Tying Up Loose Ends

Last year I took in 3 cats from the local shelter.  Dennis, Carrie, and Ozzier were their names.  You can read more about them here: left-click-thingy here and here.

A little bit of follow-up is in order.  There’s been a lot that’s happened in the last year.  Jopty the gerbil had a stroke and died.  Alice the indoor cat’s leukemia took its toll, she started to fail, and she was euthanized.  Daisy the Doodle Poodle reached the end of her life, and she was euthanized.   Gladys the Guinea Pig had recurring urinary tract infections, which most probably indicated cancer, which these little rodent types can get if they live long enough, and she was euthanized.  Precious Paisley the Problem Cat was failing, and she was euthanized.  Shenobie’s (Sugar’s dog) bladder cancer was ending his life, and he was euthanized.  And the best sister-in-law in the world was diagnosed with aggressive bone marrow cancer, and in spite of remission, the cancer reared its ugly head and took over.  She went to hospice, and was gone in one week.  One.  Week.  I get a lump in my throat just rereading all this.

SIL was a hospice nurse.  Ironic, no?  One of her patient’s had several cats, and she was worried about what would happen to the cats when she was gone.  The largest one was a black cat, and for some strange reason, black cats and dogs are the last to be adopted.  So SIL took in Big Bubba, who is still living a happy life with SIL’s husband.  This makes me reconsider the old saying that cats have nine lives.  I always thought that meant that a cat can survive a life-threatening injury and recover.  I now think it means, to me in this particular circumstance, that a cat can have a new life with a new situation, like Big Bubba having one owner that died from cancer, then having another owner that died from cancer, then living with my BIL.  Hope my BIL takes good care of himself.

All of this which leads us back to Dennis, Carrie, and Ozzie.

After the initial release, I didn’t see Carrie for three weeks, and I didn’t know that Carrie had made her way down Resurrection Road to a double-wide.  The neighbor sent me a text that there was a cat under her trailer.  When I went to investigate, I was delighted to see that it was Carrie, even though she was emaciated.  I scooped her into a crate and took her back with me.  The next day she was back at the neighbor’s trailer.  While the neighbor agreed that Carrie was a nice cat, she didn’t want a cat, and was worried that Carrie might do some damage under the trailer, like pulling out some insulation, and the landlord would be mighty unhappy.  Plus somehow during the night, Carrie had managed to injure her skin, and had an opening the size of a quarter on her flank.  I opted to take her back to the shelter.  At that time, I had Alice the leukemia positive cat indoors with me, and I couldn’t wouldn’t take Carrie indoors with me.  After all, this is a 31′ RV.  Two cats inside.  I’m a little nuts, but that was even too much for me, exposing an injured cat to a leukemia positive cat, which is probably the subject for another post in greater detail.  Carrie was most probably euthanized, for I didn’t see her posted on www.petfinder.com after I relinquished her, damaged and unhealthily thin.  Time and care would heal her, but I don’t know if she was afforded that option.

Then there was Ozzie.  He was a tease to the other cats.  It started off mildly enough, but Sylvia was stalked and injured by Ozzie, RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME, I knew that Ozzie’s days were numbered here at the Swamped! Plantation and Cat-Cussing Facility.  He went to be a barn cat for a vet tech.

And lastly, we have Dennis.  With Ozzie out of the way, Dennis took over the position as head stalker.  He didn’t care who he stalked.  He was the only male in the group of five, and I wonder if he were trying to overthrow the regime.  Needless to say, it didn’t work, and I took him back to the shelter.  The girls were here first, and I needed to preserve their safety.

Occasionally the local shelter can shift animals to other shelters that have room and resources for them.  Today I was looking at petfinder.com to see if Black and Yellow had been listed at the local shelter, then I looked at some of the outlying shelters.  I didn’t find Black and Yellow, but I did find Dennis.

I think Dennis is on Life #5 now.  Good luck in finding Life #6.

Good Night, Gladdie Gladder

It started with an apparent bladder infection in December.  If you remember, and even if you don’t, Gladys is a rescue guinea pig.  The vet prescribed a basic antibiotic, and the bloody urine went away. 

A month later, another apparent urinary tract infection.  And we tried a different antibiotic and it cleared up. 

Then, four weeks ago, Gladys and I went back to the vet.  I was prepared for the worst case scenario, but the vet suggested that she’d like to try one more high-powered antibiotic.  Was I up for it?  How could I say no?  Perhaps I was prolonging the inevitable, but I was up for the challenge.  Was Gladys? 

We started another round of antibiotic.  This time it was liquid Baytril.  Gladys was to take 0.1ml every twelve hours.  Liquid Baytril is very bitter (Don’t believe me?  Just put some on your hand and lick it.  Not that I would EVER do that.), so some kind of sweetener had to be added to it to make it palatable.  Fortunately for Gladys, Sugar had some kind of sugar-y sweetener called agave nectar.  (It’s good stuff.  It won’t cause your blood sugar to spike, if that is indeed an issue for you.)  Like most everything he eats, Sugar’s sugarstuff is organic.

