pets

Spike

Posted by

0

Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: This card wandered into the house last night, in a pile of interesting mail, especially robust as we hadn’t picked up our mail in a few days – more on that in a bit. It was nestled against a wonderfully long, newsy letter from our friends Pete (Poplaski) and Rika in France. Kim read the letter aloud to me while killing time before picking up take out. A delightful distraction, but resulting in my just having a good look at the card now.

I have a weakness for photos of men with cats (see early posts here and here) and a dog seems like a bonus round. Since Spike is the only name in evidence I will speculate that it belongs to the dog or the man? Neither disinterested kit looks like a Spike. This is a photo postcard and nothing is written on the back. The card was never mailed.

From a very early Pictorama post, Men and Cats. Pams-Pictorama.com Collection.

If we look closely this chap is posing on the flat roof of a house, the eve of the house next door confirming this speculation. (The house in Jersey has such a flat roof out the bathroom window, but no plans for us to climb out onto it in the foreseeable future. Given the roof issues I’ve had with that part of the house I would say likely never.) This is evidently an old house with tatty, long and worn wooden shudders that look like they have done real window protecting work, hence their dilapidation. A bit of a decorative railing appears to one side of that and I wonder if the actual balcony was in theory limited to that area.

Our human is sporting a suit and tie, hat perched atop his head, and a big grin. He is sitting on a chair of which there is very little evidence – I thought at first he was squatting in order to get everyone into the frame at first. The cats, a lovely little tuxie and a somewhat spotty white one, are obediently perched on each leg.

Bonus video of Blackie considering a water “fountain” a friend sent him as he demands bathroom sink water constantly. While entertained by it not sure he actually “gets” it yet.

The dog, who wears a hefty collar, is at his feet and has a somewhat concerned look if we peer closely. The trees behind him and into the distance have leaves but seem vaguely half-hearted, perhaps it is fall and their denuding has begun. A very careful look at the horizon reveals a few other rooftops and more beyond, but that and the sky are completely burned out.

Evidence of our battle with the Afrin bottle. Bloody but now bowed.

Zipping back to life here in New York City. Those of you who follow me on Instagram may have already seen allusions to Covid having come to visit Deitch Studio. Shown above is the evidence of Kim and I going to war with a bottle of Afrin whose childproof cap proved to be largely human proof. We ultimately scored a victory over it, but it cost Kim a bad cut on his drawing thumb and a less significant one on my wrist. (My thanks to him for his sacrifice to help clear my head!)

Kim, who was felled first, seems to have reached the shores on the other side of well while I am getting there, slowly. Cats are very spoiled, with a lot of me petting and treat time – all discipline with them out the window in my malaise. All this to say, there are some great toys waiting to make their debut, a belated birthday to ultimately celebrate. Hopefully I can tackle some of these with renewed tomorrow.

Concern for cats…

Posted by

1

Pam’s Pictorama Post: I used to say that I would like to retire to a cat farm in Connecticut. Now, far from retired, those of you who follow my story know that it does appear that I roughly run one in New Jersey in addition of course to the feline folks here in New York. Additionally, my work life is now very animal centric and I can say I find myself in a place where I can have some very catty days indeed. Today I am dedicating a bit of space to my feline friends understanding it may not be the cat’s meow for all readers.

Peaches sees a bird out the window. She is ever watchful of the outside perimeter.

Just last Friday at work I found myself having a delightful hour crawling around on the floor of our member’s lounge with two new visitors, such good kitties they were out of their carriers and investigating the premises. Their mom adopts special needs cats only and is able to devote time and resources to their care. They are remarkably well adjusted cats and sat on my lap for pets and purrs.

Stormy is most likely to be seen at meals.
Milty, grand old man, napping.

In general, unlike dogs (some actually seem to enjoy a visit to our premises – others less so) cats are rarely up for an actual visit when they are at the vet. This is certainly true of mine. If left with me in an exam room Blackie will immediately start to examine all possible exits for a getaway, first checking the perimeter of the room and gesturing to the doors – come on mom, we can make a break for it. I had another cat, Otto, an excellent jumper, who would look upward and the next thing I knew she went from my shoulder to atop high cabinets and had to be fetched by office staff. It is more than fair to say I meet many more cats these days, albeit those under the duress of being at the vet.

