes with a calf. Most cases of "killer" elephants that I have seen involve stressed out, abused, or sick animals, though--elephants treated respectfully are generally much kinder toward our species.

So why am I bringing up elephant altruism? The main reason today is that I want to point out that they make us look like savages. Yes, some of our kind help other species, some of us treat each other kindly, but there is a disturbingly high number of cruel people as well. When we spew hate at members of our own species over something as trivial as how fat they are (and that's just one example), I have to wonder why so many of us believe that humans are better or more important than species that display a greater level of compassion--not just toward their OWN kind, even, but toward other species, even ours!

But then, I remember that the elephants who don't behave this way are usually sick, abused, or protecting their young. The tremendous pressure our society puts on people to look and act a certain way can create insane amounts of stress. I can only explain some of the disturbing, hateful things said and done by fatophobes as the result of a mind that has been badly damaged by the cognitive dissonance that occurs when the messages being programmed into the populace's brains are at odds with what they perceive to be true.

Let me take a moment here to explain what I mean. For whatever reason, we are being endlessly told that food is a poison, that people eat because they are mentally ill, not because their bodies need fuel, and that death is right around the corner unless we lose 15 more pounds (and then it's fifteen more after that, and after that, too). What we perceive, however, is that "bad" foods aren't causing us to die, that we eat because we are actually hungry, that our bodies are run down and less functional when we don't eat enough, and that the never-ending demand that we becoming thinner and thinner can never resemble the reality of our bodies' autonomic management of our weight and metabolism. Some of us see the naked emperor and decide to live in reality. Those who have thoroughly bought into the myths, though, have too much invested in the fantasy of being thin, and thus cannot tolerate anything that rattles the foundation of their fantasy. They're stressed out, they're sick, and they react accordingly.

It's still no excuse.

An elephant that acts this way is frequently a prisoner of its abusers. Zoo and circus elephants snap and kill a keeper or trainer. People who have invested themselves in the fantasy of being thin, however, have a bit more choice. It's an uncomfortable choice, sure; it's hard to accept that the system that gives privilege to thin people is wrong. For thin people, they stand to lose all that they have acquired through that privilege. For others, they lose the (albeit misguided) hope that all they have to do is lose weight, and they will become a privileged member of society. They lose the idea that they have control over their status--or they lose an excuse for not developing themselves in other ways. I really do understand that it is hard, but come on already--it isn't doing you or anyone else any good. Try to be at least as good a person as the average elephant, would you?

Cranberry Sauce for Kitties!

I have been volunteering for a local cat rescue, Robin's Nest Rescued Cat Adoptions. I help staff adoption clinics and spay/neuter clinics, and I also foster cats. Every cat that is adopted from Robin's Nest is spayed or neutered, treated for fleas, de-wormed, and given a rabies vaccination (if they are over 3 pounds) and their initial distemper vaccinations.

All of this veterinary care takes money--money that is only partially covered by the very low adoption fee ($80.00). We rely on the kindness of others to help with the rest, including cats who need more than just basic care, cleaning supplies, and all kinds of things like that.

So, I'm pestering you, because we have a huge pile of donated Wild Thymes cranberry sauce to sell. It normally goes for $5.99 on the Wild Thymes website, but we are selling it $3/jar, or 2/$5.00. It is absolutely delicious, and I can provide local folks with a taste before they decide to buy. If you are not local, I have made purchasing easier via my Etsy shop:
http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?listing_id=10200927

If you're just interested in making a donation without purchasing anything, you can find a donation link on the Robin's Nest website:
http://nest.petfinder.org

Also, if you visit the "Cats for adoption" link on the site, you can see my current foster kitties, Salvador, Ansel, and Leonardo! They are fabulous boys, and I love them to bits.

Too little time

I grew up with an aunt who was only a couple of years older than I. We played together when we were young, but had different interests as teens. As we entered our twenties, I didn't spend a lot of time with her, but always admired her for having the emotional fortitude to work at the local humane society, a kill shelter that euthanized a large number of animals.

