Tag cats

Stream of consciousness: real talk

Angel Ackerman 1 Comment

It’s almost 8:30 on a Saturday morning. This post will probably be babble, but I have a feeling it might resonate in a “real life” way. Like let’s not talk about Facebook perfect lives or fun on YouTube.

This is life with a teenager, a stressful job, three cats, three budgies and a Goffins cockatoo.

This is life. I have had the divorce papers in my possession for months but I just don’t want to sit down, fill them out, and file them. Not because I want to save my marriage but because it’s one more thing to do. It sometimes feels like my choices boil down to “file for divorce” or “do the dishes.” Neither situation will resolve without me taking the lead.

I can’t even articulate the chaos swirling around my head right now, let alone the chaos in it.

I have two parakeets flying around my head. One still timidly standing in his cage singing, not ready to come out. Wink, the blue budgie, has decided to eat the molding above my bedroom door (luckily not the visible side but the top) and fling chunks to the floor.

The big dumb cat raced into my room to sleep on my bed, and he looks just as perplexed as Nala does that critters are flying over head.

I did learn parrots can be potty trained. If you’re interested in that: Parront Tip: Potty Training. I also learned parrots need a lot of sleep. I should probably move my supper time to 6:30 or 7 so I can spend time with her and then put her to bed before I eat.

Today, I crawled out of bed at 6:30ish. In part, because Nala already knows when I get up for work and plucked a feather and screeched. The night before I had a bout of insomnia, not sure if it was hormones, work-stress or home stress but I only got five hours sleep. So getting seven hours last night felt magnificent.

Nala pooped on me right away, and all I had on was a t-shirt and underpants. We went to make coffee, feed the cats, and I made her tea. She pooped on me again. Time for a clean t-shirt.

I stepped on the scale and saw that I am almost back to my pre-holiday weight. I’m happy with that. I’m in a comfortable range. Now I just need to get back into routine with my weights.

I read one page of Zazi in the Metro (which I bought more than a month ago). The book club meeting is Friday. So much for that new social activity.

Booboo keeps investigating Nala. Speaking of Nala, between her and the kitten (whom the teenager now firmly believes is a boy) I think I have to cancel the trip to DC I was planning next weekend. I’m really disappointed. I know the teen can stay home and care for the pets. But it’s too soon for me to leave Nala. And I can’t take her to be boarded because that’s where I got her and she’ll think she’s been abandoned.

And I also noticed she’s not banded. Most birds are registered and have a band on their ankle. Nala does not.

Update on the kitten

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

So, Monday night was cold and we felt sorry for the kitten and wanted to bring him/her into the house.

The teenager had reached the point where we could briefly touch it, with a casual poke. With my daughter’s permission, I grabbed the kitten and brought him/her in the house.

He/she didn’t like that. Poor dear hissed and carried on. I wasn’t prepared for how bad he smelled. He squirmed free and hid under the Christmas tree.

The teenager played video games and went to bed.

The big cats crawled in bed with me.

In the morning, the kitten was gone. I checked all the cat hiding spaces I could think of and no cat.

And the basement door was open.

The teenager and I tore the house apart for what seemed hours. She was bereft. I felt guilty.

I made lunch.

Then we suddenly walked through the dining room and the cat was sitting on the porch looking at us.

Just like a cat. No where to be found one minute and sitting there as if he had never gone.

The teenager spent New Year’s Eve with her grandparents (and I went out for drinks with some girlfriends, something I’ve never gotten to do before).

When I got up this morning I found kitten, whom the teenager has aptly named Mistofelees, sitting inside the dollhouse. Later I found him on top of the dollhouse. And a few moments ago I found him on the windowsill.

Progress is being made.

To help with his smell, we bought some Burt’s Bees Dry Shampoo for cats. Which, of course, we tested on Big Dumb Oz.

Testing the Dry Shampoo for Cats

Just now… the kitten stalked across the porch and checked out Opie.

Kitten checks out Opie

Opie and Kitten behind couch

He eats for us

Opie’s amputation: 9 months out

Angel Ackerman

This morning I was feeding the cats and I was sitting with Opie as he ate his kibble. Both of our cats will be 9 this March, they aren’t related and we got Opie when he was about 9 months old.

