Mother-Daughter Matching

When my sister Diana and I were little, our mother bought or sewed matching dresses for us and once she made dresses for all three of us. Diana and I are two years apart in age, but didn't look that much alike except that we were your typical adorable little girls. Diana was born with blond hair and I have always been a brunette so it was easy to disown each other.
 

Likewise, when my kids were little, I tried to match them for Christmas photos. Since mine are two different genders, I gradually moved to getting Tyler a green shirt and a matching one in red for Kelsey. Then I found Fresh Produce dresses in Mystic. Kelsey and I looked so cute in our little matching dresses. By that time, Tyler was into his own look and resisted my suggestions to get a shirt to match his mom and sister.

But those days are gone. Kelsey is almost 14 years old and quite frankly, I'd be worried if she wanted to dress like me now. She makes fun of my clothes, my hair, my face, my everything. Too bad she looks so much like me....the poor girl is doomed.

This past weekend, Jay, Kelsey and I went to the Virtu Art Festival in nearby Westerly, Rhode Island. We had gone last year but didn't allow enough time to canvas all of Wilcox Park so I planned to spend the whole day there this year. The art festival is outdoors among gorgeous flower gardens and trees that must be a few hundred years old. The artists are painters, photographers, jewelers, crafters, musicians.....all forms of art. I found the vendor who makes headbands from last year. She also makes belts, dog collars and leashes out of various fabric prints.

Kelsey pointed out that Chardonnay needed a new collar. Every few years, we give up on bleaching and washing the doggy and deer poo smell out of her collar and invest in a new one. So what could be better than to get Chardonnay a unique aqua collar with sunflowers that matched a headband for me? The kids call it "gay" but who cares? Chardonnay doesn't give me an attitude or make fun of me.

Follow up on Mother's Day post from Chardonnay

I'm soooo happy to have my stitches out! I was getting pretty depressed and developed several hotspots from the stress. My family was worried that I wasn't my usual self. I stopped reminding Mommy when it was 5 o'clock so she could feed me because I just didn't feel good.

I hated getting the stitches out on Monday but I'm glad they are gone! When I saw the vet with those sharp scissors, I tried to hide my butt in the corner so they wouldn't see it. Mommy kept telling me to lay still while the doctor removed them, but it HURT! I kept eye contact with her while they worked on my butt so she could tell me it was okay. She gave me the hand signal to stay so I tried to obey. She says I was very brave and did a good job of being still even though I jumped every time they poked me.

Now that the stitches are gone, I can sit and wag my tail without pain. I hope I never have to go through that again. It was worse than when I split my claw all the way to my toe this winter. I used to love going to the vet, but I'm afraid of those people in the funny coats now.

Now all I have to do is wait for my hotspots to heal. Mommy promised I'll get a new summer hair cut soon so I won't look so silly in back. Thanks to everybody who sent me get well wishes, especially Logan.

Chardonnay

Not a Morning Person

I snore occasionally. My husband Jay complains sometimes and Kelsey makes fun of me. Jay used to get angry about it until I made him understand that I honestly don't do it on purpose. Apparently it can be loud enough at times that Jay feels like he has to hang onto the side of the bed to keep from getting sucked into the black hole of my gaping mouth (I would fit in well at a nursing home). It can be embarrassing when you realize that you're at your worst when you're unconscious. It keeps me from falling asleep on park benches. I've gone to ENT doctors, researched different remedies, tried taking antihistamines before bedtime, etc. So much for the doctor who promised me I'd no longer snore after he removed my tonsils and adenoids as a child.

Yesterday (Sunday) Jay and I made a 5 hour round trip to Hopewell Junction, New York. We'd driven there to get a good price for the feline HCM clinic being held. If you can get your cat ultra sounded by a good board certified cardiologist for $100, you drive. We took two cats, Olivia and Boo; both have very healthy hearts. Jay enjoyed talking fly-fishing with Dr. Joel Edwards and I enjoyed talking cats with other cat people.

Even though I'd slept in the car, I couldn't shake the feeling of exhaustion and headed to bed early. Jay stayed up later to prepare for the class he starts today for the summer at UCONN Law School.

Around 1:30 AM, I woke up and realized Jay hadn't come to bed yet. Well, either he was still up studying (doubtful) or I'd had a bad snoring night, he'd had enough and decided to sleep on the couch. Let me emphasize here that 360 days out of the year, my snoring is not so bad to send Jay out of the room, especially if he gets to sleep first. I went back to sleep.

