A Shy Attack

I had friends over for brunch yesterday, in part to introduce Glenwood, and who do you think spent the entire time under the dresser?  I thought she'd take a little while to come out of the bedroom, but she never did.  I was able to coax her out a couple of times for a sighting, but the appearances were brief and her exit swift.  As soon as everyone was gone, she reverted to her Other Personality.

I have a quilted duvet cover that I bought on Martha's Vineyard in the late 1980s.  Its age is starting to show, which makes me sad because I love this thing.  When Glenwood was tiny, she started using some of its worn spots as points of entry, so I put it away until she grew up.  Now that she's grown up, the small points of entry are becoming larger.  Whole squares are becoming frayed.  I lay a blanket over it for protection now.

The new pillow continues to be a source of focus, individually and together.  Here are three images from the last day or two:

Spooning

Glenwood Uses Timmy as a Pillow

Timmy Uses Glenwood as a Chin Rest

One Step Forward, the Rest Back

Since the Miracle Night of the Closed Curtains, all has reverted to (ab)normal.  It is 6.28 am, and I've been awake for at least an hour thanks to you-know-who.  Rather than have my stress levels hit the stratosphere before I'm vertical, I got up.

I've been holding back on this photo because it makes her look bad, but when I had the audacity to go away for one night last weekend, this is what I came home to:

What happens is that the light reflecting on a large picture over my desk as the sun rises prompts her to use the lamp as a support to paw the picture.  Since I wasn't there to bark at her, the lamp toppled and brought every desk item in its vicinity down with it.

I lock her out for as much of the sunrise as I can, but she starts meowing and banging the doorknob.  I'm sure you can see why I just love her so much.  Gee, I'm tired.  One remaining option is heavier curtains or shades but (1) who knows if that'll work, (2)  I don't like them, and (3) I can't afford to redecorate or turn over my aesthetic to an eight-pound terrorist-kitten whose vet bills remain a priority.  I'm sure there are other options, like taking all my pictures down or blindfolding her, but they seem extreme.  Maybe they won't in another year or two.

Do you blame Timmy?  At this moment, I envy him.

Plan C

Well, the Baytril didn't work and the pink stuff and shots improved the infection but Glenwood still has something living deeper inside her ear than can be seen or gotten to.  The One Love team tried a suction process yesterday but whatever is settled in there is staying put.

I hadn't given a lot of thought to the science aspect of vets' characters, but Drs. Ryan and Humphreys were doing some teeth-gnashing; they are frustrated; they want to fix her.  I want to fix her, too, but my frustrations are different.  Plan C is a new wash that I'll squeeze into her ear twice a day and squish down with aggressive ear rubbing.  Then she'll shake.  Then I'll clean it all up.  The goal is to loosen up the ear inhabitants so they can be suctioned out.  The next attempt will be early December.

I tried closing my curtains last night to see if the change in morning light would fool Glenwood out of the 5 am crazies.  That may sound stunningly obvious but my curtains are sheer and I didn't think it would make a difference.  It did!  I just had to adjust them so Glenwood could get onto the windowsill; the look in her eye told me she wouldn't hesistate to pull them down if I didn't.  At least I don't pretend to be the boss.

One Love is a new operation, so spread the word.  The care is great, everyone is super nice, and they usually have cookies for people in addition to treats for the pets out front.  Willie the Rescue Parakeet watches over the scene; he was named after Willie Nelson, who first inspired him to sing in his new home.  And on the science front, Dr. Humphreys described his approach as doing the least possible to get the body aligned so it will fix itself.  Pretty poetic for a science guy.

Pre-Glenwood

My visits there are always long between the care and the socializing, and by the end all three of us were sitting with Glenwood on the floor.  She really does set the tone.

The box above was a gift from my painter friend Diane Ayott years ago.  She and her partner had new window shades installed, and she brought me the left-over shade-ends knowing I'd appreciate them.  I displayed the box out of Glenwood's reach (or so I thought), but ...  Thankfully, the damage was fixable (and also beautiful) so all is back in place and now they are really out of reach.  Really.

