NAME THAT KITTY - Part 2 on Thursday

The Cat Who Came In Through The Window

Tom says I ramble and get off track, which is true and I did, and Jeff says my posts are too long, and they are -- so I ended my last post when it got impossibly long--even though I hadn't even ever gotten to the point.  So this is part 2 and really is about the cat.  Or, at least, after a while it is.

But first, let me explain: 1) Cats who come in  and  2) The window

The first ever cat who came in uninvited did so through some door or other -- we're not sure which or when.  This feral cat, once in, did not like the inside of our house, nor the people in it, and especially the loud screams they made  and he tried desperately to get out.  The people did not like the feral cat inside the house, especially the loud shrieks he made and they tried desperately to get him out. We were all unsuccessful. The cat tore around the house screeching and shredding things and we sprinted after him.  When he holed up in the small back bathroom, 15 year old Jeff, who thought it was all much ado about nothing, volunteered to go into the room with a pillow case and capture the cat.  He proceeded to carry out his plan--without a plan.  Jeff is like that.  Shirtless, gloveless, clueless, in shorts, he entered the bathroom armed with a pillow case.  We listened, fascinated, to the uproar coming through the door.  Screaming and ouching and spitting and hissing and things knocking into others things went on for a very long time.  At last the door opened. Jeff silently emerged with a lumpy, vocal pillow case which he carried outside and threw over the fence as far as it would go. Jeff, who never spoke of it again, was ordered by his Grandmother to go for a tetanus shot on account of the cat bites and scratches that covered his body.  The cat never came back.

But there is another cat........ 

                                            And there is a window.....

We got the window because of Puck and Muck.  Puck is our animal shelter kitty that Jeff and Cyndy gave us for our wedding anniversary about 11 years ago. Elfin and mischievous  when she was tiny, like the character from Shakespeare, her name fit.  Now she is grown, and lazy and sleeps in the sun most of the time--but still is an important part of the family. She loves to pose on the deck rail, the front window sill, the bookcase, the top of Tom's recliner, or anywhere that shows off her beauty.
 

Please Take Me Home

Muck is one of those unplanned-for kitties thrust upon us by happenstance, because we are known to be a soft touch. A work friend called about the poor abandoned kitty who had been living in the field across from their office for some weeks. They brought it inside, but no one would take it home, so it was going to the pound, unless.......

Muck is a tortoise shell kitty, whose fur looks like it is all mucked up.  She looks exactly like Sideways Kitty, same fur, same half pint size, except that her head is sitting straight on her neck, so no one stares. She was not feral, so it was clear that someone had thrown her out into the field. She and Puck, after a few testy weeks, settled down and became friends.

I was not happy about some things though. Since the children were grown up and gone, we had pared down our menagerie to the two cats and had no more ancillary animals, such as gerbils, etc. I was ready to be less intense about animal care and less tied down to home.  Most especially, I hated, hated, hated, the mess of the litter box.  When we traveled for the weekend we could put the cat food and water outside in a bowl and that worked pretty well.  Unlike dogs, they don't eat it all up at once and it lasts the whole weekend. Because they are easier to maintain is why we have mostly stuck to cats anyway.  Except for the blasted litter box.  However, the food became a problem because of the raccoons and possums, who ate it all in whatever quantities we put out and who became bolder and bolder in their pursuit of it.  And they became bigger and bigger.

So, what to do?  I began to contemplate a cat door. I never wanted one, because I think they are way ugly and I always thought about the next person in.  How would a not-cat person new-owner handle our cat door. What to do?  I'll tell you the answer! Google it.

 The google answer is a cat window, which fits in the window like a window air conditioning unit.  That is, you push up the lower part of the window and insert the cat window contraption into the window.  No cutting a hole, and it goes with you when you go.  I was amazed that there was such a thing.  It was sorta pricey, but we ordered it and got our neighbor to help install it. (We are from the city and we went to law school.  We can't do anything useful.) Jeff's father-in-law saw it, loved it and made himself one. (He is from the country and he did not go to law school--though his daughter Cyndy did.  He can do everything useful!)  If you are of our ilk instead of his, I will be glad to share the purchasing info with you.

