Shoo Lie Loo

Snakes??

So yah, I recently heard that a friend of mine has a mom living a few streets over. She has an old house, not unlike the one that I live in.

Difference? She has snakes in her basement!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Now, living geographically where we do, I realize that poisonous snakes are a one in ten million chance. However, a slithering, tongue-lashing, zero-legged reptile of ANY kind in my house or even in my yard will probably result in an instantly fatal cardiac arrest for me.

I can't explain my fear of snakes. I've never been bitten by one. I did have one slither across the path at Shabbona State Park when I was out walking with my mom when I was a kid, and, yah, it scared the snot out of me.

And my dad, being a conservationist, would find random animals. I once verbally requested that he put a garter snake in a bucket for me. I was determined to make friends with it. It was small, and it was non-violent. Until it lurched at me (like any wild animal would). I picked it up. I let it roll along my arms as I squeamishly tried to love it. I could do turtles with ease (and great love). Frogs - no prob; would seek them out at twilight. Salamanders, a bit slimy but doable. Toads - hated their pee, but didn't mind them and loved to marvel at their lumpy backs.

Somehow, though, I never got around to loving snakes.

A few weeks ago, I was delivering Hogwash to an acquaintance. I dropped the bucket off on her porch and we were chatting.

As I turned to leave, I noticed a small garter snake slither beneath her bushes. Well, that was all it took for me to high-tail it to my vehicle (ignoring the yard completely and walking into the street to access my van). I did the whole girly squeal and expedient tippy toe walk of someone who's about to set off dynamite! I haven't seen a snake since, but now, I'm convinced they are all around me...

So hubby, who's at a terrible new job and experiencing lung problems because of it, will be set on  a quest to first scour our ol' basement for any non-legged friends and then seal any potential access points. I'd be naive if I thought mice and bugs can't make it into our old house. Thank God we have three cats (two of which seem to somewhat care). I understand that cat saliva is poisonous to snakes?? Hallelujah!

Anyhoo, a spider or an earwig can surprise me. Even a mouse. Even a RAT! I think I'd live thru the initial shock. But a snake....that's worth calling 911!! So please, let this new/old house be snake free. I have no evidence to support any snakes living here, but, I'm also not willing to take any chances!

CHOMP

 

Crafter's Delight

Love, love, LOVE this website - and all I wanted to do was find alternatives to peanut butter for making homemade bagel birdfeeders!

http://www.makeandtakes.com/

Henry's currently hooked on Angry Birds on my iPhone, and I really dislike wrestling with him everyday for control of it (sigh).

This website has a craft to make your own Angry Birds complete with the greedy pigs. You do it from yarn pom-poms, googly eyes and construction paper. And then you use disposable bathroom cups to set up Angry Bird scenes and then fire away! I can't wait to try this one with Henry!!

Animals on the Offense!

I'm back from the dead....it's funny how, at 34 years of age, a sinus infection can leave you a shriveled, sniffly mess standing outside of St. Peter's famous gate. Unable even to stay up past sundown to type on a computer.

In addition to the confounded rain and repeated wardrobe changes of spring, allergies rank up there as "worst season ever".

But, once all is well again and the rain subsides for a day or two, spring officially makes its way back into my good graces. Especially now that the magnolias and flowering crabs are in full bloom, tulips encircle nearly every tree and birdnests quietly peep with the first sounds of spring babies.

Which brings me to the topic of my blog du jour...spring animals.

Moving from a subdivision with immature trees, we rarely saw squirrels. As a matter of fact, I could probably count on one hand the number of squirrels I saw while living for five years in my previous home.

Sure, there were birds - robins, red-winged blackbirds, the American goldfinch, Canada geese, mourning doves. And I had feeders in the backyard and the front. (If you are not a birdlover, you'd be amazed at how much mint you can go thru feeding those goldfinches...they can really tuck it away!)

Also, living near the canal, there was an abundance of grassland-dwellers. Rabbits, toads, coyotes, foxes, turtles, frogs, field mice, giant caterpillars...

I would have to say, though, that I was never "approached" by an animal in Channahon. They kept their distance unless I was on the prowl (i.e. cornering a terrified toad in the flower garden so that I could show him to the kids).

Kewanee animals...they are NOT the same. Literally and figuratively speaking.

I've yet to see a goldfinch, but cardinals are all over the place! I haven't see a coyote or a fox, but I've seen an abundance of the previously-elusive squirrels. So much so that we joke we are living on a squirrel farm. (Which fits, as we are all a little nutty here...ba dum dum...*wink*)

Going back to my roots, I'm a nature-lover like my dear ol' dad. I see an animal with a crooked wing, I'm there with the Scotch tape to fix 'er up. An orphaned raccoon?? I'll take him in!

