February
2, 2016
As
I write on this Groundhog's Day, a wispy snow is falling, our lilac
bushes are in bud – and all four of my garden staffers have failed
to see their shadows. Even if sunshine were pouring into our living
room window, my furry group of slackers would be in the dark, because
all of them are asleep (and two of them are snoring.) My reading
table is at near-avalanche level, piled with garden books and seed
catalogs. But even impetuous gardeners know it's too early for
anything except planning this year's flower and vegetable beds.
Faithful readers are probably much more interested in updates about
my garden staff, several of whom were in fragile health (or thought
they were) when I took a seasonal writing break in December and
January.
Benjamin
BadKitten, my favorite divo (this seems the right term for the
self-absorbed, melodramatic, neutered male Maine coon cat I cater
to,) has recovered fully from his hip injury. He no longer limps or
cries out in pain when he jumps onto his cat perch or my lap – and
I am very thankful. Even though his antics can turn my hair gray , I
love my BadKitten. I've noticed his new reluctance to go out into the
front gardens in the daytime. He hesitates at the cat door and seems
to flinch if he hears a car's motor. I think a vehicle might grazed
him and hurt him badly enough to cause the limp, and he's still
anxious about crossing the street to visit the neighbors' yard, where
birds and mice hang out. I hope his wariness, and the slightly slower
reflexes of his ten-year-old muscles, will make him less of an
adventurer and hunter this spring and summer.
Two
months ago, I dreaded writing this first column of the new year,
because I was afraid I'd have to share sad news about Rags, our Old
English sheepdog. My husband, Lee, and I doubted that our arthritic
and nearly blind, shaggy guy would survive the holidays. But Rags is
still with us, enjoying his life as well as he can, even as he grows
a bit more frail each day. We know he has a heart murmur and very
stiff back legs. He spends most of each day sleeping, needs guidance
when he goes outside, and recently has begun having intestinal
accidents in the house. We clean up after him and tell him it's OK,
because this sweet old dog has been a loyal, loving member of our
family for thirteen years. When Lee comes home from work, Rags
rallies briefly and looks forward to the familiar routines they
share. Every night he finds me in my reading chair, licks my jeans
and then my face, and looks forward to watching “Downton
Abbey”with us on Sunday evenings. He also enjoyed the football
season, unless the Seattle Seahawks were deep into pressure-filled
games. Then Rags would have to retire to his leather couch and
de-stress for awhile. If our good dog shows symptoms of pain, as we
have seen in the past, or loses complete control of his bodily
functions, we will make his final appointment with the veterinarian.
For now, we're thankful for every day he's with us.
The
news is less hopeful about my chief garden staffer, Tessa the Vague,
our elderly calico cat. In December she became ill, with raspy
breathing and rapid weight loss, neither of which has improved after
antibiotics and other medicine. I'm now giving Tessa what her
veterinarian calls comfort care – prescription canned food, which
she loves, and continuing affection and security as she begins her
final passage. Tessa recently started a new, nightly ritual: curling
up for a nap on Lee's lap, where she purrs and Lee keeps her cradled
against him. Tessa also likes high-fat snacks, and we are indulging
her. If Lee wants a slice of pie after dinner, Tessa is waiting to
share his whipped cream. I always give her the remains of a
tablespoon of sour cream dip on the nights I give in to my potato
chip habit.
Abigail
Grump, has shown remarkable compassion during Rags' and Tessa's
journey into frailty. Abby, a beautiful, long-haired black and white
cat, tends to make her wishes known with loud and expressive meows.
Lately, though, she's shown a normally hidden kindness to our sweet
old dog and always-dim calico cat. She lets Rags slurp her face and
sniff her backside if he senses her nearness. Neither Abby nor my
BadKitten is accustomed to being anything other than the alpha cat.
Those two are longtime buddies and claim power in separate spheres:
Abby uses me as her personal servant and door-woman, and Ben has
priority on my lap. But now they give Tessa first dibs on the
expensive canned cat food, and wait patiently until this tiny, thin
cat has eaten all she wants. Benjamin often gives Tessa the best
sleeping spot, closest to the heat register in our living room. (My
tubby BadKitten has far more natural insulation than she does.) I
love the two cats' new deference to Rags and Tessa, who have shown
them only love and gentleness all of their lives.
May
your reading tables overflow with gardening catalogs this month, and
may you have a beloved pet to warm your lap and your heart.
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