Gladys’s appetite seemed to be off a bit, and she didn’t squeal or vocalize very much, and she was losing weight.  Guinea pigs are prone to get cancer, and there was a great chance that her ongoing urinary tract infection was caused by tumors.

After ten days of Baytril/Agave, her infection had not subsided, and it was time for a final car ride. 

I held Gladys while the vet put the final injection in the abdomen.  Gladdy squealed the tiniest bit, like a tiny, soft song, and then she went to sleep. 

Good night, sweet Gladys. I'll see you at the Rainbow Bridge.

So Much To Say, So Little Time

There’s so much animal news, and so little time. 

Some sad, some troublesome, and some hopeful.

On the sad front, I haven’t written about Jopty the Gerbil’s demise, Alice the Cat’s demise, and Gladys the Guinea Pig’s downhill slide that will probably end later this week. 

Troublesome news, as always, regards the springtime, or in this case, the unseasonably warm weather, causing cats and dogs to go into hormonal happiness.  Surging hormones once again brings roaming, yowling, fighting, attacks, and unnatural accidents, as we might refer to as “HBC”, or “Hit By Car”. 

A bit hopeful means that animal people are acting to resolve animal welfare issues.  Like shelters cooperating together to get appropriate treatment for animals, transports to relocate adoptable animals to new areas that have openings for new adoptees, and people working together to get aid for animals that need help.  There’s a case of galloping demodectic mange that has turned very problematic, and I hope to get aid to the animal before the owners, mere children, get evicted and slip away into the night.

So there you see that it’s not for a lack of topics that I haven’t been writing, but for lack of focus and hope.

The Three Little Pigs

Once upon a time there were three little pigs.  Or something like that.

If you’ve been paying attention, you’ll know that Sugar bought a grooming business earlier this year, and that BabyBoy is the groomer.  And you’ll know that Gladys the Guinea Pig, who used to live in a cage on my RV dashboard or on the bed compartment over the driver and passenger seats, went to live at the grooming business.  And you’ll also know that there are two cats, Errol and Car E., living there also, sharing a room with Gladdie.

Last Sunday, I noticed that there was a watery red substance in Gladys’s hiding place, a large white piece of plumbing pipe.  I supposed that Gladys had a urinary tract infection, and Sugar offered to take her to the doctor the next day.

So on Monday he went to the grooming business, let the cats out of their room to stretch their legs, got a cat crate to put Gladys in for transport, set the crate on the floor with the crate door open (this is your first hint), and attempted to corral Gladys in her cage.  She never wants to be corralled, and she skitters about, slinging wood shavings and sometimes squealing her adorable high-pitched squeal.

Sugar finally trapped her in his hands and popped her into the crate and closed the crate door.  He looked around and saw Car E. still in the room, but didn’t see Errol, so he went through the entire business looking for him.  That’s about 2000 square feet and 13 rooms to search, so it was a quick hunt with no luck.  He was anxious to get on his way, and he went back into the cat room, and there was Errol (this is your second hint).

He was in the crate with Gladys the Guinea Pig, side by side, both looking out at Sugar.

*****
I attempted to recreate the scene for photo opportunities, but the kids would not cooperate.

So, here goes nothing.  You can hover your mouse over any image on the slideshow, and the controls will appear to stop, go back, or go forward.

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Alice Makes a Friend

When you live in an RV, you become very creative when resolving space issues.  No, I’m not talking about NASA and the space program, I’m talking about ruthrawls and the spaciness program.  Now that I’m a certified spacy planner, I am on call to solve your spacy issues.

The dashboard makes a wonderful place for a litter box, a feeding station, or for the cage of a pocket pet.  Although Gladys is probabaly too large to fit into my pocket, she is a bona-fide pocket pet.  Her cage fits perfectly on the dashboard.

Alice the cat and Gladys the Guinea Pig have been rehearsing the Nativity scene.  Alice is practicing her part for the Angel we have heard on high, and Gladys is… well, of course, Gladys is playing the part of the pig. 

We’re a few characters short of a Nativity scene here at the Swamped! Plantation and Carol-Singing Service.

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LawtonFest, Part 8, Combahee River, SC

We return to our exciting action from Labor Day weekend, yet you might say if it’s so exciting, why is it taking you so long to post it, huh, ruthrawls, huh??

On the way home, we stopped at the boat landing.

 Clearly, I have issues.  Anyway…

Some folks were crabbing off the end of the dock.  Sugar suggested to me, under his breath, that they would have better luck if they crabbed closer to the shore.  It’s all the same to me, not being a crabber aficionado type, but seeing how Sugar is usually right, I suppose he had a point.  At least he didn’t stride up to the people and take the crab lines out of their hands and show them how to do it.

Crabby people not catching any crabs

Some frightful information was kindly supplied by the local authorities.

This doesn't bode well.

I have just lost my appetite for fish.