Beauregard who has recently discovered the pleasures of Zoom and sitting on my desk in NJ.

My work integrates daily thinking about cat projects as well – fund a cat recovery area in surgery or ICU anyone? Pay for some research? The largest number of patients are dogs, and frankly we care for many exotics (it seems to me I have seen a lot of guinea pigs coming and going lately and even heard tell of a goldfish). One day in the hall one of our staff rushed past me with a teeny, tiny turtle in a plastic tub. However, cats are far from uncommon.

Cats (dogs – and other animals) which need to be rehomed are sometime detailed and emailed to staff as it is, obviously, a huge network of animal people. This in addition to a daily dose of cat tales and woes on posts via the internet where adoption and loss seem to vie for attention. Lovely adult and senior cats who have lost their home due to circumstances changing – illness, death or indifference.

Sunny front door action at the NJ house. A prime morning spot.

As much as the New Jersey cats are tended and adored in my absence I worry about them. Although it has worked out better than I thought it would and it was definitely how my mom wanted it. I continue to consider it a work in progress.

Here in New York, Blackie continues to confound us with a newfound desire to drink water from the sink. I have had other cats develop this desire, but Blackie is single minded in his demands. Yes, he has had all sorts of tests run about it and even taking his diabetes into account it is unclear where the increased water intake has come from. In part, one cannot separate out the entertainment factor of making your human perform simple tricks such as turning the faucet on for you when you caterwaul. Still, there is definitely a corresponding urge and he also drinks considerable water from his shared bowl with Cookie.

Gus on the bed in NJ. He is one cat I think misses getting singular attention.

Blackie’s sister Cookie has become a more affectionate cat as she gets older. She is demanding in her own way (in fact we sometimes call her Demanda) but usually for pets, preferring morning and evening specially for those. Cookie is unusual in that she is the only cat I have ever known who truly likes having her tummy rubbed – like a dog. She will roll and stretch and request our attention for this. She and Blackie will share the bed during the day, but once I get into it at night she eschews it. Blackie has the job of waking us in the morning and only if we refuse to stir by about 6:15 will Cookie take matters in hand and race across the bed a few times to see if she can eject us manually.

Tummy rubbing time.

So this morning I find myself wishing I could give them all a home, but a bit overwhelmed by my own inherited menagerie at times. Wouldn’t trade my daily dose of cats however, although I am learning to appreciate dogs too – more to come?

Peaches

Posted by

2

Pam’s Pictorama Post: Today is an oddball post – I wish to introduce you all to Peaches, the second youngest, female cat of the New Jersey tribe of five. She’s also one of the meanest cats I have ever met. Perhaps considering her story she has some snark coming to her. I will let you decide.

Most readers know that in April of ’23 I inherited a house and five cats from my mother. At her behest, the cats continue to reside here where someone cares for them and the house when I am not here, as Deitch Studio in Manhattan is still our home base. This presents some logistical problems, but fewer than I might have expected when my mother first presented this request, as it became clear that her time was limited.

Shown here with Hobo, our outdoor visitor. They look so much alike! Seems impossible that they are related – Hobo lives too many miles away. But still…

For some background, my mother had briefly whittled her cat family down to something manageable a few years ago when she adopted, first, an all black kitten (Beauregard or Beau) from an agency in Newark, but then followed in rapid succession by two who came to the backdoor (Gus and Stormy) and Peaches whose story I am going to tell today. After the acquisition of Stormy (the youngest) I did request that she stop acquiring cats as it was clear that these were indeed going to end up being my cats.

Our holiday card featuring the whole family (including Hobo) for a quick cat reference.

Unlike the others who, as outlined above, either came through the front door via adoption or showed up repeatedly and starving at the back, Peaches was acquired sight unseen. My mother loved to tell the Peaches acquisition story.

Prized spot in our bedroom. Forbidden territory when the NYC cats are here.

At that time, now about three years ago, my mom had a cousin living with her. They had both grown up in a nearby town called Long Branch and her cousin inherited a house there, but lived with mom for a few years. Word was, back near her house in Long Branch, a friend heard a cat meowing over several days and had called Animal Control to find out what was going on and get the cat.

