critters

Diet is a Four Letter Word

For the last ~2 years, we’ve been working on getting @Purrrrrl‘s weight down.

Boring How We Got Here Story

While we used to free-feed them dry food, we switched to canned for a while. Her sensitive tummy, means days of mixing food and lots of accidents. Canned food was a pain if we wanted to go away for more than just the day, but we made it work. At the next “Kitty Weight Watchers” “weigh in”, we learned she’d only lost a few ounces. She’s a cat, so that’s good progress, but she needs to lose several pounds, so when the next “weigh in” showed she’d gained, we went food shopping again. Another pet store owner told us about this grain-free dry stuff. Well, it makes her sick. We kept trying it because she kept showing signs she was getting more accustomed to it. However, she has proven to me that, given the right circumstances, she can poop faster than I can clean. After trying for too long, we went back to the canned.

New Game and Some Kitty Conversation

Because we are feeding them limited amounts and on a schedule, I have an alarm in my phone for 9:00 each 12 hours. They can’t eat until my phone meows. Still, anywhere from 2 minutes to 2 hours before 9 o’clock, they beg. Today, Purrrrl sat next to me at the computer at 8:50am and the conversation went like this:

Purrrrrl: Meow

me: Not yet. Ten more minutes

Purrrrrl: Meow

me: No. Ten minutes.

Purrrrrl: Meow

me: Eleven minutes?

Purrrrrl: Meow

me: Twleve minutes?

Purrrrrl:

I knew cats could show angst and be flippant, but who knew they could count???

This is not exactly what Purrrrrl or Marble look like in the car. I mean, after all, they travel in a box/carrier.

After losing BB to the accident, we learned that we were one of those rare cases where a totaled car was in our favor. We bought BB with a ~$3000 trade in of my truck. Insurance paid off our loan and gave us $6,000+ to put toward a replacement.

Emil’s car, Little Blue, is 11 years old, and is showing her 106,000+ elderly miles. The engine or transmission is starting act funny and she’s been in for ~3 mid-sized repairs. Our plan was to replace her this spring/summer. Emil’s new job was perfect timing for us to find a way to make that happen. We just wouldn’t change anything else about our lifestyle and his new pay would cover a reasonable payment for a new car for him.

So, here were are again, just like we were in 2000:

• Emil’s truck died and needed more repairs than the value of the vehicle.
• A gasoline supplier filled the unleaded tanks at the station with diesel instead, and caused severe damage to my truck…and just 3 months shy of the warranty expiration. Luckily, the company covered the cost of the repairs. (No, filling your unleaded vehicle with diesel is not covered under warranty.) The dealership told us we’d likely have long-term problems from this, so we traded my truck while it still had good resale and while the engine still sounded good to the used car inspectors.

So, on our way to Paris to visit Grandaddy, we stopped at Honda (We liked one car for me, found nothing for Emil, and hated the dealership …which is strange since it’s the same owner as the Scion dealer where we got BB), had lunch, and then shopped at Mazda.

At Mazda, we both liked the Mazda 3. Emil preferred the sedan style (he thinks 5-door models look like station wagons. phsaw!) and I liked the hatch back (it’s much easier for managing photo gear and other stuff, too. After driving the hatchback, our salesman, Mark, suggested we drive the sedan, too. On one of the test-drives, we saw a Mazda 2…which made us notice them in the parking lot when we came back. The 2 is smaller, but has almost as much storage and gets a little bit better gas mileage.

Mark’s face sank just a little when we asked he we could drive a 2. I was afraid he was thinking we were going to drive a bunch, but not buy anything. Then I was afraid he was sad about the loss in commission on the cheaper car. Turns out, they work on volume bonuses, not commission, at that dealership-

So, we asked Mark to crunch numbers. He said, “If you are looking at the 3, it’s .” That’s when Emil dropped the surprise bomb on him and said, “we’d be getting them both.” Cha-ching! He said he can come off the price more AND wrangle us a loyalty discount, too. Nice!

What are the odds that we’d both like the same brand? I feel a little guilty for liking anything other than another Scion since BB sacrificed her life to keep me safe, but again, I get a little to attached to my cars.

I spent part of our ride to Paris putting the numbers he gave us into a spreadsheet so we could estimate as closely as possible what we’d end up paying each month and then looking at the color options in the brochure.

Lime green (Go ‘Canes!) or bright turquoise (“ZTA blue”)?
decisions. decisions. decisions.