The new bridge over the Combahee

We headed once again in the direction of home, but made yet another stop at the Piggly Wiggly for spaghetti for me and Romaine lettuce for Gladys Guinea Pig.  (Honestly, who named this store?)  I managed to embarrass the other shoppers by whipping out the camera and recording for posterity the display of South Carolina tomatoes that came from Canada.  Yes, you read that correctly.  Proof positive below.  Click on the picture to enlarge and enjoy the tomatoey goodness.

In the background, Sugar pats the tomatoes to help relieve them of the stress of finding out that they are bastard Carolinadians.

The sign says it all.

There. Is that a better angle? Can you read it now? That's right, the Canada part.

Carolinadian tomatoes

Sometimes, I embarrass myself.  What kind of person takes photos in the grocery store?  Investigative reporting at its lowest.

The new plumber

Gladys: "I found the problem! There's a guinea pig in your pipes!"

I hired a new plumber.  She does an awesome job.  She is very thorough and tidy.  And she works for peanuts!  Her phone number is 843-GLADYS1.

Gladys the Guinea Pig

Gladys the Guinea Pig

Gladys the the shyest guinea pig that I’ve ever met.  She has adorable cowlicks from her forehead to her rump.  I’ve had her since she was a young girl. 

She has an enormous enclosure where she can skitter about.  She prefers fresh grasses as opposed to hay so it’s a good thing there is a meadow here with tall meadow grasses.  I don’t use any pesticides so I know that all grasses here are safe for guinea pig consumption.  And speaking of the meadow, I did see a goat today and now am wondering how hard it is to keep a goat…

In her cage enclosure, Gladys has her own little wooden house and also a section of very large plumbing pipe to sit in.  She’s a shy girl and needs her privacy. 

I give her lots of fresh veggies and fruit, and today I discovered that her cage has an infestation of fruit flies.  Very disgusting indeed.  I dumped all the bedding, after removing her first, and had a swat-fest.  I believe that the fruit flies are mostly eliminated, and I hope that the spider spinning her web in the window will take care of the rest. 

I am Gladys and I approve this message

Pig? Who You Calling a Pig?

Once upon a time about 3 years ago, I got a little rescue guinea pig named Greg.  He had been left in a crate on a friend’s front porch with a note:  “I need a home.  My name is Greg.”  My friend already had two guinea pigs and, although they are social animals, three was a little much.  So Greg came to live with me, and I got him some stylish digs in the laundry room.  He was a happy little pig, and he made those happy, whistling little sounds. 

Then a woman I worked for got another guinea pig, a female, to go in with her other pigs.  (She has unresolved pig issues.)  One of the other pigs tried to accost little female piggie and that scared little piggie a lot.  So said co-worker asked me if I would take her.  Scoot over, Greg.

Greg and Gladys lived happily together in unwed cohabitation, until one day another pig arrived.  No, not a baby, but a grown piggie whose parents were getting evicted, and could I please take him?  So Chew-chew made a happy little trio.  I bought an even bigger enclosure for them.  They got along well, even at feeding time, and being pigs, they liked to pig out.  I bought dry chow from time to time, but mostly I fed them fresh veggies, even organic ones when I could get them, and I filtered their water.  Don’t want little piggies drinking anything but the best.  I didn’t even filter my children’s water.  But I digress.

One morning, I approached the habitat with fresh lettuces, like usual, and Greg raced Chew-chew to the food bowl.  And Greg had a stroke.  I swear, he stroked at the buffet.  He fell over on his little piggie side and spun around in a circle.  We promptly went to the vet, who kept him for observation, and Greg slipped onward to piggie heaven later that day.  On a personal note, if I can choose where to stroke, I’ll take “Buffet” for a thousand, Alex.

Guinea pigs don’t live very long, which might be part of the attraction to an adult buying one for a child.  However, a SEVEN year life span is still a very long time.  That kid could be out of high school and finished with college with Mom still taking care of the pig.  So, needless to say, there’s a lot of guinea pigs out there to  be rescued.

So, there’s Gladys and Chewy, still co-habiting.  I had decided that the boys were gay because we should have had babies by now.  I had gone back to college, taking Saturday classes, and I arrived home one Saturday after about three weeks of classes.  Chew-chew had a habit of ringing a bell to greet me, and then chewing on the bars of the cage in anticipation of food.  (With pigs, it’s all about the food.)  He hadn’t been going thru that routine for a few days, and he seemed lethargic.  I looked into the guinea pig habitat, and I shrieked.  Someone had apparently come thru the front gate, braved their way thru 4 dogs, and dropped a handful of colorful mice babies into the guinea pig habitat.  

Wrong.  Not mice, but baby guinea pigs.  And Chew-chew looked exhausted, like he had done all the work (typical).  He rested, slumped into the corner.  On Sunday, I got home from work, and Gladys and the babies were fine.  But Chew-chew had gone to meet Greg in piggie heaven. 

I still have Gladys.  I found homes for the babies.  And Chew-chew and Greg rest peacefully, the first residents in what will probably come to be the final resting place for other foster animals, here at the Swamped Plantation.

Butterscotch, Chew Jr., Slick, and CrazyHair

Doesn’t that make you want a pig?(Thank you credit goes to Sugar for allowing his full-of-pig hands to be photographed.)