Seems somehow this cat had gotten away from the mother and the litter and was trapped in a basement after falling down a hole. Poor little thing was starving and crying.

Peaches does play with toys.

My mom knew that it was likely that a feral kitten would ultimately be put down as unadoptable. She called Animal Control in Long Branch as soon as the cat was picked up and told them not to put her down and that she would take it.

I guess the guy said, Lady, you don’t want this cat! It is the meanest cat we’ve ever had to catch. So wild we had to use a broom handle to move the carrier with her in it! And of course mom said she didn’t care and wanted the cat.

She very much enjoys watching the activity on the deck where chipmonks and other critters have been known to roam. Recently I found what I think were groundhog muddy tracks across it so quite a show.

She arrived and was christened Peaches for the woman who had heard her and called Animal Control originally. She entered our house at the time as the youngest and only female cat of the house. To my knowledge no one has ever actually touched Peaches since she came to Oxford Avenue. She hid at first and then slowly assimilated to the extent that she would hang with the pack of cats but keep a wide birth (six or more feet) from any human.

Left to her own devices (which she largely is) she seems quite content.

Over the past several years she has thawed slightly. She now willingly sit in the same room as us, sometimes quite close. When I am feeding them she will come right up to me but if I try to touch her or get too close where she is curled up she will hiss, spit and growl. On this trip however, she “accidentally” jumped up on the arm of my chair and stared me in the eye for several long moments before panic set in and she flew back off. I was as stunned as she was.

Milty and Peaches.

She has one outstanding cat friendship in the house, with Milty, our most senior cat. I will occasionally find them sleeping together. She’ll go over and gently groom him once in a while. It seems like an unlikely pairing, but I am pleased she has a compatriot among the cats.

This just the other day. Happy Peaches.

There have been days this summer when I have caught her rolling and stretching happily. I think she is a contented cat in general, even if her interactions with the human population are limited. I used to joke with my mother that in ten years when Peaches was happily installed on my lap being petted we would look back and remember how we couldn’t get near her. I am less sure of that future, but she’s one of the Butler family cats now to stay.

Uncle Zack

Posted by

2

Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: As I start writing this post I am in New Jersey on Saturday evening with Beauregard, the huge all black cat, who is the master of this NJ Butler house. It is the end of several sunny days of stay here and I will head home tomorrow – potentially completing this on the train if I cannot before.

This photo postcard came to me via eBay and is an odd choice for me. This little girl with her chicken on a leash charmed me. Small children with pet chickens seems to be popular on the internet these days so poultry pets remain popular. Working for a veterinary hospital with an active Exotics service, we see a fair number of chickens. (Presumably chickens that are for eating go to a different sort of vet than us although obviously we’d care for one in need if presented!)

The little girl is nicely dressed in trousers and boots with a somewhat sporty coat with a design of the buttons across her shoulder and chest. She looks quite happy as does the (large) chicken on a string leash. There’s one or two other chickens, behind a fence in the distance who look on and the soil looks dusty. The nearest vegetation we can see are trees way off in the distance and the sun is casting long shadows. Given her attire, it was chilly.

This card was never sent and looks like it was quite beloved, handled. It is undated, but on the back in a child’s neatest script it says uncle zack.

Many years ago I remember my mother had a video of a woman she knew slightly about her and her pet chicken. I don’t remember the chicken’s name, but it lived in the house, primarily in a sort of all season room at the front of the house. A cared for pet chicken might live to be ten or twelve years old according to the internet, I actually thought it was older. The chicken in the video went everywhere with this woman – today it might have been considered a comfort animal.

Recently in a talk given to staff to celebrate diversity, one of the vet’s pointed out that some clients feel that people belittle their choice of an usual animal and express surprise that they would pay so much for the care of a fish, tiny turtle or perhaps chicken or duck. (I also heard about surgery on a goldfish recently which fascinated me! The surgeon was evidently personally quite fond of goldfish and frustrated by a common cause of death in them he was able to improve but not resolve the fish-y issue.) However, as animal lovers our heart knows no such boundaries and be it pigeon or porcupine we are committed to them and find great happiness with critters in all species, shapes and sizes.