There was a day when I had kittens to vaccinate for distemper. The vet showed me how to do it, and gave me the pre-filled syringes. When it came to it, I had a hard time, so I boxed up the kittens and went to my aunt's house, where she did it for me. She told me that the vet had provided needles that were too large to easily and (for the kittens) comfortably give the shots, and that they were probably used to draw the shots, so were already dulled by at least two sticks. She quickly and skillfully injected them, and gave them some cuddles before sending me on my way.

The shelter valued her so much that, when their mascot, a sweet, adorable dog named Shannon, was retiring, she went to live with my aunt. Loving and working with animals has been the one main thing that we have in common, but I didn't spend nearly enough time talking to her about it.

And now, she has been diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor.

I've been trying to make up for lost time by sending her letters. I know that this is a difficult time for her; she is having chemotherapy and radiation to extend her time and give her greater function for what is left. So I write often, telling her about my foster kittens, my own cats, funny, happy stories to hopefully provide a few moments of distraction. I also express my admiration for her work with animals, something I should have done long ago. I don't expect replies; I would rather she use her time to be with her husband, and do the things she really wants to do, and have my letters just be something good and fun that arrive once or twice a week. I hope she looks forward to them, at least.

Whom have you written to lately that really needs to hear what you have to say? Do it while times are good, and you can enjoy each other fully.

Reading comprehension

Some of the more idiotic troll comments I've gotten have been along the lines of, "Good luck finding someone to be attracted to you!" and "Tell yourself it's okay to be fat, but you'll be alone your whole life unless you're thin!"

These comments just tell me that the people making them are not very bright. I've made no secret of the fact that I am quite happily married. I have not mentioned that we have sex, lots of it, with both parties thoroughly enjoying it. No, my being fat does not make it difficult for us to have sex. We do it like most other people, penis in vagina (not penis in a "fat fold" like fat hating idiots often claim). Sometimes he's on top. Sometimes I'm on top, and no, it doesn't suffocate him or hurt him; he often requests it, in fact. Yes, he does perform oral sex on me; he really enjoys doing it, and no, I am not unsanitary down there or anywhere else--I bathe just like thin people do. (Sorry you had to read this paragraph, mom)

I mean, really, people. Is that what this is about? Is it like homophobia, where people get all upset because their dirty little minds go right to imagining the BUTTSEX involved, and get mad at two men who are doing nothing but holding hands in public, just because the homophobes have overactive imaginations? You see a fat person, and you don't have enough of an understanding of the mechanics of sex to keep your little mind from running ridiculous scenarios of how they would be having sex? Or is it the fear that these people, whom you don't find attractive, are going to make you have sex with them? That a fat woman or a gay man won't be able to control themselves around your oh-so-thin-and-sexy body and rape you? There is an easy solution to this: Grow up and stop making everyone around you into sex objects, and stop acting like you are the center of the fucking universe. I swear, it is so fucking ridiculous to see people having a hissy fit when they aren't the object of desire of people they aren't actually interested in, yet getting equally offended when they are.

Oh, and, as for me being fat and lonely, I present to you Exhibit A:

Foster kitty news!

Our last foster, Isaac, was adopted on Thursday of last week. His new family is very nice, and I hope that everything works out for them. They had a few issues with him interacting badly with their other cats, but I think he just needs more time in isolation, with some smells transferred back and forth. I recommended this book by Nicholas Dodman, as he has some good methods for introducing cats who don't initially get along.

On Tuesday afternoon, SP from the rescue called me and asked me to pick up a cat that had been trapped as a stray. Ms. G., the elderly woman who trapped her, lives four blocks from my home, so I drove over right away and picked up a lovely calico whom Ms. G. had named Pretty Lady. Pretty Lady was out in the cold, and had been taking shelter on the woman's porch, where Ms. G. had put a blanket out for her. Having no cats of her own, this kindly lady had fed the kitty a can of tuna while waiting for a volunteer to come over. As I was leaving, Ms. G. told me that she might be interested in adopting Pretty Lady after she is vetted and spayed.

Pretty Lady was absolutely filthy; parts of her looked tan where they were actually originally white. I let her settle in for the night after giving her a nail trim, to which she only objected vocally. She tolerated the trim with grace, not even needing to be restrained. I was able to take each paw and gently clip the claws. Pretty Lady purred and nuzzled, enjoying the attention. She was deeply grateful for the food I gave her, and also seemed grateful for the shelter and warmth.