The Backstory

We rescued Oz from the animal shelter as a three-month-old. He was a birthday gift to my daughter, who really wanted a dog but my husband said no. We researched other pets, but in the end her father reminded me that I was good with cats, we already had a cat, so a kitten would mean no new stuff.

Opie was the offspring of a feral cat rescued by friends of ours. Their cats terrorized him. Mine did not.

Opie is not cuddly. He took years to warm up to us and not be so aloof. He and Oz bonded, and even though Oz is bigger Opie was always dominate.

And neither one of the boys ever bothered my female cat, who was 12 years their senior and a force with which no one reckoned.

But when she passed away, Opie stepped into the role as my protector and house gargoyle.

The Cancer

Then last fall, Opie started limping. I didn’t think much of it, because he escapes from time to time and tends to disappear and I thought maybe he jumped from some unknown height or got into a tussle with some other animal. It came and went for months so I thought maybe arthritis. The vet thought maybe an old wound that hadn’t healed properly.

But then he started moping. He wouldn’t put the foot down at all. I spoke with a nurse at our veterinary practice and she recommended a different doctor there at the practice. Apparently the one I’d been seeing, or rather that Opie had seen, didn’t like cats.

The new vet xrayed Opie. The other had refused to X-ray him without sedating him. She warned me it looked like bone cancer in his joint, what would be the elbow in a person. This cancer, she also said, is rare in cats and when they get it, they usually get it in the rear paws.

When she called to confirm that he had the cancer, she also advised me to shop around as her practice was very expensive. I admire her honesty.

My daughter contacted No Kill Lehigh Valley and they found a vet who could do the surgery for less than half what our vet would charge.

This cat’s journey as an amputee also overlaps with my jump-starting my professional career after ten years in retail, and, in a way, hastened the end of my marriage as money had become more and more of an issue.

So, Opie is a warrior. And I suppose a symbol.

Life as a tripod

Opie came through his surgery like a champ. He recovered curled in a ball on my electric blanket on my bed, watching the budgies and probably plotting for when he felt better.

I could tell his pain had dissipated and he was feeling aggravated that he had to wear a cone and we were dragging him.

But this post is about Opie as an amputee and a kitty cat survivor. This is what I have noticed:

  • He can still catch a mouse from under the stove quickly and adeptly.
  • If you scratch him in just the right spot, he forgets he only has three legs and looses his balance and falls.
  • He is still the dominant cat.
  • He has always “buried” his food when done eating. He still does this, and when he does, he moves his shoulder stump as if using both legs.

Random video of my cats reacting to the roomba pushing a cardboard submarine across the floor

And yes, Oz is on my lap and I am wearing footy pajamas.

The Lonely Kitten

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Our house is probably the biggest menagerie in the neighborhood.

Budgies…

Cats…

And dogs that stop by and hang out even when they don’t belong to us, even on Christmas morning.

So a few months ago, this cute gray cat starting hanging out under my neighbor’s porch. My neighbor borrowed a trap, and she and my daughter tried to catch it. They failed.

Though my teen did catch a possum.

The cat seemed to disappear so we hoped it had found a home.

But oh no. Early last week in the bitter cold and snow, three kittens appeared. All dark gray with big brown eyes.

Momma seems to roam the neighborhood and when she’s gone, the kittens wander. So my daughter feeds them and brings them water. But she can’t catch them.

As soon as Momma returns, they all return to under the porch.

But now the shyest of the kittens seems to be the only one left. Have the braver kittens gone with Momma?

He just sits in the bushes and cries.

I want to bring the poor baby home.

The lonely kitten (if we catch it, its name shall be Mistoffelees.)

Opening night of Cats

Angel Ackerman

My daughter has a big love for the musical Cats. I was fortunate enough to see it as a kid with my extended family. I bought the movie of the Broadway play for my daughter when she was small.

She loves Cats. I have a feeling the musician in her loves Andrew Lloyd Webber. Can you be a latent Andrew Lloyd Webber fan? As a musician, my daughter loves musicals and is constantly searching for “beautiful harmonies.”

My backstory with Musicals

My connection with musicals started in middle school. The school offered a field trip every year to New York City to see a musical. My first was The Sound of Music. The show that made the biggest impact on me was Miss Saigon. I still remember that helicopter and my amazement as it came out on stage.