BB the silver 2010 Scion xD 2009-2011

In the fall of 2009, after we sold the house in Bryan, we had to trade in my truck before it left me/us stranded. We got a cute little “hippie”/Austin car that more than 2x the gas mileage Baby Truck did. We named her BB…inspired by our favorite downtown hangout, Betsy’s Bar.

Earlier That Day

After being the official photographer at a baby shower and left at ~10:15. Being only a few blocks from our apartment, I never got on the highway.

Bam!

I was on the feeder/service road, toodling along, when I felt/heard an impact. I was instantly knocked over to the driver’s side and slid for–at my best estimation–about 160 feet. I rolled the passenger window down, and some guys–including a cop–were already there to help me out of the car. They reminded me to turn off the engine–one of those things you forget when you’ve just been in an accident; I couldn’t even hear it running–and asked me if I was ok, could I stand up, etc.. I unbuckled my seat belt and stood on the driver’s door. I noticed that the air bags didn’t deploy. I stood on the headrest, hopped up onto the edge of the door frame, swung my legs over, and used the guys’ shoulders to hop down. I turned to look at the other car; it was black.

Hugs

As soon as I stepped onto the curb, I was greeted by the other driver and his girlfriend-of-10-days. They were quite grateful that I was ok and kept saying things like, “I’m so glad you’re not dead,” and “I’m so glad you aren’t hurt.” I called Emil to tell him that I was ok, but that BB wasn’t and told him where I was. The driver’s name is Larry. He’s a sweet guy and hugged on me like I was long lost family. I cried at the mention of his name and explained that my dad was “Larry”. If you are ever going to be in an accident, you want it to be with a guy like this. He was genuinely concerned.

After the firemen/EMTs and EMS/paramedics checked me out–all I had “wrong” was a burn on my wrist from where my arm must have hit the gear shift–Larry and I traded info and talked about how we both have good insurance and that they will take good care of us and make everything right.

Aftermath

After a few days of dealing with the towing company, storage yard, adjuster, and other “admin” stuff, we learned that the car was declared “totaled”. We went to the body shop and got the rest of our (few) belongings out of BB. I’ve always had a pretty emotional attachment to the cars I drive, so I said good-bye and thanked BB for absorbing all impact, sacrificing herself, and keeping her carriage strong to protect me.

Even days later–as I write this–I’m quite sad she’s gone….

Thank you, BB, for giving your all to save me from any injury. I appreciate your dedication and devotion. I’ll always think fondly of you!

So, now, among the other stresses in our life, we are seeking a replacement for BB. “She” won’t be the same, but we will love her just as much.

Trust me, that’s not nearly as much fun as it sounds, but it was both for money and for a friend. And, some of the images are really cute. I can’t wait to see the book my friend makes for the mom-to-be.
She lives close by, but has an insane schedule, so we only see each other every ~3 months.

We added four feet to our family this weekend.
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Last weekend, after a quick visit with Shelly (a.k.a. Sheldon before they found out he was a she; an 8-week old sibling of Lenoard, Penny, and Howard), we found out that that her parents weren’t quite ready to give her up for adoption like they had planned.
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In the mean time, Emil got excited about the idea of a new feline member of our household. Furthermore, we had already prepped for a long weekend visit that Shelly’s parents originally offered, so we had a four-day weekend planned and had purchased some basic supplies like an additional litterbox.
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Emil began research. Lo-and-behold it was “cheap pet” weekend at the Austin shelter. Just like with Mítad on Cinco de Mayo in 2000, we landed upon the adopt-a-thon.
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Friday, I took Purrrrrl to the vet to update her rabies vaccine and met a vet tech who fosters 22 cats in a “cattery”. We’d always had girls and were planning to get another female, but he suggested that male cats are both more affectionate and easier to introduce. According to him, females are quite territorial with one another.
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We entered into the visitation room primarily because one of the young male cats named Sebastian. After all, who could resist a kitty with the Miami mascot name? Sebastian was very sweet and had a white patch on his chest and stripe on his belly just like Sosta did. But, he was out-loved by his roommate, Panther. Panther had a Zeta-turquoise collar, too. It felt meant-to-be!
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The good/bad part of this deal is that he reminds me so VERY much of Sosta. I still miss her a great deal and the reminder is both warm and harsh. So far, I spend my time adoring him in reference to her and realizing he’s not the cat she was. He is ready to be friends with Purrrrrl, and she’s close to accepting him, too. We are sure that by the time the weather is cool, they will be snuggle buddies.
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The vet tech may very well have been right: Panther’s lovely and affectionate. He seeks attention from us and does his best to sleep in the middle of the bed so he can be close to us both. We are already quite pleased with him and with our decision to add a member to our family.
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Oh, and black cats (as well as dogs) are always the least adopted, so we not only saved a kitty from shelter life, but also took one of those at the greatest risk of never having a family to love.
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There is a story here that, believe it or not, implies that we offer kitty parachuting lessons from our 3rd floor balcony!
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When I was a tween, colored contacts were the new science discovery on my mind. Suddenly, anyone could look like anything they wanted. Since I lived in “hell” (a.k.a. Paris, Texas) and wanted to be anyone else from anywhere else, the idea of a drastic change to my appearance was appealing. I wanted (and still do!) to have jet black hair with vibrant green eyes.