On Wednesday, I gave her a bath. She vocalized her displeasure, but was otherwise docile, just like when I trimmed her nails. She actually seemed more annoyed by the drying off (with a towel) than by the bath itself. It's amazing how having the water warm enough can make cats less upset about baths. The bathwater was seriously nasty when I was done, and she smelled a lot better.

I really miss giving Teya baths; before she passed away, Teya was not able to groom herself properly, so I gave her occasional baths. I made sure the water was very warm (cats have a higher body temperature, so if the water is not warm enough, it's as uncomfortable to them as taking a lukewarm bath is to us), and she actually seemed to feel good as the water warmed her limbs and body. After the bath, I would comb her thoroughly, toweling her off as I combed. Once dry, she was extremely happy and comforted by being clean again. She appreciated my grooming, and, between that and the brushing I frequently gave her, we bonded very closely. She was chilly to me when I first moved in, being a one-person cat, and that person being Brian, so it was absolutely gratifying to have her finally warm up to me.

So, onward to the photos of Pretty Lady. In the first one, you can see how filthy she is:




And post-bath:


Her delightful personality will make her very adoptable, I think, and I am looking forward to her finding a good home!

Migraine, Migraine, go away

I've spent the past few days on a migraine rollercoaster. The first one hit me on Tuesday evening. I took an Imitrex, which helped, but I felt fragile all of Wednesday, and Thursday, it blossomed into bright, agonizing pain again. I don't get the usual migraines; I get cluster headaches, which are worse (I've experienced both).

Thursday, my beautiful husband picked up some Imitrex samples from my doctor. I discovered that the samples are 100mg, while my prescription was for 25mg. The 100mg helped, and I basically melted into the bed, a puddle of "huh?" when spoken to. I didn't dare move. I slipped into sleep, and I apparently needed some major healing, because my body slept for a very long time while an electrical storm raged in my brain. I had bizarre dreams and several periods of waking with sleep paralysis still in place (I hate that SO much).

If I had health insurance, I'd probably ask for my brain to be scanned or something.

I awoke around 2pm today, still a bit fragile, but much, much better. I think that, if I'd had the higher dose on Tuesday, I would have nipped this thing in the bud. As it is, I had a great deal of myofascial pain while the storm raged.

Let me describe myofascial pain: I felt like I had a network of very fragile, brittle material, like blown glass, or ice, just beneath my skin, all over my body, limbs, and head. The material felt like it cracked and crunched when I moved certain parts, especially the helmet of it over my head. There is no actual material, just nerves giving bizarre and incorrect feedback to my brain.

So I had a really miserable time for one of my favorite holidays--I adore Valentine's Day. My sweet, wonderful husband was so kind to me--he brought me cupcakes from the bakery near his work, which has the very best cakes and frosting in the area (Cinnamon Stick in Clifton Park Center--trust me on this one, you'll never get a birthday cake anywhere else!). He also framed a small print of "The Ravishment of Psyche" by Bouguereau, one of my favorite paintings. I was delighted! I had managed to make him some homemade batter-dipped mozzarella sticks, which he and my roommate enjoyed very much. I was planning on making him a wonderful dinner, then having dessert (I got him some key lime pie) in the bedroom. That was ruined, and I feel really ripped off. Screw you, trigeminal nerve. Screw you, myofascial pain.

I hope others were able to enjoy Valentine's Day. I wouldn't wish my experience on anyone else!

Owl the foster kitten is back

Brian and I went to Petsmart to meet the woman who had adopted Owl so we could pick him up. I also had to get some items (kitten food for Ptera and Anya being a priority) and get the spay/neuter clinic binder from Sue, as I am doing the clinic on Valentine's Day morning--with someone who hasn't been trained yet, so I have to really know my stuff! Fortunately, Sharon was a great teacher when we worked together last month at the clinic, and I am confident that it can be done correctly and efficiently. The other experienced volunteer had to cancel, so I get this opportunity to teach someone. I love teaching!

