Finally and appropriately on July 14, National N*u*de Day, my foster kitty Taco finally gets to go au naturel.
Our one-year old foster kitty, Taco, moved in with us on March 22, after volunteers at Irving Animal Services sent out a desperate plea for someone to take a badly injured cat. Taco, who suffered suspicious burns, hasn’t gone nekked since that day… until now.
Taco’s wound ran from the base of his skull to the between his shoulder blades. He reluctantly submitted himself to daily hydrotherapy treatments. But healing is itchy business, and Taco wouldn’t leave his burn alone. Because of the location and his very limber back legs, the wound couldn’t be fully covered with a bandage or E-collar. To protect Taco from himself, he wore an adhesive bandage around his neck and a shirt (originally made from my husband’s beloved 30-year-old athletic sock–a huge sacrifice).
After he shredded his sock, Taco graduated to puppy tshirts. Despite all the protection, he still managed to reopen his healing injury. The best protection came from his final garment, a goth Old Navy dog tshirt displaying a dog skeleton.
He also was further humiliated by having to wear pink and white French-tipped nail caps on his back claws. He managed to quickly remove them. Eventually he got used to wearing them and left them alone (most of the time. Lest you think I make him wear feminine nails caps to poke fun at his masculinity, the pink makes it easier for me to see when he’s chewed them off. But I also confess, it’s funny to see the boy’s boy cat wearing pink “polish”.
But today was a big deal for my boy. He cast off his earthy cloak. He didn’t die. He finally got to take off his bulky clothing and show off what God gave him. In celebration he streaked (both in the dashing around and the lack of clothing sense) literally and around the house for the first time since he joined our household.
Finally, my little charge’s wound has shrunk to the size of a pea. Taco is almost ready for his forever home. He’s the perfect kitty for a home with gregarious cats and dogs. If you’re a Texas resident and interested in adopting Taco, fill out an adoption application.
When you think about the most deadly animal in the world, what creatures come to mind? A great white shark? Venomous snakes? Crocodile? Hippopotamus? Mankind? Nope, not even close.
The most dangerous creature is also one of the most annoying: the mosquito. Central Massachusetts Mosquito Control Project says that mosquitoes have killed more human beings than all the wars, famines and natural disasters throughout history combined—that’s more humans than are alive in the world today.
If you’re not intimidated by those tiny bugs, you should be. According to the World Health Organization, in 2012 there were between 135 million to 287 millions cases of mosquito-caused malaria, and 473,000 to 789 000 malaria deaths. According to the American Mosquito Control Association over one million people worldwide die every year from all mosquito-borne diseases. Not only do humans suffer from mosquitoes mosquito-borne diseases, our dogs and cats fall prey to mosquitoes, including heartworms.
Mosquitoes not only transmit disease, they can cause allergic responses in sensitive cats.
While heartworms were once thought to be specifically a transmitted by mosquitoes to dogs only, but we now know that unprotected cats are at risk of being infected with heartworm larvae too. Unlike dogs, who develop a spaghetti bowl of worms in the heart, cats develop Heartworm-Associated Respiratory Disease affecting the lungs. There is no cure, and vets can only treat the symptoms.
It’s almost impossible to diagnose in cats. Tests are notoriously inaccurate. Veterinarians often mistake symptoms like coughing, wheezing, difficulty breathing, exhaustion, vomiting and loss of appetite, for asthma or another respiratory ailments. Some heartworm cats never show any symptoms at all. Somewhere between 10% and 17% of HARD kitties die with no symptoms at all. HARD cats can also succumb to blood clots in the lungs.
Indoor cats aren’t exempt. Mosquitoes can sneak in through a hole in the screen or as you close the door. In one North Carolina study, 28 percent of the cats diagnosed with adult heartworms were inside-only.
Protect your cat and dog with a monthly application of preventatives.like Revolution or AdvantageMulti. Also be diligent about emptying containers with standing water.
For more information about the world’s most dangerous creature, check out www.mosquito.org.
High-rise Syndrome is a collection of injuries sustained by cats falling from higher than two stories, often from windows in high rise apartments. Most of these kitties accidentally fall from high-rise apartment windows, terraces or fire escapes. Not surprisingly, high-rise syndrome usually occurs in urban settings. Unscreened windows or windows with damaged screens are most frequently at fault. Amazingly, many of these cats survive.
You can protect your cats (and kids) by:
Checking your screens and regularly. If they’re not snug and secure, replace them.
Don’t expect childproof window guards to protect your cat. Most kitties can slip right past them.
Talk to your vet or humane organizations in your area about reduced cost spaying and neuter. Because we don’t want babies having babies. (Don’t you wish it was that easy with your teenager?)