It hasn't come to that around here, though. Most of these animals are keenly self-sufficient (minus some cats who shall remain nameless). I've yet to see one of the 2,000 squirrels living on our block smushed in the road. They can scramble across the road in front of a Buick careening straight at them at 40 MPH like they are running to the end field during the last ten seconds of the Super Bowl with the entire defensive pack knipping at their heels! Cross my heart!

I digress.

My point is, I'm a nature-lover. So, with this new selection of wildlife and the unfamiliar trees, bushes, flowers and, well, habitat surrounding me, I have been doing my research.

One of the things my research has lead me to is an app for my phone called "Wildbird Lab". (It's free.)

It uses the GPS feature on your cell phone to locate where you are and approximate the types of birds you might expect to see in your area. You click on the bird's name and voila! There is a picture, a map detailing their migratory pattern and a sample of their call.

I picked up this handy little app about a month ago. Whenever I see a bird, I push "submit", and it sends my data to the folks at Cornell University, who apparently are tracking bird specie whereabouts. And then it kindly thanks me for "contributing to citizen science". I feel I'm making a difference, even as the battery in my phone burns my hand.

One of the features I especially like is the sample of the birdcalls. I've managed to get the attention of several cardinals, sparrows and blue jays by playing the call. I find it fascinating as they swoop in to see where that lovely bird noise is coming from. (It's also entertaining...)

The other night, I heard a white-breasted nuthatch calling from a few trees down. They have a rather annoying cackle call, but the picture on my app showed a lovely small bird that looked like a miniature blue jay. We had recently switched out our feed for a more nut and berry blend, so I thought I'd give this guy a call.

It worked. Well. Very, very well.

Along comes the confused, and, apparently, very lonely nuthatch. I sighed with happy fascination to see him do a few observation swoops around the front yard and along the porch as my phone cackled back at him.

And then, to my surprise, he actually came on to my screened-in porch.

Now, I'm not at all afraid of birds. The most frightening thing about birds, in my mind, is the possibility of getting pooped on as I dodge for my car. (Hey, Chris has already been a victim this spring of this fowl act...ba dum dum *wink*.)

But this guy, though small in size, has a beak as pointed as a quilting needle! And he was FAST! He was on the porch lickety-split, my phone still cackling away, him bouncing off the screens here and there looking for either an escape or the bird to which he was attracted as I little-girl danced and jumped here and there to avoid his swoops. If common sense had taken hold, I would have gracefully stepped back to the opposite side of the porch. He would have eventually figured out he had been dooped and would have been on his way. But no - I thought it best to stand my ground and watch him struggle for an escape. God forbid if he hurt a wing....who'd rescue him??

After several minutes of our ridiculous game, I managed to prop open the front door to holler "Chris, you gotta see this!!!" (To cry for help would have been a sign of weakness...)

Chris came out on the porch. He's so used to me, God love him. He just stared and said "Wow, sweetie." I really believe that is all he said. Some husbands may have been banging garbage can lids in desperate aid or shouting for another brewski from the sofa. Not my Chris. Maybe it was his calming presence. Maybe it was a shift in the wind. Maybe the nuthatch finally figured out the there wasn't a nuthatch dame waiting to nest with him. But moments later, he lit off the porch thru the door and flew to land in the tree.

Enough excitement? Heavens no....but this time, I was somewhat innocent...

The other day, as I was stepping out to get the mail, I was encountered by a furry critter. He stopped - paws mid-air. I cocked an eyebrow.

Yep, it was a squirrel. On my porch.

Well, without saying a word, all hell broke loose! The deranged squirrel began doing a "Wall of Death" routine along our porch screens, dashing here and there horizontally as I stood and simply watched. I wasn't about to approach the guy. He was clearly "in the know" that he had made a bad choice. I continued to watch as he scrambled this way and that, probably cursing those diabolical screens.

After a good five minutes, he found his way thru a teeny slit in the bottom of one of the screens.

Grateful to be alive, unharmed and free? Not a chance...the little brat climbed into our front tree and started belittling me with screechy squirrel barks, accompanied by vicious tail shivering! The audacity of the little scoundrel!!!!! I swear if I had a squirrel-speak translator it would have been "You wanna piece a me, huh?"

The nuthatch had made my heart race. The squirrel...he probably got my systolic blood pressure up a little bit.