So, we wait for Owl to arrive, and some absolutely gorgeous cats and kittens come in from their foster homes, including little Chloe, who is Calvin and Clarence's sister (they all look alike--little black kittens with some white coming out of their ears). There were also some adult cats that were already there whom I noticed were polydactyl! Several kittens showed up with polydactyly too, so I squee'd and melted over them. My little Ptera is polydactyl, which is how she got her name. Brian heard me say she was polydactyl, and, well, you can guess the rest. This is what happens when men are involved with naming cats. He wanted to call her fluffy sister "Brontosaurus", and I made him settle for Charlotte Bronte-saurus; Anya I'd wanted to name after the Buffy character, so I justified it as Anyankalosaurus (The character's full first name is Anyanka). Boys. They're ridiculous. At least we haven't named any of them after Transformers. Yet.

So Owl showed up, and was all hiss growl in the carrier. I unzipped it and pulled him out, and he nestled right into my arms and was a little trembly (it was kind of a madhouse at Petsmart today), but was obviously happy to be with me, and looked around curiously. I had Robin give me some ear mite treatment for him, because I looked in his little ears, and they're in bad shape, and we took him home. Amazingly, he seems to have doubled in size; he was small for his age, but has caught up, and is almost as big as Ptera now (and she's a big girl, eats lots, grows fast).

When I put him down, he ran upstairs, straight into the bedroom, and jumped on my bed, lying in his favorite spot there. He knew exactly where he was going, and he was absolutely relieved to be "home". He did jump down for a while, but eventually I hunted him down and took him to bed with me. I had a headache, so he sprawled out next to me, pressing his back against my chest, and we stayed that way for a while. I had a phone call from my aunt, and he was undisturbed for the entire 40 minutes we talked. She eventually took mercy on me and my vicious headache, and Owl and I napped together for a couple of hours before he eventually left me to go do cat things.

His adopters said that he would do nothing but crouch under a recliner and growl and hiss at them. The kitten that lay next to me today was very relaxed, happy, and completely without fear. He was also completely exhausted from his ordeal. He let me fondle his little paws, back and front, seeming to actually enjoy it. We have some cats here who hate it when their paws are touched (and Teya would get really mad at me), and a couple who enjoy it (Aakhu and Ptera). Owl didn't seem to care what I did to him at that point, as long as he could be safe and loved in a place that he felt comfortable.

He is a very special little boy, and I am going to be very picky about who adopts him. I had a lady call me earlier today with questions about him, and I asked her if she'd heard about his personality quirks, as I called them. I was very honest about his behavior, and that he needed to be worked with patiently and slowly. I don't want him getting treated like a yoyo--this experience was really hard on him, and I don't want to see him get adopted and returned repeatedly; it will break his brain.

So now he's running around, playing with the girls, and being cute and happy. I'm not sure what his future holds at this point (the foster coordinator asked if we wanted to keep him), but I will do everything in my power to make sure he has a good life.

Calvin has been adopted!

This is the shortest time I've ever had a foster!

A fellow volunteer called to ask if she could bring a friend by to meet Calvin. When I put him in her arms, he was Mr. Personality--curious, purring, and calm. He looked around at everything, including gazing up at her face. How could she resist? She decided right then and there to adopt him, so she and volunteer friend took him and his papers to the adoption center to get an application filled out and pay the fee (the adoption clinic runs from 6-8 tonight, which gave them time to do that, and it's less than 10 minutes from here).

I am really proud of how quickly he adjusted to human contact, going from feral to cuddler in very little time. He wasn't pissy like Owl was; once Calvin adjusted, he didn't growl or hiss at all, while Owl would growl and hiss every time we approached, then purr once we picked him up or touched him.

So, congratulations to Calvin on his new home, and I wish him a long, happy life! Hooray!

Calvin the foster kitten update

Calvin's confidence has grown by leaps and bounds. He is still not comfortable enough to approach us, but once we scoop him up, he purrs immediately and loudly! He loves to be cuddled, kissed, and carried around, and he is very playful.

When he first arrived, he would just glare at us; now he looks around with big, curious eyes. We closed the door to our bedroom and brought him in so I could enjoy his company comfortably, and he confidently wandered around on the bed, eventually jumping down to explore the room. He's very curious, and I think he's probably a smart little kitty.