Fast forward quite a few years and a version of that dream came true. Sosta was just that: the blackest black fur and the most vibrant green eyes. (She also had a little white patch just below her collar bone and a tiny/thin white stripe across her belly that few people ever saw.)

This kitty reminded me of Sosta. He’s doesn’t have the white “angel kisses”, but he’s special in his own way.

At our house, Purrrrrl could see Turtleor any time she wanted; his tank was on a fairly short stand. At first, she liked watching him swim, but when the new wore off, she never gave it a second glance.

Over the weekend, Purrrrrl got to meet Turtleor in a different way.

In an effort to clean Turtleor’s aquarium, we dumped all the rocks and all the water, washed the rocks (broke our garbage disposal), and started as close as we could get to anew.

Meanwhile, Turtleor was in a bucket and scratching up a storm to get to where he could see or just be.

Emil brought Purrrrrl over to him. She didn’t seem to want to know more about the scratching creature, so I held him up to her. She sniffed. He hissed at her and retreated into his shell. Fine. He’s little and she’s huge and scary.

But SHE is the one who shook in terror, clawed her way from Emil’s lap, and bolted out of the kitchen. What a scaredy cat.

Later, however, she returned: she sneaked up to the bucket and peered over into it. No sparks of interest, but also no flying of fur and scales.

Next time, Turtleor gets to walk around!

Purrrrrl loves her “woobies” when it’s cold outside.

When Sosta first adopted me, we did a bit of traveling to see friends. We went to Tampa and Miami. Luckily for me, she was in the car often enough to be comfortable with our short trips. It was nice to have a car-friendly cat. While she wasn’t as happy as a dog with its head out the window, she did tolerate the trips quite well.

In early 1997, I got a job offer from Texas A&M (from what turned out to be the worst boss I’ve ever had ). I had about a week to pack up my apartment in Orlando and move half way across the country. I rented a U-haul and the little car dolly thing for the back. Daddy made plans to fly to Orlando and make the drive with me. In the mean time, he and Mom had been to College Station and picked out an apartment for me.

I picked Daddy up from the airport on a Friday night. I think I spent the entire ride telling him about Sosta. We were a dog family, and Daddy had never liked cats. I wanted so badly for him to not hate her.

At the apartment, I was excited by how much packing I had done; Daddy was disappointed at how much there was left to do. But that was secondary to Daddy meeting Sosta.

Since my parents never understood why I had a futon instead of a bed, and since on their only other visit to Orlando, they bought me a bed, I made the bed for Daddy and made the futon for me. I didn’t think Sosta would have trouble with it since she was used to sleeping on either/both. She and I had a nightly routine. We watched tv and snuggled on the futon…and then went to sleep in the bed.

Well, she took straight to Daddy. He’d traveled for hours to get to Orlando. I’d been packing for days. We were exhausted. From the minute we got to the apartment, we were getting ready to go to sleep. Even without our tv routine, she hopped up on the bed and waited for him to join her. She spent the first night they met curled up on his feet. For her, it was love at first sight. For him, it was meeting the coolest cat any of us had ever known.

From that day, he was her man. She met other men in her life but no one else was worthy of so much affection from her…until she met Emil, of course.

The next day, Daddy and I did got up super early and some lightening-fast packing and loading. Once it was all done, we gave Sosta her drugs and made a spot for her in the moving truck. She was a very funny “drunk” kitty. We got her settled in and pulled away from the complex just before noon.

While taking a break somewhere in the middle of our trip, I lost Sosta. I looked all through the cab of the truck and couldn’t find her anywhere. I was just “this side” of panicked when Daddy found her crouched behind my seat. She just about gave me a heart attack.