Videos of that helicopter don’t do it justice. The scale and the shock of a helicopter in the theater, especially as a fairly new and young theatre-goer… the impressions still linger in my memory.

I found this video on YouTube about making the helicopter, apparently its designers were overwhelmed too.

The Building of the Miss Saigon helicopter

So I’ve seen a fair number of Broadway shows, though none really of my own choosing. Our middle school music teacher, Mr. Birgenstock, had us listen to a lot of musics oh records in the music room and he gave us the lyric sheets to follow along.

My musical ear is tin, but I still have a large soft spot for musicals. Let me see if I can list the musicals we studied in middle school in the late 1980s:

  • Jesus Christ Superstar
  • Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat
  • Chess (still my all-time favorite)
  • Tommy

Nope, can’t remember them. Darn.

Opening night of Cats

So, back to Cats. We had a rough week in this household and our holiday plans keep shifting.

Our evening at the holiday light display at the local zoo fell through and I worked late so I asked the teenager if she wanted to go see Cats. Now she’s made it a point to bring up every possible opportunity to go see Cats for the last week.

I didn’t have to ask. I knew she wanted to see Cats.

We skipped dinner and went straight to the 7:10 show.

They did an amazing job. I didn’t look at the cast before I went so I had a lot of fun asking, “is that Judi Dench?” (She’s one of my favorite actresses. I had my hair cut like hers once. Modeled after M. I think in Casino Royale.) Is that Ian McKellan? (And my daughter: “That’s the girl from Pitch Perfect.”)

The costumes were amazing. The dancers lithe and incredibly feline. The pacing was way better than the Broadway show. And they even added some plot to give it more of a linear story line.

The set was delightful, full of detail and fun cat puns. I felt like I wanted to frolic on those sets. Seeing people scaled down to cat size was a visual treat.

And the music pleased my daughter.

I had to keep shushing her to keep her from belting the songs out with the actors.

Bottom line, if someone you love wants to see Cats and you are hesitant because you’re not a fan, it shouldn’t be a painful experience for you. They did a nice job. It’s also fairly short.

Dinner at Rocco’s

It was about 9:15 when we left the theatre so I stopped at Rocco’s Pizza on the way home.

I spent most of my newspaper career in downtown Phillipsburg so when I saw Rocco’s light on, I knew we had to stop. The teen said it looked kind of creepy on the outside, but she knew to trust me.

I haven’t had much of a social or professional life in the last ten years, so when I told Mike, the owner, that we hadn’t seen each other in a decade he needed some convincing.

He had three slices left and heated them up and we ate them in the car.

Mike, if this makes it to you via the internet or Facebook or Phillipsburg word-of-mouth, you made my daughter very happy.

“I haven’t had real pizza in ages. This isn’t even greasy,” she said.

“Mom, this pizza is the sh*t.”

Trimming the tree (and soft debut of our living room)

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

I think I’ve stunned my friend Gayle, whose known me for more than 20 years.

My new burst of holiday spirit is of concern to her.

The teenager and I worked really hard this week to prepare the house for our tree-trimming party last night, an informal tradition meant to counterbalance my anti-Christmas energy.

We really needed a few more days to finish the painting and what not. But life doesn’t always accommodate. When you plan a gathering, especially at the holidays, you can’t shift the date because you only got one coat of paint on the walls.

The featured photo in this post is my neurotic habit of dissembling the taps and soaking them in hydrogen peroxide before a party and scrubbing the caulk with an old toothbrush before a party.

This is going to be a mini-blog entry. An introduction. Because I’m behind on blogging.

Last week I attended the Hess’s nostalgia day and toured the Hollywood costume exhibit at Allentown Art Museum. I would love to tell you about that.

And then show you how the living room is shaping up.

And then tree trimming.

So stay tuned. My goal for today is to do several loads of laundry, update my budget book after getting my nails done yesterday, buying wine, and purchasing a tree. That reminds me! Add wine review to that list.

    Allentown Art Museum
    Living Room
    Tree Trimming
    Wine review from party: Apothic Sparkling Red, Rib Back (from Western Cape South Africa) and Franklin Hills Cake

As March departs…

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

Blog.

It’s been on my to do list since the beginning of the year. I spent 15 years in journalism. I wrote weekly columns and editorials for years.

Yet it’s so hard to carve out a little time to blog.