He will be up on petfinder soon, so if anyone is interested, let me know!

Meet Calvin, our latest foster kitten!

Meet Calvin, a male kitten who is about 3 or 4 months old. Calvin was trapped and neutered by the SCRUFF (Spaying Capital Region’s Unowned Feral Felines) program, which clips the tip of the cats' ears to help distinguish altered animals from unaltered ones. Calvin stands a chance at life as an indoor pet if he can become comfortable with human contact, and that is where I come in.

Calvin and his two siblings, as it turns out, were trapped in our neighborhood, at the Bonfare, a small market within walking distance. After being altered, they came into the care of Robin's Nest. Since Owl had just been adopted, Robin thought it would be good to split up the three so that they would become habituated to people more readily. I was sent the least friendly kitten, while his more pliable sister and brother went to other foster homes.

Brian and I went to pick Calvin up during the adoption clinic at Petsmart on Monday night; the hours are typically 6-8 on weeknights, and we got there around 7pm. After chatting with the volunteers on duty that night, both of whom I'd worked with previously, and cuddling some of the adult cats up for adoption, we put our little guy into a pet carrier and drove him home (inconveniently forgetting the food that we were supposed to pick up as well, but that's another story).

That evening, I managed to trim his front nails without much trouble, but he slashed us pretty deeply with some agilely executed hind leg kicks before I was able to have Brian properly restrain him for trimming those as well. He seems to know that they're no longer deadly, so he hasn't attempted to maim us with those claws since. We talked to him gently, gave him some food and water, and left him alone for the night.

The next day, which is of course Tuesday (yesterday, as I write this), Brian and I went to see him separately in the morning. In the evening, after we'd returned from a trip to Albany, we went in together to interact with him. Since our foster room has also become our library (and a fine library it is, I must say), Brian and I were chatting about books while I gently stroked Calvin. He was sitting in the box pictured above, which had made Owl feel very secure because it was closed in on all but one side. I figured Calvin felt the same way, so I was trying to put him in the box while I petted him. Anyway, I was just gently stroking his side, and he went from giving me a death glare to repositioning himself into a comfortable, relaxed pose.

I felt a little thrill of progress, but did not react other than to keep my voice the same and told Brian what was going on in the box. We continued our conversation, and Calvin's eyes became half-closed. He sighed gently, and I heard a very faint sound coming from him. I hushed Brian, and kept petting the little kitty, and before long, his purr was loud enough for Brian to hear! I kept petting him, and after a little bit, I asked Brian if he wanted a turn. Brian took over the petting, and I very stealthily left the room so I could get some stuff done. Brian spent a little while petting him, and eventually Calvin decided that he was done, and just relaxed without purring.

This morning, I went in to say hello and give cuddles. I had to pull him out of a hidey hole, but once I had him in my arms, he cuddled against me readily. I petted him and kissed him for a little bit, and then needed to go to the other room to get the book I was reading (as well as some to put away). I leaned down to let him jump out of my arms and back into his hidey hole, but he leaned into me and stayed put, so I had to carry him with me to get the items I needed. He stayed nestled in my arms while I did that, quite content to be held. Once I was reading in the library, he curled up and purring against me for a bit, then crawled into the security box, allowing me to pet him some more while he purred and I read. At that point, I took my camera and made a little video, complete with a close up shot that captured the sound of his purr.

I think he's going to be just fine!

When the video is finished processing, it will be located here. It was a large file, and youtube wouldn't let me upload it, so I had to use Google. I love my camera for photography, but it's not the best for videography.

Big Buts, Part Five: Fat Makes You Celibate

"But don't you want someone to love you? Aren't you afraid you'll be single your entire life? If you don't lose weight, then don't complain about not having sex!"

Actually, I want to tackle that last part first. I keep seeing accusations that people of the size positive community are "constantly whining that no one will have sex with them." I am completely baffled as to where they are getting this information, because I have yet to see it in any of the blogs or journals of the FA community. In fact, I can't think of a single fat friend of mine who has a problem getting laid. Most of them are happily married or in long term relationships. Some are partnered to fat people, some to thin people, and all combinations inbetween. In fact, I've been acquainted with at least three fat couples who have open relationships, and they do not lack for partners, thick and thin, with which to exercise that openness. I myself am married to a thin man, and we do not lack for a sex life (sorry, mom) (yes, my mom reads my blog).