When I later dragged myself out of bed at 6:30, Jay was already getting out of the shower. As I schlepped into the bathroom to brush my teeth, I asked him what happened last night. He said my snoring was so bad, he tried to wake me up 4 times and finally gave up, going downstairs to sleep on the couch. Jay went on and on about how awful it was while I brushed. I abruptly spit out the toothpaste and looked at the tube of white stuff I'd just put on my toothbrush.

"Are you still mad at me?" I asked him.

"No, why?"

"Because I just brushed my teeth with the athlete's foot cream you left on the sink."

Mother's Day

Today is Mother's Day and by law, it's a bright sunny day. Although I have 2 teenagers, my biggest worry this past week was our canine child, a Golden Retriever named Chardonnay. Chardonnay is 8 years old but has always acted like she's much younger with the maturity level of a 3-year-old child. So much for a laid back middle-aged dog; her gray hair started showing up when she turned three, but that's been her only sign of aging. She still runs hard, plays hard, greets everyone at the door as if she's missed them for years.....the ultimate poster child for unconditional love.

A week or so ago, it was nice and warm out so I decided that Chardonnay was overdue for a bath. We have to bathe her outside with the hose which is fed by freezing cold well water, so I prefer hot days. Chardonnay is so great at taking a bath that I remove her collar and she will just stand there and allow me to manipulate her body around to wash her. It was a good thing I bathed her because otherwise I don't know when we would have noticed the quarter-sized bubbling growth under tail, right above her rectum. It looked very painful, but didn't seem to bother her.

Off to the vet to check out Chardonnay's butt growth. The kids were concerned but afraid to look "down there". Kelsey has often claimed that she hated the dog because she's a pain. A lot of this is simply manipulation to convince me that we need to get another, smaller dog. Kelsey finally admitted recently that she doesn't really hate Chardonnay as she wished her luck with her butt at the vet.

The vet asperated the growth to send off to the lab for analysis but warned me that 70% of growths in the anal area are malignant. Of course, all the worries get worse. Chardonnay is getting old whether we're ready to accept it or not. It doesn't seem fair that our beloved pets have such short chapters in our human lives. She is such a part of our family we couldn't imagine our household without her. We have many Maine Coons, but only one dog so yes, she is extra special.

I waited anxiously all day for the vet to call. I finally called them that afternoon and was told they had the results but the vet would have to call me back to talk to me. More waiting. Finally the phone rang. The vet reported that she had a benign perianal adenoma. I opened the bedroom door and yelled out the news to Tyler and Jay downstairs, "No cancer!" The tears would've come no matter what the news, but tears of relief were good. Now I just had to worry that her surgery would go okay and she wouldn't lose control of her bowels as a result.

Chardonnay had her growth removed this past Friday and came home the same day. She seems comfortable and has normal bowel movements. The family is happy and relieved to have the tumor behind us (pun intended). I don't know how long the new Chardonnay appreciation will last but she is enjoying the extra loving for now. The concern is replaced with trying not to laugh at her new doo.

The Trials and Tribulations of Cat Breeding

When you get a cat who exemplifies everything you love about cats, as a breeder you want to reproduce it. I got Cassie almost 2 years ago from Broadsway cats http://broadswaycats.com/ in North Carolina. Cassie was intended to replace another breeding female I'd gotten from the broads at Broadsway who was only able to have singleton litters. Amy has nice kittens, but just one at a time (there's been one exception to that when she gave birth to 5 but that happened after Cassie came to us).

Cassie is a ticked torbie, meaning she has the torbie colors of brown and red mixed together but has the ticked pattern with no stripes except on her head and legs. A ticked pattern in a torbie causes the colors to look rather muted rather than the regular flash torbies have. Therefore, I don't really care for the ticked pattern in a torbie but from the moment I met Cassie at the show hotel in Pennsylvania, I loved her. This was a kitten who oozed personality from the beginning. She walked right up and greeted me like a dog would, happy for any adventure. So even though she was ticked, Cassie had me with hello. I named her Broadsway Cascapedia of Dracoonfly, aka Cassie.

Cassie's personality only improved as she aged. She gives little "chirps" when she wants you to pick her up. She will also reach up like a small child, waiting for you to hold her in your arms. Once Cassie is face-to-face with her human, she rubs both sides of her head against your cheeks. If someone ignores or doesn't notice Cassie's attempts to be picked up, she just jumps in your arms from the floor. It's best to be ready to catch her in this case because Cassie will naturally dig her claws in if she feels like she'll fall from your chest. Cassie's sweetness is unbiased, and she compliments new acquaintances as well as family with her affection.