I summed it up to "squirrel drama" and a freak incident. Until today. When it happened again...

Once again, it's a peaceful spring day. I step out onto my front porch to collect the mail (which I'm now considering to be an act of bravery). And again, I'm confronted by a squirrel. Probably the same one, but most assuredly fatter than last time.

Again, he went into full-blown panic mode. Horizontal dashes along the screens. Apparently unable to find or unable to fit thru that teeny screen hole from the last time.

After several mad dashes with me just standing there stupified, he decided to charge me. And I decided to dodge. He came dashing across the green Astroturf, his little squirrel claws digging in deep, and he rounded the corner to the front steps and was away in a flash! Only to reappear in the tree in nanoseconds to start with his squirrel-barking and tail-wagging show.

As I told my co-worker Mickey earlier, he and I shared dialogue this time. I told him that, if he decided to pull this trick on me again, I would be wearing him on my head.

I hope that does the trick.

Otherwise, I'm deleting the bird app and assigning Chris to mail duty.

Have a GREAT night!

 

 

 

 

 

Pearl Growing Fast

Pearl & Domingo - One Adventure Begins, Another Soon to End

This morning started off as any other has (at least, any other for the past week).

Kids were assembled by a war-weary dad while I snoozed until the last possible minute before needing to sign into my computer.

Kids went to school with pink snowballs and chocolate donut treats for their big Easter party.

Chris came home and dozed in front of the tube while I battled with my work phone. Domingo did his usual round of "chase the cursor" on my computer screen until I shoo him away, fall asleep on my desk with his head next to the warm coffee cup and then jumping to the floor after being shuffled around with papers for the fiftieth time to snooze pleasingly at my feet. Meanwhile, the resident Kitty Queen Kelly lounged on Chris' tummy, happy to have her place in the house still as top cat.

It was, for all intents and purposes, a rather "normal" morning.

And then I emerged from my office for a break and heard Chris say "Well, we got the call we've been dreading. Domingo's owners called this morning."

Just when I thought Domingo's family had given up on him (we've called twice to tell them where he was and invited them to come get him, not forgetting to include the details of his harrowing escape from the two feral cats), they now wanted him back in their lives. I had that sinking pit feeling in my stomach. Sadness that I was losing my office buddy (he really is such an awesome, awesome cat) mixed with that sinking feeling that I would again be disappointing my children, even though they had been prepped for this potentiality multiple times.

After thinking on what to do, Chris called the owner back. She said she had to run into a store to grab something and that she'd be "right over".

Two-and-a-half hours later....no sign of her. Chris called her again and informed her that his wife is working and that he himself would be leaving for work soon. Perhaps we should try again in the morning.

To my knowledge, she has not called him back. She certainly hasn't swung by the house.

My heart breaks for Domingo (aka Church) because his family really seems indifferent to his future.

Anyhow, with the departure of Domingo looming and terrified of upsetting my children right before Easter, I used my lunch hour to desperately peruse the classifieds to see if there were any "free to good home" ads. I called the county shelter and the local Humane Society (my darling Kelly is a Humane Society success story, two countries and 13 years later).

I also texted and/or emailed everyone I knew to see if there was a kitty available anywhere in the State of Illinois. I'd drive all night, if I had to.

My last desperate attempt was to post a pleading status on Facebook - that did not go over so well, though, as my hurried phrasing made it sound as though I was looking to get rid of a bunch of kittens "to good homes" rather than to acquire a kitten "to a good home".

Nearly having given up, I decided to step outside of my comfort zone and check the classifieds in the Quad Cities. Clearly much closer than the Aurora and Joliet area that I know so well but not an area that had even crossed my mind.

Sure enough - there were two ads for kittens "free to good homes".

The first one turned out to be a bust. The number was misprinted and took me to the Wal-Mart Vision Center. The poor guy on the receiving end said he'd been fielding calls all day....

By the time I called the second one, I was literally shaking like a leaf.

Jackpot!!!!!

A woman named Bobbi answered and said that yes, they had two kittens left. Both females. However, a man was coming by to pick one up around 4ish. It was now 3:30. I asked her if he was considering taking them both, and she said she didn't know for certain. I begged and pleaded with her to hold on to the remaining kitten, which she very kindly agreed to do.

So I quickly finished up work, grabbed a large tote box and a blanket, my purse and wallet, the car keys, a Diet Coke, cereal bars for the kids and made a mad dash out into the (still) pouring rain to drive to Woodhull, Illinois.