Yesterday, I requested that readers shower me with comments and photos about their relationships. As of this writing, 21 different people shared their love stories with me. Considering I'm just a little wee blogger who doesn't have the large audience that Shapely Prose enjoys, I think that's a pretty good number--and I expect it to go up! Attraction is different for everyone, and, from what I've seen, it's rarely actually about fat or thin.

My mother's family has a considerable number of large people, from my grandfather, to his siblings, and all sorts of cousins and the like. Every fat person in that family who wants to be married is married, most of them with offspring (I opted out of that, myself). My mother actually takes after HER mom in being average sized, but there's quite a bit of fat in the family.

You see, not everyone finds fat people inherently unattractive. And we aren't sitting around crying into our Ben & Jerry's wondering why we can't get a date. I've personally never lacked for interested parties of all sizes and genders, and the only real obstacle a fat person has is their own anxiety and fear--which is usually the result of shallow, mean people telling us that no one will possibly want us, love us, or sleep with us unless we lose weight.

Given the climate in which fat singles must venture forth into the dating world, it's actually quite amazing that we manage to summon the courage to face potential cruelty and humiliation in order to find the special person that is a good match. Amazing, yes, but as hard as folks try and shoot us down before we've even thought about trying, we do it, and we get laid, loved, and married just as easily as thin people if we have the confidence to respond to signals from those who are interested.

I need a big fat favor!

Show me the love!

In preparation for tomorrow's "Big Buts" post, I would like my fat readers to please post about their current relationships. If you're brave enough to post a photo of you and your significant other, that would also be great! If you're not fat, but you are in a relationship with someone who is (or have been in the past), I want to hear about that, too!

Tell me as much or as little as you like!

If you are not currently in a relationship, tell me whatever you want about your past relationships, if any, or, hell, anything you want to say about relationships in general.

Thanks in advance, my dears :)

Your spouse is fat? Grow up and deal.

I was looking over my stats today, and I found that I'd been linked to from a forum where people go to whine about their spouses gaining weight.

From what I can tell, the site is full of people who have taken their spouses' weight gain as a personal insult. Their belief is that, and I quote, "It Is Disrespectful To Willingly Become Unattractive To Your Life Partner".

Yes, I know many of you are busily putting a half dozen markers on your bingo cards already. But, for those who don't know about "bingo", I'm going to deconstruct this a little bit.

"Become Unattractive" -- by this, they don't mean gone and tattooed a swastika on forehead". They mean "has gained weight." I would like to point out that being unattractive and being fat are NOT mutually exclusive; it is our social conditioning that makes us equate fat with unattractive, and many people, despite the constant barrage of fat=ugly messages in our surroundings, manage to find fat people attractive in spite of the messages. Fat is not inherently unattractive.

"Willingly" -- I'll let the Gina Kolata article explain why diets don't work, and how hard it is to make thin people fat. What I want to discuss is the flawed logic behind saying that it was "willingly", as if the life partners did so on purpose. Look, if I knew that my husband did not prefer blondes, I wouldn't go dyeing my hair blonde. If I'm already blonde, however, I am not going to dye my hair just to suit his tastes, and he wouldn't expect me to (because he's not an asshole). He was able to accept my blondeness when we got together, and as a part of me, he accepts it now--and has even grown to like it.*

I honestly doubt that any of the spouses involved willingly became fat. After all, there is a considerable amount of shaming that comes from every direction when a person gains even a little weight. Americans spend an egregious amount of money and effort trying to avoid becoming fat.

"Disrespectful" -- Really? These folks truly think that, by having more adipose tissue, their life partners are being disrespectful? And that, even if that were true, which it isn't, that they ought to find ways to make their partner lose weight, instead of, oh, I don't know, getting some goddamn marriage counseling? Or getting a divorce? I see two scenarios here:
1. If the spouse really IS being disrespectful to you, then get out of the relationship.

2. If they are not being disrespectful, but have gained weight, and their weight gain makes them no longer interesting to you, then get out of the relationship and set them free to find someone who isn't as shallow.