It took Puck and Muck a very long time to figure out how to use it.  We swung the flap back and forth. We stuck our hands through it.  We stuck them through it.  We put bowls of tuna on the other side of the flap.  We waved sardines in front of their noses and snatched the sardines through the flap as the kitties grabbed for them. Finally there was a breakthrough and it has been heaven since.  No more litter box. No more having to feed them outside where the raccoons can steal the food. They are completely independent. They are free to come and go as they please and so are we.  We can go  away for a weekend with no worries. 

Nothing is ever perfect.  Though Puck--the lazy one--is not, Muck is a hunter.  I think it comes from his time living in the field on his own. He quite frequently catches things and brings them in through the cat window. (see earlier post YEECH SOME BUGS DESERVE THE DEATH PENALTY)  Usually they are not dead; in fact, they are often quite lively. I try to catch him if I see him come in with something in his mouth, but if he sees me approaching, he dashes down the hall with the garden snake, cricket, field mouse, baby rabbit, frog, or bird and decides its fate.  If it gets away, it may live in the house for several days before we rescue it or he recaptures it. Then it is released back into nature or suffers a slow death at his paws in the same way it occurs in the wild on Animal Kingdom.  Except it is our rug that gets all bloody under the bed and all. Yuck! 

This window thing has worked well for many years.  There have been naysayers.  So many of our friends have warned us of the dangers. "What," they say, "if wild creatures from the outside--raccoons, possums and such, come in through that window?  What will you do then?"  Of course, it has not happened in all these 9 years, so why should it now?  I have seen no raccoons, no possums, no deer, no bear.   Not in all these years of Muck and Puck going in and out 10 or 15 times in the day and in the night.

And then............

About a year ago, a big black cat came in that window.  This feral cat, once in, did not like the inside of our house, nor the people in it, and especially the loud screams they made  and he tried desperately to get out.  The people did not like the feral cat inside the house, especially the loud shrieks he made and they tried desperately to get him out. We were all unsuccessful. The cat tore around the house screeching and shredding things and we sprinted after him.  He clawed up the walls and slid down; he tore across the tops of the upholstered chairs; he ran up the front drapes and shredded his way down, pulling them apart as he came. Then by some miracle he found the cat window and zipped his way out.

We were all traumatized, including Puck and Muck and sat quietly for awhile, gathering ourselves until we could regain our senses and be thankful it was over.

AND THEN THE CAT CAME BACK.  Again. and then again. and then again. Mostly he comes in the dead of the night. Mostly he comes straight in and out like a streak through the cat window.  To get food and water and be gone.  Muck and Puck, who once freaked out each time, hardly blink an eye now, though they do not approach him, or even move while he is inside for those few seconds.  He has become slightly bolder.  He comes sometimes in the evening while I am at the computer in the next room, but never when I am in the den--the room with the window.  He comes more often.  I can not post a picture, because I do not have a camera with a shutter speed fast enough to catch anything more than a blur.

So, is he ours yet?  Or will he ever be?  Is it time to start trying to make friends? To start picking out a name? 

Fenster and  Sam

Among the most recent good names we have used is one by master namer Jeff for their german short haired pointer who just died after 11 wonderful years.  Fenster was the most kid friendly dog I have ever known with almost the best name ever.  We have immortalized Fenster in the law firm by incorporating his name into some of our computer passwords--though I guess we will have to change them now since I have spilled the beans. 

Some years ago Jeff's kids gifted us a bronze cat for our deck, which they and Tom together named Buck, to go with Puck and Muck.  Tom is quite anxious to be in charge of the next choice of names for any new animals.  Considering his South Park nature, I am refusing to accommodate and, still in the nascent stage of the relationship, I am wondering, what shall we name the cat who came in through the window?

Madeline’s First Soccer Game

I took Sam to soccer practice today after I picked the kids up from St. Joseph.  Coach Jeff will bring Sam home.  Goodness, it seems like only yesterday when Madeline was playing her very first game…..

Madeline’s First Soccer Game
March 6, 2004

It  was Madeline’s first soccer game and we were all there to cheer her and her teammates on:  Cyndy, her mother, who had played soccer at Bishop England, is the  coach (officially); Jeff, her father, a former soccer player as well, was the assistant coach ( totally unofficially). The rest of us were mostly the cheering section: her little brother Sam; and her four grandparents, Gammy, Tommy, TomTom and JuJu.

The age range is supposed to be from 3 to 5.  On our team there are no 5 year olds. Of the 10 or 12 team members, Madeline, Caroline and Serena are the three 4 year olds. Neither Serena nor Caroline was there, probably because they thought the game was rained out.  It was very threatening the whole time, and was raining on our side of town when we left for the game, but no rain fell at the field.

They wore royal blue shirts, tucked in (mostly) to black soccer shorts (complete with drawstring) long socks with shin guards, black soccer shoes.  Those who had scrunchies or ribbons had royal blue to match their outfits. Madeline is #22 on the mighty Blue Bell team.  They clearly like wearing the outfits better than anything else about playing.

As coach Cyndy moved around the field prior to the starting whistle, Madeline was glued to her side – was her shadow, with both arms wrapped tightly around Cyndy’s leg.  This continued pretty much off and on throughout the game itself.  The referees were very understanding.

It was clear the green team had experience. They were bigger and older.   They did drills before the game. They lined up in their positions and stayed there; when the play began they ran for the ball.   They kicked it down the field many times and they scored many, many goals.  It drove our parents crazy, but seemed not to faze our players. I am absolutely positive that some of their players, maybe even a majority, were over the age limit of 5.  It crossed my mind that we needed to challenge them – after all, it wasn’t fair to our guys!  Were they playing by the rules?  But then, it wasn’t my place, so I made do with only one or two pointedly sarcastic side comments. 

To our team, discipline was an unfamiliar concept.  So was taking position and keeping it.  Madeline, though, once she lined up with the team at the beginning of the game, never moved off the line during the first several minutes of the game –just stood there where she was lined up, even facing away from the ball.  Jeff and Cyndy had told me that in practice they had not seemed to understand the concept of lining up.  At least Madeline had figured that out!  The others wandered around, no one looking at the ball, no one running down or up the field or toward the ball.  The first girl who played goalie did seem to understand the purpose for being there and tried to block several of the numerous balls that went into the net. Mostly she played in the dirt as the ball rolled over her shoulder on its way in.  The team members wandered off the field; they picked up leaves; they moved into the woods; they sat on the blankets and played with little brothers and sisters.

There were several breaks and very short quarters (I am unclear about how long).  Some of the smallest kids cried – I don’t exactly know why -- cause they needed naps, cause they were confused, cause they felt pressured, cause they didn’t like the green team making all those points, cause they couldn’t have the treats till after the game.

Cyndy asked me to take Madeline to the bathroom about mid-way through the game.  On the long walk over, she told me that she didn’t have to play anymore.  Her mother (the coach) had told her she didn’t have to.

“Is that for ever, or just for this game,” I asked.

“This game’” she said.

“Well, do you want to play?”

“No, not really. I don’t think so.”

“Do you want to cheer your team,” I asked, “the mighty Blue Bells?”

“Oh, yeah”, she said, “I want to.”

So on the way back we passed an older team who were really playing intently. She noticed.

“They are really running and kicking the ball -- they’re good,” she said.

“Yeah, and you know, how they get that way is practicing – whether it is soccer or gymnastics or reading, whatever.  Doing stuff over and over till it gets easier and easier”

She immediately picked up on that. “I can read some of my books by myself and I do gymnastics.”

“Yeah,” I said. “And can you do stuff you couldn’t do when you started?”

“I can go through the tunnel.”

“Could you do that at first?”

“Well, I wouldn’t.”

“See, it takes practice. You couldn’t and now you can. So here we are back again.  Why don’t you cheer for the team and then when you want to go back in, you can tell your momma you want to.”

“OK,” she said, happily running off to her father on the sidelines.

At first the moms and dads could do little except laugh.  The girls were so cute and clueless.  Then we all began to holler – “Kick the ball”.  “Come down here with the rest of them.”  “Go on back in.”  “You’re doing a good job.”  “Run.”  Even that seemed too much to expect.  Jeff wanted to know how much time was left.  (We hadn’t even had the first break yet!) 

Most of them had never been to a soccer game before. None had ever played before.   Prior to practice, some had never even kicked a ball or been on a soccer field.  With two thirty-minute practices going into this first game, they had not had a lot of opportunity to polish skills!!  It was also important to know that they HAD to get better and that unless they had a good time, they wouldn’t want to come back.

“Team work,” Tom said – “You’ve got to get them to understand that they have to play as a team.”  “Dad, you’ve said that 15 times already,” responded Jeff, feeling frustrated himself and trying to discover the best way to motivate a bunch of 3 and 4 year olds.  “You’re driving me crazy.  If you say it again you can’t come to any more games.”

Slowly we began to see improvement.  They began to pay attention when their parents or the coach told them something.  One threw the ball in from the sidelines with really good form and seemed pleased with the praise she got.  When Madeline was playing in the goal, she actually stuck her leg out in an attempt to block the ball.  They began to run up and down the field  (mostly down the field with the green team in command)  They looked at the ball – not necessarily doing anything -- but at least looking at it, rather than at the leaves, the mud holes, the shin guards or their parents. And they looked like they were working hard, some with shirts out now, hair coming loose from barrettes, little faces red and flushed.

By the end of the game, they were running after the ball.  Each time the ball was put into play, one of them would kick it, or at it, then the green team would swoop in and start moving it down the field.  Our Blue Bells would fall in behind and follow them down the field – all running, all running down the field, all running behind the ball.  What an improvement!  Jeff regained his enthusiasm. “And to think, I wanted to quit while ago,” he said, finding it hard to believe.  We had things to really cheer about, shouting words of encouragement to the players.  Trouble was, the cheering was distracting and whoever was moving it around pretty good, or whatever, would hear the cheers and look over at us, losing concentration.

And then the game was over.  Time for the treats.  Really different than when Madeline’s Dad was playing – before healthy eating came into vogue.  Their treat was always some sugary drink or other.  Not this crew.  Ice cold water and a cup full of grapes. Jeff quickly pointed out, “Yeah, playing soccer means getting treats.”  (That’ll motivate ‘em!)  Many high fives, many hugs and a line up to high five the winning team.  Nobody was keeping score (well, I guess somebody was, officially or unofficially, but WE weren’t) Of course we found out later that all the Dads knew EXACTLY what the score was.  The green team parents, siblings, and coaches lined up to make a bridge for them to run under and our team got to run through it too.  “We’ll have to do that next time,” someone said.

We gathered our stuff up and headed off to the cars.  Madeline was unhappy (not about the game)  and I couldn’t figure out  what it was about, but saw her cheer up when she was assured that the grapes were the immediate after game treat and her promised ice cream treat was not off the table, but coming up soon.

Cyndy, Sam, Gammy and Tommy loaded up into the car.  As we passed on by, walking toward our own car, I heard Jeff and Madeline talking as they waited their turn to get in.

Jeff spoke. “When, we get home this afternoon, we’ll get that goal out and set it up and practice some.”

“Ok,” she said, distractedly, thinking about the ice cream.