Post-Glenwood

There's a New Pillow in Town, But I Can't Find the Garlic

We're at an interesting phase in Glenwood's development.  Her ear infection seems to be resolving (another visit to One Love is on for tomorrow), which may or may not be contributing to shifts in her energy and intellectual capacity.  She has utterly insane periods of the day, which are predictable:  the 5 am crazies, spurred I believe by the shadows and changing light as the sunrise starts, and the post-prandial crazies after breakfast and dinner (not that she eats, or eats in my presence, but symbolically).  She tears around the house, leaps on Timmy, meows endlesslly, runs across my desk, and generally stirs up the household.  Her meow is notably childlike.

In between periods of hysteria, I think she is mellowing.  She is more of a lap kitty, actually echoing her bathroom days, and is the fastest-to-purr cat I know.  One of my strategies to calm the early-morning crazies is to sit up in bed when I hear her on my desk, tell her to get down, and just keep staring at her while she stares at me.  For some inexplicable reason, if I stare long enough, she jumps off the desk and comes up to cuddle.  Instant purr.  That's good for maybe 20 minutes of rest.  And repeat.

So, the new pillow is a new battlefield and love nest.  Life is full of contradictions.  Here you go:

The garlic clove I bought a couple of days ago is just gone.  I've learned not to leave grape tomatoes on the counter, as they reappear in very bizarre locations and not always in great shape, but the garlic I hoped would survive.  What's so crazy is that I really, really looked for it, and the thought of where it might be makes me shudder.

Timmy's and Riley's previous mother, Emily, was in town from London last weekend, but unfortunately we couldn't schedule a good time to visit.  She wants to see Timmy, of course, and meet Glenwood.  I haven't seen Emily since Riley's death and there will be another layer of sadness.

My New Secret Weapon

Sometimes the simplest tasks take me months to do.  (Painting my dresser is in the taking-years-to-do category.)  This one involved (1) opening the "garage door" of my studio table, (2) taking out the museum putty, and (3) using it to batten down objects otherwise subject to Glenwood's antics.  I started and completed the task yesterday.  Imagine that.  Here's the putty:

While the stuff is already working wonders for holding pictures in place, the teethmarks show the putty itself is not safe from Glenwood.  Little is. Thank God this pillow is holding her in place for a minute:

About a year ago I bought a Fuji camera that spits out mini instant photos (a la Polaroid) and thought it would change my life.  I took about four pictures and haven't used it since.  Here is one of the photos, freshly unearthed from my studio table.  Regal, isn't he?  He's actually keeping himself out of Glenwood's reach, or trying to.

A Cleaner Ear!

At the risk of speaking too soon, Glenwood's ear looks better.  Whatever Caladryl-looking-gunk Drs. Ryan and Humphreys loaded her ear with (and which now dots my blanket), combined with the antibiotic shot, seem to be working.  She goes back Thursday for an inspection and, I assume, another shot, since it's a bi-monthly thing.

It's impossible to tell if her improved health has improved her energy, simply because her energy is so insane that "more" has no meaning.  I can say, though, that she seems to sleep through the night more quietly, so at least her peak energy points are mostly when I too am awake.  The new bedtime routine is Timmy on top of the two pillows I'm not using (or me on the two he's not using), with Glenwood leaning against the two he is on.  She likes to lean, I've noticed.  She is also purring more, and I take that as a hum of gratitude for her less irritating ear.

Pillow Boy, Redux

Glenwood Leans, with Socks

Maine Coon?

When people ask me what kind of cats I have I say, "Cats.  You know, cats."  Then a guest walked into my apartment, took one look at Glenwood and said "Maine Coon!"  Since Kristen knows something about everything, I looked up the breed.  Here's the link to Wikipedia:  Maine Coon.  (Do NOT tell my students I'm using Wikipedia.)

While Glenwood is smaller than the extra-large Maine Coon, her deeply underprivileged origins could explain that.  But her fur length, fur quality, fur from her ears and toes, fluffy tail, and disposition fit to a T, and so I'm accepting that this insane animal who lives with me has some Maine Coon in her.

Right now she is chasing Timmy, just for a change of pace.

One Love

Isn't One Love a good name for an animal hospital?  Glenwood and I went to see Dr. Ryan in her new milieu today and got a full tour.  We both got treats, too:  Milk Duds for me and a peacock feather for her.  Timmy has already managed to arrange the feather beside him on his pillow, just so it doesn't get away.