What kind of self-centered whiny baby goes around complaining that their partner disrespected them by putting on weight? The same kind of self-centered whiny baby that posts on websites with other whiny babies that encourage each other to nag and bitch at their spouses to starve and exercise themselves into a "hot little body" (yes, that's a quote from the site) for the sole purpose of becoming more sexually attractive to their spouse.

Interestingly enough, my husband has no problem finding me sexually attractive. Our relationship never stopped at the "Platonic" station; we went straight to Lust City the very night we met. I'm not saying that everyone has to be attracted to me, but I AM saying that, if my husband stops being attracted to me, I'd rather he do me the favor of getting a divorce instead of resenting me and sniping at me for it. Yes, that's right, I am suggesting you split up if your relationship is so dysfunctional that you cannot tolerate a change in the amount of adipose tissue your partner carries. They're better off without you.

* Please note that the blonde story is just hypothetical. I actually had purple hair when Brian and I met, and it's light brown now.

The Kitten Whisperers?

Yesterday, we had a wonderful breakthrough with Owl. I went in to spend time with him, pulled his growling, hissing little body onto my lap, and started petting him. Previously, he would grrrrr grrrr ssssssss at us. The growling ceased, and I heard a strange popping noise that evened out into a loud, contented purrrrrrrr! He began rubbing his face on my hands and feet (I was sitting cross-legged), and he eventually rolled over to get belly rubs.

When he was done being social, he climbed down from my lap and went back into the little box I set up for him. The box is on its side, so he has a roof and three walls, and I put in a a big fleece shirt that I'd worn before putting it into the box. The shirt's presence was to help him get accustomed to my scent, and he spends most of his time curled up on or in it.

Before this breakthrough, the little doll would try to make himself as small as possible, tucking his head downward to glare at us. We were certain that the only body parts he was capable of moving were his eyeballs, because he wouldn't move anything else, even when we picked him up! Now he will walk, eat, play, and do all kinds of things in our presence. It was a glorious moment indeed when Owl leaned up to rub his cheeks on my face!

I have a few pictures of his adorableness, and one video to share with you of him getting cuddles from Brian. He spent a lot of yesterday evening lolling about on Brian's chest, getting cuddles and belly rubs.

I do want to say one thing about this. I was really worried that maybe he was not quite right somehow. His proportions are a little odd, and his behavior was really weird. Instead of aggression, he was just a tight ball of fear. We hadn't made a millimeter of progress with him, and yesterday afternoon, I was in my room, thinking about our beloved Teya. I asked her, if she was still with us in spirit, if she would help Owl to trust us and be happy. I don't mean to offend anyone who has different beliefs, but it was not even an hour after that when he completely changed his behavior. When he climbed back into his box after purring at me, I thanked Teya out loud for her help.

Now, on to the pictures and video!

(Click on these pictures if you want to see larger ones)



I did take a couple more videos, but I have not yet uploaded them; my computer has been super-wonky lately, and it was acting freaky while I was trying to get these uploaded. I'll get them in and post them at a later date :)

As to the title of this post, I wrote to Robin (the founder and namesake of the rescue) to tell her the good news, and got this response:
"This is fabulous news! You and Brian are the kitten whisperers!"

Maybe--but, I will give the credit to the unseen helper as well.

New Foster Kitten

Our fosters Ollie, Kukla, and Fran were adopted last weekend. We will miss them, but we wish them well, and I hope they have happy lives with their new families!

Charlotte is very happy at her new home; her mama sends me photos quite often, and she's growing by leaps and bounds. Her sisters, Ptera and Anya, have been adopted permanently into our home, and are no longer considered fosters. They are a daily delight, and I am glad for the decision to keep them.

Because we did not have any more foster kittens, we were offered an 8-week-old kitten named Timmy, who is in need of socialization. Timmy is not aggressive to people, but he is absolutely petrified. When handled, he tries to make himself as small as possible, and will occasionally growl, with a rare hiss here and there. He had siblings that adjusted well, but he just didn't.