The Three Month Mark

Posted by

2

Pam’s Pictorama Post: It seems like an odd moment perhaps to have a progress report today, but my mind is deeply there right now so here we go. I have been writing all week – an endless litany of editing and producing so perhaps it is just hard to turn that part of my brain off.

I have had reason to reflect on how in fact the discipline of writing this blog twice a week every week (since summer of 2014) has formed and honed my nascent skills over time. It has its own voice of course, and that is different than most of my writing for work, but it does help me add a lighter tone to some of the newsletter things we produce and just produce the sheer volume required.

Weirdly fundraising work is a lot of writing. I am not sure it is ever presented that way to aspirants in the field and no one gave me a writing test back when I started. (We still took typing tests! It was at the very end of that era however as computers were just phasing in.) However, unless you work in an enormous shop where all of the proposals and materials are produced by dedicated staff, you end up writing a heck of a lot. (My friends in those large shops assure me that they need to do a lot of editing of that work too because they understand the particulars best.)

Little girl I was holding was a bit smaller yet than this one here.

I give a basic writing test to most applicants – as much to make sure that they transfer information accurately and follow directions as anything else. Folks who will need to do a lot of more complex writing are asked to either do a more advanced test or submit previous proposals or writing samples. When it comes to the basic test I am often shocked by the errors. I mean they could share it with a half dozen of their friends before submitting and I wouldn’t know, yet many don’t seem to bother and there are often egregious errors.

On the other hand, I have also had excellent writing tests submitted by people who were less engaging during the interview process – and let’s not even start with what Zoom has done to interviewing. (Although now it is the accepted first step for every interview.) I try very hard to have an in-person with finalists, although I just hired someone who was moving back to NYC from San Francisco. He seems to be a good hire, although about six inches taller than I had anticipated. He sent a photo of his cat Moose along with his application which of course I found endearing. Moose is a marmalade tabby.

Not Moose, but somewhat like him.

Leaving the writing of others aside, the demand has meant that I have been writing a variety of things pretty much since I walked in the door back in January. While much of this kind of writing and editing is second nature to me, being in such a different organization and trying to capture it has been a challenge. I find myself writing proposals to fund medical equipment I didn’t imagine existed (a 3-D printer which could be used to create everything from a new beak for a Great Horn Bill or a replacement joint for a pup) to writing direct mail copy for an appeal.

A turtle like this one, but not this one!

But how to capture the essence? What’s it like to stand in a back hall and see a tiny turtle no bigger than a half dollar being rushed by for care by specialists in exotic animals. (It was so moving to think someone cared so much for this tiny guy and could even tell he or she wasn’t well.) Or to cuddle a scared tabby kitten from a rescue group which is being evaluated for surgery on a malformed leg so she will be adoptable. (We raise money for the funds to pay for such surgeries and it was my first real encounter with a beneficiary.)

The vets and techs (and really everyone there) love these animals fiercely and they are single-minded in the best outcome for the animal.

Pre-pandemic I bought flowers weekly for my office, but gave it up when we returned to work. This week I bought some in memory of my mom and the one year of her passing. Reminded me how nice it is to have flowers around!

Meanwhile, I have written previously (read it here) my own office is a block away in a somewhat decaying residential building which leaks and lacks public access. (The photo at the top was taken from the rooftop space at our building.) My staff yearns for the ability to have pets in the offices as is allowed down the street in the main building. I hope to negotiate this at some point and install an office comfort cat, but fear at best in reality it will add a cat to my own menagerie on the weekends. (This is the only place I could ever work where the response to I have seven cats is not shock, but more along the lines of – Oh, eight would be great!)

So that is a small slice of life at the new gig – more to come I am sure.

Dog Days

Posted by

2

Pam’s Pictorama Post: As someone who has a publicly professed love of cats, my affection for dogs should not be denied. Even when it comes to toys I frequently have to shake my head with regret that I do not have space (or resources) to collect those as well. In reality, there are probably more great antique toy dogs than cats. I occasionally give in and purchase a canine toy, Bonzo is a favorite! (Some doggone good posts can be found here, here and here.)

Kim bought me this little metal painted fellow at an antique store in New Jersey over the Christmas holiday. I like his erect, watchful attitude. Despite his paint loss, he is still a chipper white with a jolly red collar and somehow still has a little gleam in his eye. He’s got a nubbin of a tail. From one profile he looks ready to play and from the other side more guard pup. I sort of wonder if he was considered a toy or if he was more of a collectible even in his day.