The hospital is light and happy.  Dr. Humphreys, a wonderful doctor I met when Riley had to go to the ER, is also in the practice.  Four giant chickens were dropped off (in a cage, thankfully), and he was strangely elated.  They were moved to the back room awaiting transfer to his backyard (and ultimately his in-laws' horse farm) and kept crowing (clucking?  squawking?), and everyone was smiling.

So, Drs. Ryan and Humphrey confirmed the Baytril didn't work, and now Glenwood has bacon-smelling pinkish stuff in her ear (reminds me of Caladryl) and got an antibiotic shot.  She goes back Saturday for a vacuuming-out of the pinkish stuff.

It should be noted that Glenwood typically stresses and squirms at the vet, and hides if she can.  But when Dr. Humphreys picked her up, she turned into a total flirty mush.  What's that about?

I wish One Love all the best.  And I wish Glenwood a bug- and goo-free ear.  It'll take some time to see if this new strategy works.

0-

The above title is Glenwood's typing.  I mean it.  She jumped up just as I started this post and is now comfortably lying above my keyboard, with one foot on the F8 key.  I hope that key doesn't empty my bank account.  But then again, it's already empty.  She just left, with a little gurgle.

Her ear infection continues.  It's been going on so long it's become normal, but it's not, and so we're off to the vet on Thursday.  Dr. Ryan has joined a different practice, and so we will be going there.  I will miss the kind people at Hope but feel my allegiance is to Dr. Ryan.  She saved my kitty, and she's great.

Glenwood broke more glass.  And if you think I'm an idiot for leaving glass out, I'm not.  It was the glass in a picture frame; she's not supposed to be able to do that.

Timmy Is THE Original Pillow Boy

Just Another Day

Glenwood has one eye open.   Experience proves that her thought bubble would read, "Enough of this napping.  Let's rock."

She pauses before applying the full stranglehold.

 Apparently, she's finished with Ibsen and considering DH Lawrence's Women in Love.

She likes her art crooked.

And she likes Timmy.  Really.  Funny how much smaller she is yet how much havoc she creates for him.

And This Is the Thanks I Get

A Gift from the Chinman's

OK, it's a given that I love this kitten meeces to pieces, to lift a phrase from my Dad.  That said, she can make that very, very difficult, particularly in the wee hours.  The broken pitcher above is what I awoke to this morning.  It was a gift from dear family friends I've known since second grade.   In an act of crazy synchronicity, the breakage occurred because Glenwood knocked the plug from my dinghy off a shelf right into it.  (Yes, I have a dinghy.)  The dinghy was my father's (a Cape Dory named His Martin's Ship Bouncy) and was also given to me by the Chinman's.  My father (Marty) gifted it to them after we wrecked it in a boating accident, and they had the good sense to take it and repair it.  The dink sits in a yard in Marblehead waiting for me to claim it.  The plug is my reminder of it, and of years of wonderful sailing with my family and the Chinman's, and of more wonderful sailing with the Chinman's after my parents' deaths.  It is a beautiful object itself, and quite heavy.

Plug from the HMS Bouncy

I've put away so many things that to have the few left out be targeted is disheartening.  Below is a morning present from months ago.  This was a gift from my brother and his wife when they were living in Singapore.

A Gift from Andrew and Gloria

How Time Flies

Today marks one year since I scooped up a smelly, flea-ridden, wormy, infected, emaciated, dehydrated, 1.2-pound, four-month-old, dying black puff of a kitten with a face sealed in mucous from behind an abandoned Brooklyn house and brought her home, where she lived in my bathroom for nine weeks while I assaulted her with food and meds ...

... trying not to infect Big Timmy, who lurked outside the bathroom door all those weeks.  Amazing.

Glenwood now weighs 8.4 pounds and is the sweetest, softest, most loving terrorist around.  She sticks to me like glue except at night, when she removes books from the shelves, takes art from the walls, uses edibles for hockey, and sweeps anything off a tabletop.  The pre-sleep ritual I undergo to protect my things continues to expand.  At around 5 am I usually lock her out of the bedroom for a break.  She meows her little face off while periodically jumping up and smashing the doorknob with her little paw.  She is a toddler.  A toddler-terrorist.  A toddler-terrorist with a squirrel tail.

While it would be poetic to report her 100% healthy, this ear infection persists.  She's still on oral and aural Baytril plus an ear wash, and I'm still digging out Q-Tip-fulls of goo twice a day.  Does it stop her?  Not for a nanosecond.  I adore her, and she appears to like me pretty well.  Or at least my shoes.