Opie, our 8-year-old cat who recently had his leg amputated, (as opposed to Oz, our 8-year-old cat who somehow got half his nose pecked off by one of my parakeets) received his biopsy results yesterday.

He did indeed lose his leg to a rare type of kitty cat bone cancer.

His surgery was three weeks ago tomorrow. He is doing great, though he hasn’t mastered his balance yet for more intricate maneuvers.

Poor Opie: https://youtu.be/XH7Y5gfSds0

I have been on vacation since Saturday, but I haven’t rested much. I’ve done a lot of laundry. Taken the teenager to three doctors (and podiatrist next week!) Got a very nice $8 haircut at Great Clips. Did grocery shopping. Made some amazing dinners.

And joined a(nother) gym. Say what????

Is she back on her let’s get physical and buff kick?

Angel is.

And she hopes to take the teenager with her.

That will be the next post!

Update: The progress of 2019

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In late October, I made a list. There were several progressive steps on that list.

1. Buy a car.

The Monday before Thanksgiving, I purchased a 2015 Volkswagen Jetta 1.8t with 21,000 miles on it. That car has been 95% as comfortable as my Nissan Ultima 3.5se. But exponentially better in the snow. The trunk is ginormous. My phone syncs.

2. Find a professional job.

I recently accepted, started the paperwork and applied for my fourth set of clearances to work with ProJeCt of Easton as their development coordinator.

I have had a great time pulling my professional wardrobe out of storage.

3. Write (and publish) more.

Okay, so my most recent publishing success was my ditty on Dime Show Review’s “Ten Word Stories.” I also have a recent essay on the horror website Crash Palace Productions. And more in the works.

In an editing related endeavor, my friend Gayle and I are advertising our joint services, editorial and graphic design, to the attendees at the Greater Lehigh Valley Writers Group The Write Stuff Conference.

4. Eat more fruits and veggies.

This one has been hit or miss. I eat pretty well, but I like going for the extra vegetables and more fruit. I’m not a big fruit eater.

And on the honest side, I need to stop stress eating refined carbohydrates.

5. Get more serious about bodybuilding.

Now I will never be athletic, and even my most competitive side would never have the dedication and patience it takes to truly body build. But I like working on it, and since I am changing jobs I need someway to maintain my muscle tone and weight.

6. Be consistent with the pets.

I have parakeets now. And we need to brush the cats’ teeth more.

And poor Opie, he recently had his left front leg amputated. So, yes, I now have a three legged cat.

How’s your 2019?

Adieu, my cat Zoot

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I rescued my cat Zoot after Christmas 1999. At the time, I babysat my nephew every Tuesday night so my brother and his wife could have date night.

My nephew was preschool age, and for some reason, my brother and his wife decided to adopt two kittens, freshly weened from their mother. Their logic was that they had heard “cats were easy.”

“Cats are easy,” I replied. “But you didn’t get a cat. You got kittens, not even one, but two kittens.”

They clawed the tablecloth. Ripped up house plants. Caused a ruckus all night long.

The one was docile and loving. The other wouldn’t take poop from anybody.

That second one was Zoot.

My nephew liked to carry the kittens with their neck in his elbow. In a spirit of self-preservation, Zoot scratched him. This and other incidents led my brother to chase Zoot around the house, fling her down the basement stairs, and swat her with a broom.

But whenever I visited, and put the kids to bed, she would come out from hiding and curl against my neck using my then-shoulder-length hair as a blanket.

And she’d purr. As if saying, “save me.”

Christmas came and went. My sister-in-law pulled me aside and told me if I didn’t take Zoot she would have to take the cat to the shelter to keep my brother from killing her.

I asked my husband. We had married October 30, 1999. We had a tiny ramshackle apartment. He said, “I guess.”

I could tell countless stories about her. But to summarize, I never cried or napped alone. She liked to watch me wash dishes. When my daughter was born, Zoot always there whenever the baby cried. She loved company.

I taught her to sit and give her paw for a treat. So whenever I had anything she wanted, she would sit down and put her paw on my arm.

She also tended to crawl in bed and spread her body between me and my husband. And she would sit on me if it looked like my husband might be interested in hanky-panky.

  
Today, my husband took her to the vet for her final sleep.

To my surprise, my daughter went and stayed with Zoot the whole time.

  
So, in my weakness, I got to see how strong my daughter is.