Playful profile. Pams-Pictorama.com collection.

I have written some about the dogs of my past, my German Shepard Duchess in particular as a kid. (A post for a favorite photo postcard where I also talk about her can be found here.) Other dogs of my childhood included a beagle mixed named Charlie Brown (a bit of a miscreant mutt), and a terribly frighten cockapoo rescue named Pooch who you could never get near. So for all the many cats there was a fairly constant background of dogs too. My childhood was a cheerful parade of animals, all found by my mother with the exception of a few who found us.

As ongoing Pictorama readers know, I recently made a wholesale change in jobs and I now oversee fundraising for a large veterinary hospital and my dog petting time has skyrocketed overnight. Thus far I have met many more dogs than cats and while some of the dogs are clearly (if understandably) unhappy about being there, a surprising number are perfectly happy to be petted and even climb in my lap. (It’s a wash and wear life these days, lots of drool and fur.)

I do not know what Cookie and Blackie think of the smell of me when I come home now. (Goodness, what trash has she been associating with today?) Cookie did give my shoes a major sniffy going over the other evening. However, since I began regular visits to the five cats in New Jersey I think they have adjusted their idea of exactly what I do when I leave the house in the morning. I used to speculate that they thought I went to the vet every day since it was the only place out of the apartment they had ever been – now that appears to be true.

A photo of some boxes arriving at the new office – picture was taken to thank Daniel at JALC who sent them over.

This little metal mascot may come to work with me and guard me there. I am thinking that maybe the office will be a bit of a repository of doggie items. I have finally moved some of the essential items over, such as the elephant box Kim made (post about that and other office desk items can be found here) and bevy of plastic pigs and a cat given to me by my friend Eileen, and of course a gold lucky waving cat. (My penchant for those is penned about here.) I concentrate better when surrounded by these familiar items, although I am getting used to storing dog beds and cat toys from Galas past too.

Canine Cutey

Posted by

1

Pam’s Pictorama Post: In both life and in collecting I show a marked preference (purfference?) for cats over dogs. Having said that, it isn’t that I don’t like dogs and I think if I had more resources, including space, I might collect dogs too in greater or even equal shares. (To say nothing of additional pet ownership which cannot currently include canines.)

Last Christmas I wrote about a black and white toy dog I carried insistently everywhere as a child – Squeaky. (As it happens I still own Squeaky and that post can be read here.) I suppose it isn’t surprising that I was very involved with and possessive of my stuffed animals as a child, early signs of a collector. I was a bit linear in my affection – first it was Squeaky who was carried everywhere, followed by a Koala bear my father brought me from a work trip to Australia. The bear had no name, but he was carried until he was bald of fur (probably rabbit fur, sadly, in retrospect) in spots. I no longer have him unfortunately although I did find this type of toy and shared previously here. There were probably earlier denizens who I do not remember.

Me and Squeaky. This is a Christmas morning shot, but I don’t think it was when I got him. Just professing my undying affection for him probably!

My childhood was also filled with a series of real pooches, from our German Shephard Duchess to a rather maniacal mixed breed hound named Charlie Brown. I like dogs and generally they like me. Occasionally I find my enthusiasm gets the best of me and discover I have encouraged a very large dog to try sitting on my lap as a result. (When this happened with a friend’s German Shephard it did give me some pause. There was also an enormous Tibetan Mastiff who like the cut of my jib when he met me and just about knocked me over with love.)

Has a little green tail! The only green bit on him.

All that leads to today’s purchase, a gift from Kim who offered to grab him up for me! This new guy came via Instagram and our friends in Texas @Curiosities. There is something about him that reminds me of blankets of my childhood. Some of his color is fabric overlays (the red on his jowls) and other is painted on. His nose and mouth are sort of shaved into the surface “fur” or texture of his face. He has glass eyes and I think a friendly dependable expression. There is pink under his mouth which I think is a random addition but works with the color scheme overall.

Squeaky!