In College Station, I felt it important that she have a little more space to move around and wouldn’t let Mom put her in the bathroom (she’d been in such a tiny space for 2 whole days). Well, in the course of moving furniture and boxes into the apartment, she sneaked out. We looked everywhere for her. We put food out on the patio, went to dinner and came back, and looked again unsuccessfully. I cried myself to sleep that night and dreamed of her return. Waking up to the reality that she was still gone was harsh. After breakfast, I was standing at the patio door looking out and feeling very alone in my new town when I saw her wander up. I cried all over again, but this time tears of joy. Her little night out in her new town almost broke my heart. She did what always did whenever I was upset and licked the tears off my face.

For the next several months, Sosta and I would make a trip to Paris every 4-5 weeks. She’d ride in the car like she had in Florida and even learned to tell time. She always knew when we were getting close to home. She’d start stirring and getting antsy about 20 minutes from home.

Over the years, and especially as Mom/Daddy’s dog Randi Cae gold older, Sosta didn’t travel to Paris quite as often. Her last big car trip was the move to Austin.

In her last few months, she knew that when the carrier came out, she was going to the vet. She was always a very good patient and completely trusted everyone who ever examined her.

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David “Poppy” Capehart truly ruined so much for so many. He’s one of the most evil and cruel people I’ve ever known. Sosta is a big reason I survived the year of working for/with him and didn’t abandon Aggieland altogether.

Later, when I was still using the futon for a couch, they bought me a sleeper sofa. I kept both it and the futon in my living room for a very long time. I finally got rid of it in 1998 after using it for 5+ years. This year, Emil and I bought a futon when we moved into our apartment in Austin. I had forgotten how much I like them. They make great couches since they aren’t too squishy. It’s great for my late-night tv watching.

Today was terribly difficult…one of the worst of my life as Sosta traveled over the Rainbow Bridge.

I took Sosta to the vet with the hope (but not expectation) that they would have a way to make her more comfortable while she lived her last few days with us. From a visual and physical inspection—and coupled with her medical history—the vet found her to be in liver failure as well as probable kidney failure. Coupled with the terminal cancer, there were no viable treatment or even management options. Every option available was “kitty hospice” feeding tubes, hydration by injection, and other horrible treatments. I called Emil and we agreed that keeping her with us for even another day or two would just be more discomfort for her. Truthfully, it would have meant more agony for us, too. We’d already watched her decline severely over the last three days.

There was no spark or twinkle left in her eyes. She still recognized, marked, loved, and appreciated us. She could barely muster a purr. Watching her force her breathing a little gave us a sign of what was to come.

Emil left work a little early and met me at the clinic. Together, we made the difficult and painful decision to say goodbye. We had a very long and touching time with her before she cross over. I know that her last moments and memories were with and of us.

We thanked her for being the most amazing cat ever and for all she’d done for me and for us. We asked her to tell her sister, Mitad, and her Grandpapa, Larry, that we love them, too. They were the best of friends to us and to one another.

When we came home with an empty carrier, Purrrrrl immediately sniffed all around looking for her sister. Though I had tried to facilitate a goodbye moment between them just in case, Purrrrrl was still expecting Sosta to come home. I had forgotten that part of Mitad’s death ~18 months ago. Sosta cried literal tears down her cheeks when Mitad didn’t come back home with us. I guess they each knew the other was not well, but were not hit with the realization until home had one less nose to count.

Life isn’t fucking fair. Again, I say, if any creature deserves to live one more moment on this planet, it is her—-far above and beyond anyone I’ve ever met. Her love was pure and her heart was genuine. She never ever caused any harm to anyone else. She deserved more than 14+ years of life. I deserve more than 13+years with her in my life. Only the good die young.

Sosta, we will always love and honor you. You were the most amazing cat I’ve ever known and the most gentle and caring creature on Earth.

The Rainbow Bridge symbolizes a pet crossing over into your/their version of Heaven. Personally, Heaven would not be complete for me without Sosta (and Mitad, Valvet, Gypsy, Ladd, and Randi Cae). I like non-human members of my family more than I like most people. It wouldn’t be Heaven for me unless they were all there.

Gypsy was the best about this and would have been a fabulous pack leader. She wanted everyone to be at home when it was time for bed. She’d walk from my dad to my mom to me. If we were all there, she’d snuggle down ready to sleep. If any one of us was out late (Daddy was a basketball coach, Mom went to educational conferences, I had sleepovers), she would walk from one of us to the other and then wander the house looking for the third human-member of the family. Mom gave it the nickname, “counting noses”. She really did want all of us at home, together.