Lt. J.D. Rainbolt saved the dogs his men has smuggled on board the troop transport ship before returning stateside after the war
My father, J.D. Rainbolt left us this morning, two months after he broke his arm at the shoulder. When he abandoned his earthy cloak, he left behind the pain of a body that refused to mend. He also left the tears of two daughters and a son who loved him very much.
But our loss is Heaven’s gain. I imagine the reception he received was filled with barks and purrs, whinnies and even some moos.
Dad always loved animals–all animals. I grew up hearing that some day he would own a ranch. In the mid-1960s he realized his dream and bought a run down tract of land near Seguin, Texas. A phone company engineer by day, he turned into a gentleman rancher on the weekend. Early on, the R Square Ranch resembled a dilapidated farm in the 1960s sitcom Green Acres. With a lot of sweat and perseverance, Dad molded the land into a working ranch.
Dad with the first calf born at the R Square
Dad truly loved his cows. I’ve never met another rancher who bought his beef at the grocery store, but Dad did. Because he didn’t want his calves ending up on someone’s dinner plate, he raised pedigreed black Angus, which he sold as breeding stock.
He decided before he bought his herd that he’d catch more cows with honey than vinegar. He trained his little herd that the sound of the horn promised a tasty treat called cake or range cubes. Every time he drove up to the ranch entrance he’d honk the horn. A happy audience of black cows would stampede to the corral to greet him.
Dad’s most touching animal story happened during World War II when he found himself surrounded by war dogs. Dad served in the U.S. Army Signal Corps as a communications scout in France. He commanded a small unit of 30 men, who all returned home safely. During the course of the war, his men would feed and rescue starving stray dogs. In return, the dogs offered war-weary soldiers friendly face lickings and emotional escape from the horrors of war.
But, the military frowns on troops keeping pets. Even today soldiers carefully conceal the dog or cat who travels with their units. If discovered, orders are often given to shoot the animal. However, some officers turned a blind eye to the illicit love affair for the good of his people and the starving animals.
J.D. Rainbolt was one of those officers. An avid dog lover since childhood, Dad took no notice of the soldiers’ canine companions, or at least never officially.
When the day finally arrived to return home, one of his men approached Dad and asked, “Lieutenant, what should we do we with the dogs?” Dad told the soldier, “Find local families to give them homes. Give them some money so they can care for them. You can’t bring them on the ship.”
When the unit boarded the troop transport ship bound for the U.S., Dad said there wasn’t even the hint of a dog for miles. He just assumed the locals had a lot of wonderful new pets. Several hours after weighing anchor, pooches appeared on deck. A few at first. Then more and more. Before long, Dad bumped into dogs no matter where he went on the ship. Dad learned that the dog smugglers had fed their pets sedatives, stuffed them in their duffel bags, then carried them onto the ship. Dad’s men weren’t the only ones who disobeyed the dog-abandonment order. Most of the dogs onboard had traveled with combats units. Over 100 French mutts found themselves bound for the United States.
The no-nonsense admiral in charge of the convoy ordered my dad to shoot every dog on the ship. Dad respectfully replied he didn’t think that wasn’t wise.
“These men have been killing Germans for months,” young Lt. Rainbolt reminded the admiral. “The dogs are part of their unit. If you start shooting dogs, there will be a bloodbath. These men won’t hesitate to kill to protect their dogs”.
How would they carry out this mutiny, the admiral wanted to know. The admiral thought all of the weapons onboard had been stowed in the bowels of the ship. My dad, reminded him that only the military-issued weapons were locked up. The same duffel bags that smuggled in contraband dogs, also (legally) brought in captured guns, ammo and knives. (Even Dad came home with eight captured German bayonets, and of course some cognac.)
The admiral realized before he could enforce his dog destruction order, he’d have to take up the captured weapons. Each piece would have to be logged in, labeled and stored so it could be reissued to its owner before the soldier left the ship. The confiscation process continued well past mid-voyage, at which time they had to start returning the arms. After all, with an immediate turnaround, they couldn’t waste valuable dock time messing with souvenirs. The admiral conceded, and both mutts and men openly strolled the ship for the rest of the cruise..
The last time Dad told the story, he couldn’t recall many of the details. The admiral and the ship’s name have been lost to time. And while these dogs saved the hearts and souls of his men, Dad just returned the favor. And for a few days at the end of World War II, Dad had over 100 dogs. That made Lt. Rainbolt the happiest dog lover in the world.
So I have no doubt that early this morning J.D. Rainbolt was greeted by joyful kitties, a few bunnies, some horses, a large herd of Angus and a huge pack of dogs (a hundred of whom barked with a French accent), all begging, “Pet me! Pet Me!”
Between tears I visualize the joyful reunion. “You go, Dad. I miss you.”