I grabbed the kids from daycare (which is ALWAYS a labor-intensive and time-consuming task as they meander about gathering their things and hugging this child and that ending with the inevitable tussle at the bottom of the stairs over who gets to open which door). I kept informing them that I had a huge surprise....no wonder they took their sweet time. Last time I said that, their "surprise" ended up being someone else's.

We drove thru the brown and wet countryside for 25 miles singing "Shoo Lie Lu" and "Little Bird" over and over again. Lulu droned on in the backseat about "I wonder why we are never going to get to the surprise", "I wonder why we can't eat all the candy", "I wonder if we're ever going home". She's such a boost to the spirit.

When finally we arrived at Bobbi's house, the kids were excited (about what, they didn't know) and confused. They introduced themselves while hastily tromping thru mud to get up Bobbi's steps. We opened the door, and there they were...two precious angel kitten babies. And Bobbi handed over the one she had chosen just for us. She said that they were both girls, but this one was especially good with children. I scoped out the scene behind me and saw her three boys, aged nine down to infant, all appearing to be quite healthy and happy. Additionally, her house was pristine and smelled heavenly. One would scarce have known that she had a litter of kittens there at some point.

The eldest boy, Draven, was there giving care instructions and that she likes baths. I didn't really even glance at the other kitty. Lucy was enthralled while Henry attempted to befriend Bobbi's children.

As we were getting ready to leave, a group of boys came and took the other kitten. We thanked Bobbi and her family profusely and shook Draven's hand like the little man that he was. The man of the house stood and told us he was glad that the kittens would be going to good homes. Bobbi seemed near tears.

After additional thanks and hugs to the kitten from Draven, we sprinted thru the rain back to the van. We placed the unnamed kitten in a large tote on a soft blanket, where she contentedly curled up and went to sleep.

On the drive home, we discussed names. Daffodil, June, Buster, Kitty-Cat, Meadow, Easter, Esther, Raindrop, Flower and Pearl. After a group handshake and Henry more or less stating that he didn't care, Lucy and I settled on Pearl, due to her charming irridescent features.

So Pearl it is.

I'm wiped out. Kitty picking, two anxious preschoolers and an Easter egg coloring marathon later, I'm just glad that we have our feline family intact.

Tomorrow, Domingo might not be with us. And Chris and I are the only two who will be sad. The kids have moved on the Pearl. She's the latest and greatest, so it goes in Kid-dom. I'm ok with them not caring about Domingo anymore - that was the whole point. If they were still mourning the loss of our friend, then it would have been fruitless to go thru the pain of finding them a kitten of their very own.

I will miss Domingo, so, as we were coloring our eggs tonight, I secretly wrote with white crayon on one of the undyed eggs Domingo's name.

He may only have been with us as a visitor, but he was a good friend. And I will miss him very, very much. For he is a very special cat, indeed.

And, Domingo....the door is always open to you, my furry friend.
 

Our New Family Member - Pearl

Our own new baby to love and cuddle!

Domingo's Return

As Chris was working in the basement today, a furry, familiar face trotted down the cellar steps and into our basement. Three times.

Yes, it was our friend, Domingo (aka Church).

By the third go-around with Chris shooing the wayward kitty outside, he began to feel frustrated. Domingo had entered our lives, not the other way around. This made four uninvited attempts to get into our home, despite the fact that he apparently has a loving family to live with on the next street.

When Chris came into my office to tell me about this, he said he could almost empathize with Lulu's angry frustration when we told her that Domingo was gone (the first time). If this kitty had it so good, why was he trying so hard to paw his way (pun totally intended) into our lives?

We talked it over and decided that we should call the owners (we still have the flyer) to alert them to the fact that their cat, supposedly an indoor cat who has tags, continues to roam about outside without his tags. And he's chosen our yard as his domain.

Not that I blame him. With all the mature trees and squirrels and birds, it's a cat's paradise.

Consequently, however, there are also cars and feral cats and dogs and wild animals to compete with. And Domingo is just a little guy. He's also not neutered - I'm not sure at what age a male cat can reproduce, but I do think it highly irresponsible for anyone to contribute to the stray and abandoned animal population by deliberately allowing their unaltered animal to strut his stuff on Main Street.

In any case, trying to do the right thing, Chris called and left Domingo's owners a voice mail.

As we pondered further into Domingo's plight, we agreed that it might be best if we brought Domingo indoors until his owners came to get him. After all, today was cold, windy and rainy. It has been that way for the last several days now.