I am told that the original seller said he was German, or at least that he came from Germany. He has no tags. His colors and design make me think of Pendleton blankets, a Canadian export embraced in my childhood as well. His red ribbon is worn and I assume is original – matches the red on his face perfectly. His ears (which are stiff with wire) have been carefully resewn in back. He’s about 12 inches high, including his ears.

He is much softer in person than I imagined and he is somewhat stained with years of love and handling. I think the orange stripe from his mouth and on his cheeks are especially interesting. He is made up of a fascinating bunch of colors. In sum, he is a handsome fellow who has been much loved.

So another dog sneaks into Deitch Studio and the Pictorama collection. May the kitties beware!

Christmas is Coming Cat Card

Posted by

0

Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: Today’s is an odd photo postcard I picked up recently. In 1902 Kodak introduced photo postcard packages were able to print their negatives right on them and I imagine that this card, sent in 1905 seems to be of this genre.

As I envision the making and using of these cards (something I actually have spent some time pondering) I wonder if they made a little pile of them at a time or only printed the one off. Will I someday be searching through eBay or a pile of photos and find the exact card but with a different message? (Imagine my surprise!) It seems like it could happen, but it never has to date.

This card, as is declared decoratively at the top, was sent on December 21st, 1905 from Berlin, New York. After some serious study, it appears to have been sent to Mr. J. E. Whiteker in Barnstead, New Hampshire. (There’s one word I can’t quite figure out – center? outer? Barnstead.) There is also a notation in pencil in the upper right corner, 7/27/75 15￠.

Shown as a plump puss with a fairly satisfied look on his face which belies the message to some degree. He is perched on some sort of print fabric and behind him there is a check tablecloth piled high with books.

The message on the card appears to read as follows, Dear Brother (?) This is the cat that didn’t kill the rat – we didn’t get a good picture. (Serve?) him a good Xmas dinner and make him grovel for it. “A personal Christmas to you from us. Herbert. Clearly a message of great holiday cheer.

Inability to execute a rodent notwithstanding, kitty looks pretty well fed and happy. A smile lurks in his genial expression. At a glance, he doesn’t really have the promising appearance of a rat killer, although with cats looks can deceive I suppose.

Miltie, napping nicely.

This sort of stripe-y tom is reminiscent of several of the New Jersey crew I inherited. Milty, a stray from Newark and Peaches, rescued from a basement in Long Branch, both fall into this distinctly indistinct category of cat. Most notably, our outdoor man, christened Hobo by me a few years back, fits this bill as well. (Peaches hates Hobo and looks the most like him!) The ongoing Hobo story is known to Pictorama habitués, but his tale is below.

I can’t remember precisely when Hobo showed up except that I believe it was after mom adopted Stormy, a gray and white kitten who was also being fed at the backdoor. Like my mom’s other rescues, she showed up persistently and was looking increasingly poorly when mom trapped her with the intention of spaying and releasing her. She turned out to be a very shy, but good natured kitty and she never returned to the outdoors. (She still chases her tail, like our Cookie!) Therefore, Hobo probably came into the fold around April of ’22.

Stormy.

Hobo, a bit of a reprobate, has resisted trapping. He’s a wily fellow who, when he is around, will ask for meals several times a day, leading me to think he has worms and wondering if I might slip something for them into his food. Last year this time mom was fairly focused on trying to get him trapped and in before the winter, but try as Winsome and I might we could not entice him in, making me wonder if he had been trapped in a cage before.

Peaches and Hobo. Next to Peaches is a favorite toy rat which is often a gift on my bed when I am there.

Unlike the others mom eventually trapped and adopted (I inherited five cats, plus Hobo from her when she died in April – yes, plus two here in NY), Hobo has the real earmarks of a life lived outside. I’m sure he looks older than his years and of course living the outdoor life, while sort of swinging and intriguing, is likely to drastically reduce his life span. (A Peaches to Hobo comparison below!)

Over the summer I had a video texted to me by a horrified Winsome who came across Hobo feasting on a rat! Evidently he had also brought her a dead mouse – gracious acknowledgment of the many meals she has given him. Clearly however he was supplementing his protein with a bit of a la carte dining. I had the opposite reaction and said he deserved a promotion and give that cat some treats! (We are not far from the water and we are always somewhat in danger of being overrun by rats.)

Sadly, Hobo seems to be on the lamb these days and hasn’t shown up in more than a week. Winsome reports daily and has tried leaving food out for him in case he is visiting at odd hours. It isn’t the longest he’s been gone and I believe (hope) there are other folks in the neighborhood who feed and look out for him. (We’ve seen him picking his way, very dignified, through other yards and down local streets.) We are decamping for several weeks in New Jersey and I am hoping he reappears then if not before.

Edit: I received an update tonight that Hobo showed for a late dinner! We’re very glad he is back in the fold.

Cat-a-pult

Posted by

0

Pam’s Pictorama Post: I am in love with this photo and snatched it up as quickly as I could! A timeless image for cat lovers, caught on an early photo postcard. Somehow, even with slower film, someone managed to catch this perfect moment, the woman in her full white long cotton skirt, her hair carefully done. Puss, who was to have his photo taken, probably in her arms, has other ideas.

So lucky that the camera man or woman was quick on the draw! Kit is quite a fluffy furry fellow or miss – tail flying behind him or her – I am betting on him as it appears to maybe be an orange tabby and those are mostly male.

There are leaves on the ground which create a pattern and some space and a Tudor-style house in the background. It is interesting to note that this was used as a Christmas card. Printed on the back with what appears to have been a stamp is some holly and the message, A Merry Xmas to You. Hand written is also, With Mr. &Mrs. Hook’s best wishes 1912, and in the corner just, Jessie Hook.

I like to imagine that the photo, presumably of Jessie, was taken in the early fall and Jessie so amused it became the Christmas card.

Miss Stormy.

It is hard to believe, but here at mom’s there are five cats and almost none will let me pet them. There is of course, Stormy (Cat of Mystery) who will allow no one to pet her – or even see her very often.

For those of you who are new to her story, she appeared one (very stormy) night and my mom put a trap out for her. She strolled into it immediately. After shots and spaying, mom kept her with an eye to finding her a home. Despite some internet pleading on my part, we had no takers and Stormy joined the family – although a bit like a shadow. She appears in the evening most often when the house is at its most quiet. She likes to sleep in a chair near my mom – who never leaves her chair so Stormy likes that stationary aspect of her.

Peaches – has cattitude!

Peaches, another female, was found as a kitten trapped in a basement in a neighboring town, yelling her head off until someone found her. The someone was a friend of my cousin and somehow Peaches also found her way to mom’s house. She is very feral and fiercely keeps humans at a distance of never less than about a foot. Recently though she trusts us enough for a stretch and a roll around on the kitchen floor in front of all of us. I have a long term goal of petting her one day.

Beau

Meanwhile, my mom’s cat Beau (Beauregard) is utterly devoted to her. He glared at us humans who are clearly inadequate to the task of caring for her to his standards.

He’s rarely further than the chair next to her. His yellow eyes following our every move. Mom rescued him from a photo she received from a Newark shelter years ago. He somehow understands that she moved heaven and earth to get him and appreciates it.

Milty and Peaches, uneasy alliance.

Beau will allow me to pet him and if necessary I am usually designated to move him if necessary – if mom wants to eat let’s say. I usually put him on my coat for a snuggle which is novel and meets with his approval.

Gus is another stray who wandered into the house a few years ago. He is a very mild mannered cat – a bit under the thumb of Beau and the elder statesman, Milty. He has a major crush on one of mom’s care givers and snuggles with her, but never can let me get more than about three inches away.

Lastly is Milty – he came from a Milton Road in Newark many years ago. Most senior cat, he is approaching his second decade. He is the squeaky wheel of the house and will seat himself in front of you (or on you) and demand food or attention. Occasionally he takes on Beau to remind him he is senior cat and not down yet.

Milty, senior cat.

I am missing Kim and my own Cookie and Blackie during this extended stay in New Jersey. However, while I may not get pets with each of the (sometimes) slippery kitties here I appreciate their antics and mom enjoys each and every one and loves being surrounded by them every day.

Jersey Daughter, Part One

Posted by

2

Pam’s Pictorama Post: I find myself unexpectedly in New Jersey today. Mom’s health took a turn for the worse and I hopped down here on Friday night.