January 30 is the 365th anniversary of the death of England’s King Charles I. Unlike the United States, where people often fear black cats, the English have long held the belief that black cats are sources of good fortune. Winston Churchill even credited his wartime success on his ritual of petting every black cat he saw. His own black cat, Nelson, even attended cabinet meetings.
A few centuries earlier King Charles I had a black kitty ,(whose name has been lost to history) that he also dearly loved. He believed his cat would protect him from those who wanted to kill him. The king so feared losing his pet (and his life) that he placed a 24-hour guard around him. Eventually the cat fell ill and died. In December 1648, legend says the distraught king cried out, “Alas, my luck is gone.” Apparently he was right. The next day Oliver Cromwell’s troops arrested him. He was found guilty of treason. On January 30, 1649, Charles was beheaded.
Learn a lesson from Charles I. Always have a lucky black to cover your back.
January 19 was the 205th anniversary of Edgar Allan Poe’s birth, the American suspense author, poet and cat lover who is best remembered for The Black Cat and The Raven. Poe was born in 1809 and died in 1849 at the still young age of 40. He was laid to rest at Baltimore’s Westminster Hall and Burying Ground.
For seven decades in the early morning on the anniversary of Poe’s birth, a mysterious man (or maybe a father and son team) paid tribute to the author. Carrying a silver-tipped cane, the black-clad gentleman always wore a wide-brimmed hat and scarf to hide his face.
The Poe Toaster was first noticed in 1949 (in year of the 100th anniversary of the poet’s death). The night of January 19 the stranger entered the cemetery and raised a toast of Martell cognac to Poe. At the grave he left the unfinished bottle along with three red roses placed in a distinctive pattern. The Poe Society of Baltimore admits that some details have been kept private so they’ll recognize the real Toaster from the copycats.
A cryptic note left behind in 1993 stated, “The torch will be passed.” That apparently happened. A message left in 1999 announced that the original Toaster had died the previous year and a son had taken over the tradition. Watchers agreed that the Toaster appeared younger. A 2001 note ranted about the Baltimore Ravens’ Super Bowl chances, and a note in 2004 included a diatribe about France’s opposition to the Iraq war. Obviously not the same dignified old Toaster. The Toaster last appeared in January 2009.
At the time of Poe’s passing, newspapers attributed his death to “congestion of the brain” or “cerebral inflammation”. Today’s doctors speculate he could have succumbed to alcoholism, epilepsy, syphilis, cholera, rabies or even murder.
We have arrived at the end of an era. Hopefully the Toaster is now sharing Martell with Poe face-to-face. And in the poet’s own brilliant words, the Poe Toaster is “Quoth the Raven, “’Nevermore’.”
Bette performs scientific experiments on the specific gravity of some of her favorite cat toys.
Today (January 4) is the 371st anniversary of the birth of Sir Isaac Newton, the 17th century English physicist and mathematician who discovered the law of gravity. The Gravity Game is a favorite feline pastime at our house.
Our four-year old tuxedo, Bette is a huge fan of gravity. Objects (like evil cell phones, bottles of evil hand lotion or evil coffee cups left on the kitchen table must be flung off the edge in a continuous test of the power of gravity. So far, in the case of gravity vs. valuable breakable object, gravity (and Bette’s curiosity) win every time.
Widely regarded as one of the most influential scientists of all time, Sir Newton is also credited with the invention of the cat flap.
Bette says, “Thank you Sir Newton,” for making her quiet existence so much more exciting.
Finally and appropriately on July 14, National N*u*de Day, my foster kitty Taco finally gets to go au naturel.
Taco’s wound ran from the base of his skull to the between his shoulder blades. He reluctantly submitted himself to daily hydrotherapy treatments. But healing is itchy business, and Taco wouldn’t leave his burn alone. Because of the location and his very limber back legs, the wound couldn’t be fully covered with a bandage or E-collar. To protect Taco from himself, he wore an adhesive bandage around his neck and a shirt (originally made from my husband’s beloved 30-year-old athletic sock–a huge sacrifice).
After he shredded his sock, Taco graduated to puppy tshirts. Despite all the protection, he still managed to reopen his healing injury. The best protection came from his final garment, a goth Old Navy dog tshirt displaying a dog skeleton.
He also was further humiliated by having to wear pink and white French-tipped nail caps on his back claws. He managed to quickly remove them. Eventually he got used to wearing them and left them alone (most of the time. Lest you think I make him wear feminine nails caps to poke fun at his masculinity, the pink makes it easier for me to see when he’s chewed them off. But I also confess, it’s funny to see the boy’s boy cat wearing pink “polish”.
Finally, my little charge’s wound has shrunk to the size of a pea. Taco is almost ready for his forever home. He’s the perfect kitty for a home with gregarious cats and dogs. If you’re a Texas resident and interested in adopting Taco, fill out an adoption application.