Unfortunately, as Cassie grew up, she also developed intense car-sickness. After too many times of having to clean diarrhea out of her coat at the cat shows, I decided that Cassie had enough of showing and I was tired of smelling like crap. She has a beautiful typey head, but that didn't justify torturing both of us. So Cassie stayed home to be bred...except for one problem....she wouldn't go into heat. My Maine Coons are generally late bloomers and have been known to wait until almost one year to start cycling so I was patient. I know cats can have silent heats so after a while, I put her with my male to see if he could detect a readiness that I couldn't. No, Bugger just kissed her on the head, but no interest "that way". I put her with my other male and he also seemed to just want to be friends. This went on for several months until Cassie was a well over a year and half old.

By this time, I declared that even if Cassie could never have kittens, she was staying with us forever. Normally, I have to spay and place cats I can't breed so the house doesn't get over crowded but Cassie is special to my heart. I was discussing Cassie's problem with my friend Lynn who is also a Maine Coon breeder http://www.howlyncats.com/. Lynn suggested a change of view for Cassie might inspire her to cycle and offered her male, Toro, a brown tabby with high white. Well, it worked! Lynn reported that Cassie was acting like she was in heat and although she never actually witnessed a breeding, she was sure Toro had done the job.

On the day I was to meet Lynn and get Cassie back, her husband Howard noticed that Cassie's neck had a nasty sore on it. Apparently when Toro tried to breed Cassie, she kept rolling to the side. Cats can only do it in one position so Toro naturally tried to hold Cassie upright by her scruff. Toro is a gentleman with the ladies so I don't blame him at all for doing what he had to do. However, Lynn thought that Cassie's injury was serious enough that she needed to go to her vet before I got her back. Cat bites are dangerous even to cats and Cassie's wound had absessed. She needed stitches and drains put in. Not a pretty sight. Lynn and Howard felt terrible and even refused to let me pay for Cassie's bill. Cassie could care less even though she looked like she'd been decapitated and had her head sewn back on.

Once home, I was warned by my vet that with all that Cassie had gone through with surgery, there was a good chance the pregnancy wouldn't take or the kittens could have serious birth defects. I realize that with cat breeding, it's never as simple as putting two cats together, they breed and have healthy babies. Things can and do go wrong more often than not. However, I remained optimistic....having complete faith that since I was lucky enough for Cassie to finally get pregnant, everything would work out.

I counted down on the calendar and determined Cassie's due date was May 22nd. She got larger and wisely stopped jumping into my arms though she still begged to be picked up. Meanwhile, Ginger had had a litter of 6. A few days after Ginger's kittens were born, Jay and I were talking downstairs after coming inside from a nap on the hammock. We heard the sound of a newborn kitten crying upstairs. Jay remarked that it sounded like Ginger was moving kittens. Upon checking in on Ginger in our bedroom and she calmly looked at me from her kittens' bed. Clearly, Ginger's kittens were fine. Then where was the crying coming from?

I crossed the hall to Kelsey's room and found two newborn kittens on her floor with Amy hovering around them. Amy hadn't been pregnant had she? And if so, who bred her? These kittens had white and neither Amy nor Bugger had white on them. I started hollering for Jay and checked the mess under Kelsey's bed for more kittens. I found Cassie under there with another kitten and afterbirth mess on her bottom. She wasn't due for another 2 or 3 weeks but these kittens were a very good size, definitely full term and healthy.

As it turns out, I completely miscounted on the calendar. Cassie delivered after 66 days of gestation, very normal for cats. By the time I found the kittens, the cords were cut and they were dry already. Good thing one of us knew what she was doing. Two of the kittens are ticked tabbies like their mother, so I named them Rikki, Tikki and Tavi. Hopefully all three have inherited their mother's good sense and sweetness too.

Cassie with Rikki, Tikki and Tavi

Waste Management

WARNING: Don't read on if you are eating.

People often ask me if it is hard to see my kittens leave after living with them for 12 weeks. The answer is yes and no.

Recently I had ten kittens downstairs in one room. This is a combination of 4 different litters, one litter of four I'm fostering, two singleton litters and another litter of four. They are all within 2 weeks of each other in age with 3 mama cats pitching in so it works. However, 10 little butts create a lot of excrement. I have 3 litter boxes in the room of different sizes, small, medium and large. Most of the kittens know where to go, but there's always one or two who spoil it all by leaving presents elsewhere.

Each morning starts with entering the kitten/computer room and finding the usual mess created over the night. The food dishes are knocked over. The tray under the water dish has a tootsie roll on it. There's a poo poo patty in the corner by Jay's desk. Upon picking up the tray, I find fermenting pee under it, discoloring the hard wood floor below. I arm myself with paper towels, a plastic bag and XO spray. After cleaning for 10 minutes, I made the general announcement that no one else is allowed to poop. Nobody listens, but it creates the illusion that I'm in charge.

The 4 to 6 weeks old kittens can be the messiest stage because this is when they start eating solid food and learning to use the litter box. The mother cat doesn't like to clean up poop that doesn't result from her milk so they are on their own. The kittens are like toddler children who suddenly become aware of the urge to go, but don't know what to do about it. I recognize it in a kitten who cries and wanders over to a corner to squat. I can pick the kitten up and put it in the litter box. If I'm lucky, a light bulb will go off in its little kitten brain "Oh, so this if what this box is for!" If I'm not so lucky, the kitten will disagree with being placed in the litter box, "No, I have to go, not get in the litter box." Then the kitten will climb out of the box and try to go back in the spot it was in before.

Then there are the skid marks, left by a kitten who no doubt freaked out because he couldn't wait until he finished pooping then got frightened because some "scary creature" had a hold of his butt and was following him. Such a kitten will typically run, meowing frantically with poop in tow until he tries to get rid of his companion by dragging his butt on the floor. This may get the bulk of the problem to let go, but it leaves a trail in the effort. I have often thought the kittens were trying to write their names out in cursive with poo. If the sit and drag method doesn't cause the poop to drop off, it will invariably embed it in the kitten's fuzzy butt. Young kittens are known to sit and poop at first instead of hover and poop, resulting in the same kind of rear mess. There have been times too numerous to mention when I'll find a wad of poo stuck over the kitten's entire private area, preventing any subsequent excrement from properly exiting. This is when the butt baths come into play.



When giving a butt bath to a small kitten, don't under estimate the tenacity of those tiny claws or the effect a crying kitten has on the entire household of cats. I will normally try to loosen the crap under warm running water to remove it. Sometimes it's just easier to take the scissors and cut it off like a big crap mat, then wash the little squirming crying fuzzy butt. By this time all the cats have gathered around the sink to offer their advice and express concern to my victim. Occasionally a mother cat will try to rescue her kitten by grabbing it by the neck to keep me from drowning her baby. I chastise such a mom by telling her that if she were doing her job properly by keeping the bottoms clean, I wouldn't have to torture her babies so much. Once I'm finished with the butt bath, the cats will scatter, fearing that I may be in a bath giving mood and they may be next.

The most inventive I ever got was when I had a litter of 4-5 week old kittens in my master bathroom. I had just cleaned up the skid mark cursive writing, bleaching and mopping the entire floor. I finally was able to get in the shower, but had to step out to get more shampoo. As soon as I opened the shower door, I saw more evidence of butt-writing. I knew someone had to have a poopy butt so while dripping water all over the floor, I checked each bottom until I found the culprit. I decided to multi-task and just brought the little guy in the shower with me.

The other gross reality of kitten and cat waste management is our dog, Chardonnay. Chardonnay is a Golden Retriever who considers it her job to clean up messes. If we accidentally drop food on the floor, she's there to clean it up. Likewise, she is the official second step to cleaning food off the dishes after they are loaded in the dishwasher and before the wash cycle is run. I can hear the groans but no, she never licks the clean dishes. The dirty ones are sterilized in the dishwasher.

The problem comes in when a cat or kitten leaves a stinky poop in the litter box (okay, they're all stinky, but some are especially vile). Chardonnay thinks she needs to clean up the poop. For this reason, the litter boxes are kept upstairs and in the basement where the dog doesn't venture. However, there's the kitten room. We have to be careful to close the door or put up the gate if no one is in the room. If I'm in there on the computer (like now) and a cat decides to go, Chardonnay will hover right at the door, waiting for her opportunity. Cat poo is like a special treat for some reason; I've actually seen her drooling in anticipation of grabbing those tasty morsels. I often wonder if I gave Chardonnay a choice of prime rib or cat crap what her decision would be. Bottom line, don't let our dog lick you.

Close the Windows!