I set up the kitten room with lots of boxes lined with blankets. I also wrapped him in the sweatshirt I wore this morning, and he seemed very comforted in it. We're spending time with him, some of it hands-on, some of it just sitting in the same room, letting him be while we read. Time and patience will tell whether or not he learns that we aren't going to eat him.

His nickname is "Owl", and the photos will demonstrate why!

Click on the pics for larger images, if you like:

Smitten

A rustling at the foot of the bed.

She appears, her eyes dark jewels in her white face. She's sturdy, tall, ahead of her siblings in size.

"meep?"

"Come here, then," I reply.

"meep."

She wends her way across the landscape of blankets, her extra thumbs giving her feet a splayed, hand-like appearance. She's purring loudly, in the staccato way of kittens, a popping sound that will later mature into the deep, sighing rumble of adult cats.

She meets my hand with her cheek. She's marking me with her scent, but it also feels good to her. She delights as my fingers rub the scent gland areas in her face, on the temples, cheeks, and chin. She gets scooped up, nuzzled, and kissed. She looks up at me with her baby face, her big dark eyes, grateful for the affection.

Her gorgeous, fluffy sister clambers onto the bed, approaching me for gentle caresses. As I stroke her long, soft fur, I get a jealous "Meep!" from the little white face, the mouth opening to reveal tiny, pointed baby teeth surrounded by pinkness. I kiss the jealous one's nose, and get a softer "meep" that means, "That's right, your affection belongs to me. Good human."

Her sister doesn't mind; she stretches her long, slender body out and looks content while I stroke and nuzzle the possessive one. Satisfied, she curls up against her sister, giving me a very contented, barely audible "mip". The pair are purring together, fond of each others' company and of mine. The feeling is mutual.

The face that melts my heart:



What a beautiful color, no?

And now, the hard part

The kittens I have been fostering for over a month, these three babies who have shared my life, my home, and even my bed, who have curled up in my arms so many times, who seek me out, meeping for attention, and whose little faces brighten my every day--they are going up for adoption on Saturday.

This is the hard part. Not just that they won't be here anymore. I'll miss them, sure, but the most difficult part for me is the idea that they will be going home with people I don't know. People who might hurt them, declaw them, not give them proper veterinary care, or just not love them. People whom I won't be able to ask for pictures to see what they look like grown up. I hope for the best home for them, but it's hard to tell just meeting a person once.

People fill out an application, but many of them get annoyed with us for having rules, for wanting to make sure these babies get the best possible home. They don't understand how much of our hearts are invested in each and every one, and that it will be torture to think that we've made a mistake screening the adopters.

I knew it would be difficult, but I told myself not to get so attached. Yes, I'm an idiot. I want to see them grow up. I want to know that their lives are good. I want them to be adored and spoiled and happy, but I also want to know for certain that they are adored and spoiled and happy instead of wondering and hoping, and not knowing.

Perhaps it is the effect of my larger anxiety issues. I've always been absolutely tormented by not knowing something. The worst thing a person can do to me is tell me, "We have to talk. But later." I lose my mind when that happens. I think my parents had to keep holiday gifts at relatives' houses because I was SO bad about snooping. I didn't do it to be a pain, mom; it just drove me absolutely up a wall to have things right in front of me and not know what they were.

So now I have to give up my little girls, who are such good girls; loving, cuddly, sweet as pie, and very well behaved (well, okay, Charlotte climbs the Xmas tree and removes the garland, but that's cute). I socialized them, I never denied them a moment's worth of love and affection, I worried sick when they went in for spaying, and I could describe each and every personality quirk about them. For sisters, they are as different from one another as they could possibly be, and I know all of the ways in which they are different.

Charlotte, the sweet, gentle one, with big innocent eyes, who flops like a rubber band if picked up. Anya, the strong, quiet, wary one, with cautious, wise eyes who will curl up tightly in the crook of my arm. Ptera, the whiny, jealous one who can't stand to be in a different room from me; if we are separated by a floor, she cries and cries until called.

They are precious and beautiful, each one, and I am going to miss them so much.


(click the thumb for a larger photo)
Front: Anya Left: Ptera Right: Charlotte

Charlotte:

(Honestly, this really is her only vice)

Anya and Charlotte:


Ptera and Dom:


Anya and Ptera: