The Northwest Files

Cat Poop Chronicles

We’ve lately been obsessed with the contents of our two cat boxes. Which is to say, we’ve been obsessed with cat poop.

Yes, we’re weird. The thing is, this is a late-onset kind of thing that involves Rio, our wonderful old Maine Coon, who you see here.

A couple of months ago he started experiencing diarrhea. I mean, to the extreme. We figured that it would go away. It didn’t.

This occasioned a trip to the vet’s office. He was examined, some blood was drawn, we were given some meds for him and sent home.

Now, this is a healthy, strong, 16-pound cat who will not be held. Forcing meds down him? Not gonna happen. First, the meds were in liquid form and were given orally using a plastic syringe. We’d squirt it into his mouth, he’d appear to swallow, and we’d let him go. Next thing we knew, the medication, which was white, appeared all over the house’s floors.

Back the vet’s. She scratched her head and recommended an ultrasound of his abdomen. The result showed irritable bowel syndrome. She had a paste of the same meds compounded. We were supposed to mix it with his food. Or maybe he’d just eat it alone. Hah! Not gonna happen.

Meanwhile, the problem continued and he started losing weight. This never is good for a feline. I trolled around through the Interwebs and found several things. First was that IBS is chronic. It never goes away. Second was that it often responds to a change in diet.

We’d been feeding our two cats, Rio and his buddy Vivian, whatever they would eat. Picky eaters, for sure. Their diet included kibble containing grain and vegetable products, and also canned food like Fancy Feast. They really liked their crunchies. But they’re not good for them. So we transitioned to an all-meat diet.

Well, duh! Cats are carnivores. Just check their teeth. All sharp, no molars with which to grind grains and vegetables.

Seems obvious, but even this has not been a slam-dunk. Ideally, you’re supposed to feed them raw chicken or turkey, fish, or beef. They won’t eat that, though Rio will snack on cooked salmon. So we’ve been buying various canned concoctions that contain meat, mostly cooked. Naturally, there’s a case at the pet-food section of Whole Foods Market that contains this kind of cat food. They seem to like that. Naturally.

This has made a big difference for both cats. Vivian, who occasionally suffered from diarrhea, now does not. And Rio is much better. Not completely well, but very much better.

He’s 17 now, so we will continue to watch him to make sure that the problem remains under semi-control. He deserves that. And as we do close inspections of the cat boxes every day, we’re no longer at max stress levels over what we find buried there. We deserve that.

See? It’s all good.

-JFT

Trickery and Subterfuge

Rio, our Maine Coon cat, is much smarter than I am. You knew that, right?

But Rio has been unwell. First, last month he spent about a week with symptoms that I can only describe as those of a bad cold or the flu. We worried about him for a few days and then made an appointment for him to visit our veterinarian.

The day after we did that, he was much better. The day after that, he exhibited no symptoms.

OK, fine, cancel the appointment.

A few days ago, he began exhibiting intestinal/digestive problems. So, I made another appointment.

The day after I did that, his symptoms, with the help of a change in diet, disappeared.

Too bad, Rio, I told him, you’re going to see the vet anyway.

Hey, Rio is 17. He’s a senior cat. He’s not had a check-up in several years. It was time. He hates being taken outside in a carrier, so we are loath to put that stress on him. But we are even more loath to take any risks at all with the health of this beloved feline friend.

This morning I brought the carrier in from the garage and put it on a sofa in the living room. Rio took one look at it and disappeared. He knew exactly the portent of that cat carrier. He installed himself under our bed where I couldn’t reach him. There was no way at all he was going to tolerate what I had in mind.

Would he come out for a few Greenies, his favorite treat? No.

Would he come out for a nice bit of albacore? No.

Ah, but he has a new favorite toy. He has many toys, but this one is the one that cranks him up. It’s a ratty old shoelace from a pair of my dress shoes. (These are very nice ones – uppers of woven leather, toe caps from a crocodile, which in my view is the highest and best use of anything croc. Nasty things. They will kill you and eat you. So: Toe caps and nice new shoelaces.)

I grabbed the old shoelace, dangled it where he could see it. I could see from the gleam in his eyes as I peered under the bed that he would be unable to resist. I teased him a bit with it, he approached, I grabbed him. Stuffed him into the carrier, hauled his furry butt to the vet’s office for a checkup.

Turns out he’s fine. And apparently, he’s forgiven me for hauling him into town. The vet is doing some lab work, but for feline his age, he’s doing great. And he’d better be. I need him around here.

-JFT

Rio's Great Adventure

You've heard that "when the cat's away, the mice will play," right? Well, allow me to add a twist to that: When the people are away, the cats also will play.

In this case, it was one cat, in particular. We have two of them, Rio, a goofy old Maine coon, and Vivian, a longhair who is four years younger than Rio's 13, and is his constant companion.

They've both been with us now since 2009. They made the trip from our home in Glendale to our new digs here in Central Oregon with surprising ease. But here's the thing: Because of the danger of predators – yes, coyotes and here, eagles too – and traffic, neither has ever been outside. We assiduously guard against doors accidentally left open and never, ever, allow them to get near us when we're going in and out.

That's been easy because neither of them has ever shown a scintilla of interest in being outside. Oh, they'll sit near an open window and, through the screen, drink in the sounds, smells and sights. But bolt for an open door? Never.

It was against this background that we came home from dinner with friends Saturday night to find Rio gone. We both knew that he absolutely could not have gotten out of the house. So we each, over the next day or so, and in separate expeditions, took the house apart. Yes, and the garage, too. At least three times. Each. He was nowhere to be found.

We have, on a kitchen door adjacent to the cats' eating area, one of those retractable screen doors that rolls up from one side. For part of Saturday, before we departed for our dinner, that door was open and the screen deployed.

What we figured out, finally, was that Rio must have stuck a nose, or a paw, or both, under that screening and weaseled his way under it to freedom. Freedom!

Fine, but now what? He's never been outside. He doesn't know the area at all. There is neither water nor food available. And even if there was, he's 13, comfortably plump, and missing several teeth. He's just not equipped to be out.

The cats sleep, and pretty much live, under our bed. So it wasn’t unusual that we saw neither of them when we arrived home. We didn't become aware of Rio’s absence until early Sunday morning. Horrified, we both jumped out of bed and in our pajamas, looked carefully around the house's immediate exterior. No Rio. We got dressed and walked the whole neighborhood calling for him and knocking doors, asking neighbors if they'd seen him. No Rio. We did this at least three times on Sunday. No Rio.

Listen, these two cats are part of our family. Rio sleeps with Laura, reminding her every morning that it's time for her to get out of bed and feed him. We adore them both. So we both were frantic and more than a little bereft at the thought that we might not see our wonderful old feline pal again.

But we tried hard to keep the faith. I contacted our HOA administrator, who put out an e-mail blast to our neighbors telling of Rio's escape, and listing our phone numbers. I put up a flier at the neighborhood mailboxes.  We got a number of calls alerting us to everything of a rabbit that might have been a cat to a cat who looked like Rio. Almost. But no Rio.

Now it's Monday and still no Rio. We got a call from a pal that really helped us. “Don't worry, she said, he's outside having a f****** good time.” A call from another pal, who operates a cat sanctuary, told us, “Y'know, he's terrified. My bet is that he's still on your property. He hasn't gone far at all. He's afraid to.”

We both felt better, felt some hope. But still no Rio.

Last night, more than 50 hours after Rio’s escape, I'm upstairs reading and being depressed, and Laura is downstairs working at the puzzle table. She's got the back-yard door open and another of those retractable screen doors deployed. It's late, at least for us – maybe 10:30. Vivian is sitting at the door, looking outside. She’s meowing.

Rio meowed back. There he is, standing right at the door. Laura carefully opened it, quietly approached him, and grabbed his furry ass! She said he smelled like pine needles. Outside having a good time? Well, maybe. But probably more like hiding under a tree, wondering what he’d got himself into.

Once inside, he was a bit disoriented at first and didn't want anything to do with either of us. He made a bee-line for his cat box, and then to his catfood dish. And by this morning, he's back to normal. And so are we.

But today he's peering out the windows with increased interest. And we're vowing to never again trust those damned screen doors.

-JFT

The Life of a Cat

(After much observation, I'm pretty sure this is the way this works with our two cats, Rio and Vivian:)

Rio, opening one eye during his daylong nap: Hey, I'm hungry. Are you hungry?

Vivian, yawning: Well, Dad just fed us. But yeah, I could eat.

R: Good. Let's go bug Dad.

V: Good idea. Let's go bug Dad.

(They come to where ever I am and, shoulder to shoulder, stare at me accusingly, as if they are weak from starvation and about to collapse any second. I stop whatever it is I'm doing and feed them, either the one variety of Fancy Feast they will eat or the dry treats they seem to love.)

Rio, taking a desultory sniff: Hey, this isn't what I was hoping he'd give us. Let's go back to sleep.

V, who always follows R's lead: Good idea. Let's go back to sleep. We can try again later.

R: Yeah, good idea! Let's go back to sleep. Maybe Dad will give us something decent next time we pester him. After all, it's his job.

(And so goes the cycle at our house.) 

-JFT

Rio's Mouse

Oh my God, Rio's mouse has disappeared! We've looked everywhere for it. Just cannot find the thing.

Rio brought his mouse with him when he came home from the shelter to live with us in 2009. By now, it's pretty ratty. It's a fluffy toy, you see, a striped animal doll that's about the size and shape the size of a mouse. What makes it special is that it's got a little cavity into which you stuff catnip.

He loves this thing. He carries it around the house singing to it. When he's done, he'll drop it somewhere weird. In the water dish. Or in a shoe. Funny boy. All Maine coons are.

But for the last week or so, neither he nor we can find Rio's mouse. He has always remembered where he's left it. But not this time. This just won't do. 

So today before my shift started I dashed up to Petco to see if I could find something similar. Success! A thing that looks like a little fish. Brought it home, packed it with catnip and gave it to him. (For a better look, just click on the photo.)

Hey, presto! He's walking around the house with it in his mouth, singing to it. Tossing it into the air and attacking it, batting it around the floor. Then dropping it into one of my shoes.

Now he's doing what he mostly does. He's napping. But he's got his mouse - er, fish - with him. We're sure his old mouse eventually will turn up. But in the meantime, he's got a cool substitute. All is right with the world.

-JFT

Brave New World

Beginning today, I work at home. I’ve worked at home previously, but only for short stretches, or on freelance projects. This, it
looks like, will be for the foreseeable future.

Here’s the deal: The brass at the Times is moving us from our cozy offices here in Glendale into the LAT building downtown. My bosses are fine with telecommuting, so that’s what I’m going to do, rather than pay the company parking fee, buy a couple of tanks of gas every month, and hammer a 30-year-old car in Los Angeles traffic.

A laptop, which is what I have, is not the ideal work platform, but I’ve improved things greatly by plugging a spare keyboard from
Laura’s company into the thing. And I’ve added a cordless mouse that I bought for work. With those simple additions, it’s clear that I’m going to be able to do my job and be comfortable and effective in the process.

Distractions? Well, the cats, always. They’re very curious and love to sit on my desk and watch me work. Also banjos and guitars, which are in abundance around here. But that never has been a problem – work is work, play comes after work. Well, the refrigerator also will be a distraction. I’ll have to deal with that.

So though I’ll no longer see my pals in the office, which I’m going to miss greatly, I’m looking forward to this, not least because I no longer will have to shave every day. Just don’t tell Laura I said that.

-JFT

Dinner is Served!

We’re lucky enough to be part of a social circle that involves couples spending time with each other over dinner. OK, so far, so good – a lot of people do that, right?

So Laura asked our friend Derek Dickinson, and his partner, Mike, over for dinner this past Sunday evening. Derek said, “Great! I’ll cook. Let’s plan on a dinner for eight.”

We figured that meant he’d grill steaks, do a salad, bake some potatoes or something, and that would be that.

But no.

Derek, a former restaurateur, showed up at this house a few moments ago, 3 p.m. sharp. With a chef. And a sous chef. This bunch is creating, in our tiny kitchen, in our tiny house, a four-course experience in fine dining. Laura is a great chef. But we’ve never, ever, done anything like this. Hell, we never would have thought of it – it’s just so over the top.

The menu? I just happen to have it right here:

Four different pass-around hors ’d oeuvres, including bacon-wrapped dates, quail eggs and caviar, miniature Maryland crab cakes with papaya/basil relish, and foie gras on brioche toasts.

Next, shrimp and avocado cocktail martini.

Next, the entrée – rack of New Zealand lamb with scalloped potatoes, asparagus and Bordelais sauce.

Finally, Valrhona chocolate soufflé.

Wines? Oh, my, yes! Plus we have folks coming who like martinis, and at least one who likes single-malt Scotch. So add those, as well.

To accomplish this, Derek and company have hauled a whole lotta restaurant supplies and equipment into the kitchen. I will take photos as we go along, but mostly I’m going to stay out of the way.

Oh, the cats? I just checked on them. They’re stashed away in our bedroom, out of harm’s way. They don’t much care for company or for disruptions of their feline routines, so we’ve moved food, water and the ever-important cat box in there with them.

Guests, scheduled to arrive at 5 p.m. were right on time.  They included our pals and sometime traveling companions John and Nancy Vogt, and another set of pals, also a dedicated pair of foodies and killer chefs, Bob Baker and Charlene Chaloner.

The food was fabulous, the company was charming and interesting, the conversation was, to say the least, lively. We broke up at about 9:30 – and we found that the kitchen had been cleaned. I like the way this all works.

Left-overs?  You bet! The fridge has plenty of stuff still sitting there, just waiting for lunches. Life is good!

-JFT

Why It's Difficult For Me to Get Anything Done

You've been wondering? Here's the answer: It's all Rio's fault!

 

The only solution is to feed him. Then he'll leave me in peace. For a little while. He is, after all, a Maine Coon, and as goofy and lovable as can be. I notice that his famous red collar isn't visible in this shot. But it's there.

-JFT

Talking to the Animals

You know about people who “communicate with animals,” right? It’s all bullshit, right?

Right. That’s what I thought.

But something happened around here recently that’s caused me to question the conventional wisdom.

Back in I guess August, a while after losing Marty, a greatly beloved old Maine Coon cat who had lived with us for 15 years or so, we brought home three new cats. They were Rio, Vivian and little Levi, whom Laura immediately renamed Honey, because that’s what he was.

More Cats!

Last year I wrote here about the loss of our beloved old Maine Coon cat, Marty. He’d been with us for a long time and was a wonderful friend and companion. Losing him was hard. But as it turned out, life without feline companionship was almost as hard.

So just about six months ago, we bit the bullet, visited a cat rescue sanctuary and adopted three more.

We’d meant to bring home two cats – but fate intervened, and then continued to intervene.