As some of you know, coming and going at odd hours to New Jersey these days I have abandoned the cold and limited schedule of the ferry in favor of a car service a friend suggested. Rides with Cash provides not only thoughtful and dependable service, but Cash, a beautiful Australian Shepard who climbs in my lap for ear and tummy rubs along the way. Petting Cash, talking music with Geoff, makes the ride go quickly and calms me on my more anxious rides like Friday. (For those in the greater, NJ, NYC and Philadelphia area, you can book Jeff and Cash here.)

Cash who operates as a canine co-pilot to Jeff on rides to and from NJ.

I arrived to find mom weak and very surprised to see me – I didn’t know I was going to be a surprise, but it was nice to see how happy she was once she realized she wasn’t dreaming. She has stabilized a bit and although still very pale from a loss of blood, she is stronger and eating well.

Mornings are my favorite time spent here and I am sure they are what I will remember most fondly in the future. There’s usually a nice hour or so when we are mostly just the two of us, before I go running and her next shift of help arrives. I drink too much coffee and she has some tea maybe. In the winter it would be dark out and I would be waiting for the sun to come up before heading out for my run.

Sun coming up out my window here this morning.

We are beyond fortunate that we have folks helping out who have some deep roots with us and over this period these strong women have formed a community around mom as they come and go, working out a schedule among themselves. The group somehow magically expanded when we decided that we needed someone overnight after mom got out of the hospital over the holidays.

This enclave of extraordinary women, all from Jamaica, have become my mom’s society and despite her physical woes her keen interest in them and their lives continues to grow. Like family, some are closer than others, sisters rather than cousins. However, as we share meals, work around the house and concern for mom, they are our clan. (Mom is still trying to feed the world and so much take out food is ordered to be shared by all. However, sometimes I cook or they do. Recipes are exchanged.) Mom enjoys the occasional visits of their children and grandchildren and she seems to be a favorite among some of the youngest.

Photo of a child me with a younger Mom, carrying my brother Edward in this photo.

I get to share in this deeply feminine society during my periodic stays. Everyone is fairly interested in my professional life and invested in the success thereof as they hear me pacing around the house on the phone or on endless Zoom calls in an upstairs room, where I am perched typing now. This is its own world which I enter when I am here. The tentacles are long though and at least one among my mom’s caretakers texts me periodically with anything she thinks I should know. It was a family friend, Suzanne, who is also devoted to my mom and like a sister to me, who texted me on Friday to get down here as soon as I can. Mom had been dismissive of my change in plans earlier in the day, but Suzanne was right and I am glad I came.

The house has a new inhabit, a kitten named Stormy. For those of you who follow me on social media you saw photos of Stormy posted as we tried to find her a home after Mom rescued her recently. (Yes, despite everything Mom is still managing to rescue animals as she has her whole life.) Once trapped and brought inside Stormy has turned out to be barely out of kittenhood and has the sweetest and most winning demeanor.

Stormy is now a permanent member of the Butler clan.

Well, my Dad used to say that cats only ever come into the Butler household and none ever leave and despite a fair amount of effort on our part it seems to be holding true. Stormy has managed to become a household favorite however and even those not especially disposed to cats stop to chat with her on their way around their business of the house. Stormy is presently residing in a very large, multi-level dog cage in the living room where she can be a part of the life of the house, but not yet subjected to the rough and tumble of the other kits. Needless to say, Stormy isn’t going anywhere.

Strangely, considering she is a stray, Stormy appears to be domestic and really likes people. She enjoys being petted, ear and even tummy rubs in particular. Her fur is kitten downy and although she greets the world with a somewhat unblinking wide-eyed and concerned stare, she seems contented. She is still eating copious quantities of food and is slowly filling out. I cannot imagine what her history is – she is so used to humans and handling and, it must be said, not Stormy in the least. (She was christened as such based on the blustering winter morning she was trapped on.) For all of her placid personality and evident enjoyment of handling she does not purr. She will occasionally grab your hand if you stop petting her and she lets out the occasional silent meow or soft growl.

Having this new little critter in the house as we navigate health care issues, and a growing war in the Ukraine which blares over the television via my mother’s endless devotion to CNN, centers us a bit on something nice. We saved Stormy, but she is doing her part. She is good for us too.

The morning is now in full cry and another pot of coffee and a Saturday run is in the offing. I will probably have a little more to say about that tomorrow.