A Bacterium and a Tomato

Glenwood's Staph ear infection has worsened again, and so she's back on Baytril oral plus a wash and med in her ear.  The goo I dig out of there twice a day (four Q-Tips, both ends, which is all she'll allow) is alarming.  But she's thriving and so Dr. Ryan is opting to keep the meds going rather than send a scope down her ear (yet) to see if there's a polyp or something holding the infection in there.

When I went into the kitchen the other morning, I was puzzled to see that my tomato had been ... um ... interfered with.  Guess who?

I'm having it for dinner tonight anyway.

Coexistence

Now that I've returned to independent worker status, I'm working at home more often.  As you can tell, Glenwood is strongly opposed.

And while Glenwood continues to keep Timmy in running shape, they are also coexisting more closely.  The narrative below pretty well covers it.

Hmmm.

We'll see about this.

OK, I'm in.

It doesn't get better than this.

Willa

I'm awash in memories and tears over Willa's death and Marty's loss.  Marty took these in her South Carolina yard on Saturday morning, Willa's last on this side of the rainbow bridge.

The Bug That Won't Go Away

My old friend Marty said good-bye to her dear yellow Lab Willa this morning.  What a sad day.  I adored Willa and have sweet memories of her in the Boston studio Marty and I shared.  I will write more about them here when I have a photo.

Simultaneously, I was having a drama getting my kitten to her 11.30 appointment with Dr. Ryan for this ear infection.  When I got Glenwood into her soft carry-bag and opened my door, a neighbor was there.  She said water was coming through her bathroom ceiling.  We ran downstairs - with Glenwood's bag over my shoulder - and in the chaos that followed I ended up back in my apartment (not the source of the leak) and Glenwood busted out of the bag.  Right through the netting.  Tore through the apartment like a lunatic.  After all, she'd just seen (a) a strange woman (b) a strange floor (c) the woman's dog (d) the super flipping out and (e) me flipping out - all from inside a bag on her way to God knows where.  I'd probably do the same.

I called Hope Vet to say I'd be late and coaxed Glenwood out from under the bed.  It felt like an abuse of her trust.  I knew she couldn't resist me reaching to her, yet it was for a betrayal (in my mind).  I folded her up and stuffed her into the hard carrier and out we went.  Here she is at the vet, one unhappy camper:

Glenwood Making Like a File Folder

So it's back on Baytril for another two weeks, plus another culture.  Dr. Ryan is worried there's an infectious residue where her ear connects to her throat that we're just not getting.  There's also a chance that her tough start and early illnesses left her with some kind of deformity.  Glenwood is making her old-man noises more often and scratching at her ears, so it's worse again.  But now we are home and all is forgiven.  Tuna heals.

Closet Redux

At the risk of sounding like an idiot given this story from not-so-many months ago, I came home tonight after a four-year train ride after a four-year wait to check out at Trader Joe's and ... no Glenwood at the door.  Timmy was there, but all I heard was a distant, small meow from the kitten.  I opened the hall closet.  Nope.  The linen closet.  Nope.  The bedroom closet.  Yup.  And, as before, utterly trashed.  And, as before, she walked out nonchalantly.  And, as before, she was utterly forgiving and just wanted some damn dinner.  And, as before, no pee, no poop, just a tantrum.

In fact, I was really, really lucky because, ironically, all the precious items that I put in the closet every night to protect from her antics were in there with her for 12 hours because I was too lazy to take them out this morning!  All my family pictures, some quite old and not replaceable, and not one loss.  Good kitty.

Glenwood Spends a Day in the Closet

Night and Day

For full disclosure, Glenwood's early-morning antics are infuriating.  Wouldn't it be ironic if I killed her in a fit of disrupted sleep after working so hard to save her?  Just to give an idea of what I do to prepare, below is an image of my daytime home followed by how it looks like before bed so as to limit the destruction and noise.

Daytime

Nighttime

So what does she do?  She jumps onto the top shelf or the black table 3821940 times a night, waking me up and prompting me to growl "Get DOWN" an equal number of times.  And this isn't the only place she wreaks havoc.  She jumps on my dresser and my desk, neither of which I can Glenwood-proof without having an unrealistic number of my belongings in a closet every night.  And that's not all:

Glenwood Gardens

Glenwood the Trash Collector