Yesterday was one of those days when I wondered why in the world I breed Maine Coons. There are the days when images of cuteness and fun just ooze, like in this photo where our Golden Retriever, Chardonnay, cleans up the kittens after Kelsey has given them a bottle.

Yesterday started like any other day. Kelsey wanted her boyfriend Erik to come over but one of the conditions of such a visit was that they continue to work on cleaning out her bedroom. It was nice spring day so we had all the windows wide open to enjoy it. Kelsey was supposed to have cleaned her room before Erik came over, but this task proved too daunting (can we say filth so deep that I tease her about a homeless man named Fred who lives undetected under her bed?) Kelsey's response when I nagged her about cleaning her room was that it was too much work and she wanted the Clutter Guy from Oprah to do it for her.

With the boyfriend to "help her", Kelsey got easily distracted with telling stories about the lost treasures she was finding. "THAT'S where that shirt (necklace, CD, etc.) was! I've been looking for that since last year." Erik was pretty useless in doing anything because he apparently is unable to stand or sit without leaning on Kelsey with his arms wrapped around her for support. This subjects the two of them to endless sarcastic comments from Jay and me. "Kelsey, it's no wonder your posture is so pathetic from having to hold up that Erik tumor."

Kelsey has a tendency to be quite silly and childlike when Erik is over so she reacted like a 6-year-old when she "found" a toy. It was a small army type figure attached to a cheap parachute, the kind you might get out of a bubble gum machine for 50 cents. I offered to trash it to which of course Kelsey insisted that no, the parachute toy was really cool. Tossing him in the air wasn't exciting enough however so the next thing you know Kelsey has taken the screen off her window, ordering Erik not to drop it to the ground 2 stories below. The parachute toy went out the window, causing Kelsey to squeal in delight when it landed in the flower bed near the front door.

Of course, the next task was to try to fit the screen back in the window properly. Our window screens are designed to only come out completely for cleaning, relying on fitting the two little latches on the sides exactly in the slots to secure them. This proved difficult because the loop which normally is on the inside bottom of the screen to to pull it into place was missing on the frame. After Kelsey and Erik both tried unsuccessfully to replace the screen, I had to try. I didn't have much better luck with a good fit, but I finally got it. This boring little detail bears noting for later.

Later in the afternoon, I took the two inseparable teens with me to run some errands, including picking up storage containers at Walmart to help with the organization of Kelsey's clutter. We unloaded the van and I took the cases of canned cat food down to the basement. While there, I noticed that Wynonna, one of the older kittens destined for a pet home, was peeing on the dust mop leaning in the corner of the basement. Ever since I moved the new kitten litter downstairs and displaced Wynonna, she's forgotten how to use the litter box, usually favoring the dog's food bowl. I picked up the kitten and placed her in one of the litter boxes in the basement, lecturing her about how she was supposed to be a big girl. She promptly jumped out of the box, telling me she didn't need to go....anymore.

I went back to the van to get the next load to bring in, more cat food of course. On the way through our front screened in porch, I noticed my big red neutered male, Ray, spraying the screen. By this time, I was exhausted from the cold I'm getting from Jay and frustrated with cat pee. I yelled at Ray, telling him it was a good thing he was a favorite or else he wouldn't be and continued out to the van, annoyed because now I had one more mess to clean up.

While outside, I heard a kitten crying. I called, looking for a kitten perhaps in the window or who got out on the porch accidentally. I didn't see the source of the plaintive meowing yet but something caused me to look up. Amy, our adventurous tortoiseshell, had pushed out the bottom of the screen in Kelsey's bedroom window and was now out on our roof. I still heard the meowing, but it wasn't coming from Amy. Looking up even higher, I noticed the silhouette of a Maine Coon walking on the peak of our roof. It was Kinsey hollering that she was in heat, but there were no boys up here and this was more than she had bargained for.

I yelled up to Kelsey, who was in her room already, to open her window. Amy was happy to come back in to Kelsey.

However, Kinsey was confused as she couldn't see the window or Kelsey from her angle and continued to walk back and forth on our steeply pitched roof top, meowing her head off. I put my head in the front door and told Jay we had a cat on the roof. So while I called to Kinsey to come down to the window and Kelsey started crying in fear that the cat would jump,

Jay (my former firefighter husband) got the extension ladder and saved the day. No, he didn't sling the cat over his shoulder to haul her down. He took the carrier I handed him and coaxed a very grateful Kinsey into it.

Now, I'm searching for ways to better secure my windows for the summer before I jump out of them myself.