When Chris went outside to find Domingo to "invite" him in, he found Domingo crouched underneath the neighbor's car with two large male cats cornering him in a fur-raising feline stand-off!! Just in the nick of time, me-thinks!! The two large cats are known to us - Wendell and Little, both former stray and feral cats that have been adopted by a family a few houses down. They roam the 'hood during the day and then go inside their owner's house at night to dine and sleep.

Chris brought Domingo in, and you could practically see the "fight-or-flight" emotions on his little face. He was clearly ticked off by those bigger cats, and he appeared to be quite frightened. Chris deposited Domingo in my office saying "Here's your adoptive mommy."

I breathed a sigh of happiness. The sweet little kitty had come back.

Chris and I both noticed, however, that he was a little worse for wear. He had snarls in his coat and he didn't have the same fluffy glow he had the last time. His ears are crusted with brown goo, not uncommon but certainly to be watched for an infection. He dived into the food bowl, still filled with the kitten chow we had bought for him, and ate with great fervor, as if he hadn't eaten in days.

He hissed at us a few times, but no bites and no claws. Just a warning that he wasn't quite over what had nearly taken place outside.

I stroked his back as he ate, and he gave the gentle upward arch. No food aggression, no hissing. Just eating and enjoying human touch.

Chris retreated back to his role of getting ready for work, and I returned to my computer. Shortly after Domingo had finished an entire bowl of food, he curled up on the blanket by my feet in that familiar furry shape and drifted off into a deep sleep.

Each time I'd move my chair or stand up, he'd stretch his lean body out and roll over. Certainly he still has that sweet disposition that captured our hearts from the beginning.

The hours crept by, and 4:30 arrived. Time to take Lulu to tumbling. No phone call from the family. The first time Chris had called them, they responded within five minutes.

So, here-in lies my quagmire.

Lucy and Henry haven't a clue that Domingo is in the house, and I dare not say a word until his permanent residence has been decided. Lucy will inevitably have a breakdown if he leaves again, and she will likely require counseling this time!

However, I can't keep him a prisoner in my office forever. Granted he has food, water, toys and litter at his disposal. It's spacious and warm. And, 8.5 hours out of the day, he has a companion. So, how long do I wait for this family to respond that they are looking for their "beloved" Church? And, if or when they do, how hard will it be to hand him back over? Because I am joining the ranks of my family in that Domingo is a deserter. He needs to pick a family and stay with them.

Maybe he has. Maybe he really, really wants to live here. It's not a bad place. And we are, for all intents and purposes, a loving family.

I mean, he is an animal. His words are spoken in purrs, hisses, meows and belly rubs. He can't knock on the door with his satchel and say "May I please live here?" as would happen in a Disney movie.

So, tonight will be an interesting one for the mind and soul. In the words of my very dear friend Erika, "It's 8:30pm....do you know where your kitty is?"

 

 

Taking Paws...

It's been nearly a week since my last blog, and what a week it's been...

First of all, an update on our feline friend, Domingo.

I had to travel to my office for work last week. Domingo stayed home with Chris while I took the kids to my very dear friend Petra's house so that she could watch them while I was away.

The first day in the office was very busy with back-to-back meetings, but I felt a buzz in my pocket around 2pm. It was Chris. He was asking me to call him when I could, but he stated that it was "not an emergency".

Well, having been married for over six years, I know my hubby well.

Any time he texts or calls out of the blue, especially when I am working, I know there is something of interest (whether good or bad) afoot.

It wasn't until much later, though, that I was able to text him back. He was now at work himself.

His text response brought the news that he had found a flyer in our mailbox...Domingo's owner was looking for him.

To make a long story short, Domingo (whose real name is "Church" - ironic that Domingo is Spanish for Sunday...) belonged to a five-year-old little girl a street and several houses over. He had been recently going outside with his older feline companion and had apparently lost his way.

This makes sense to me now, as the whole neighborhood is full of Victorian homes with porches. My guess is, he saw me standing in the doorway and decided that "yes, this must be my home", which would explain why he casually strolled thru the doorway.

Chris returned the kitty to his grateful owners, however, the kids and I were still out of town. I had been frequenting shelters and stores to find a "Domingo Replacement" to no avail. But I was unable to hide the scratch marks from several potentials on my arms, and Lucy was astute enough to spot them when I went to join her and Henry at Petra's house on Friday night.

I broke the news to her the best way I knew how - frank honesty followed by complete and total support of her emotions. (Henry's reaction was more of a "eh, ya snooze, ya lose"...)

Lucy's primary emotion was anger - not at Chris or me for returning the cat, not at the cat's owners, but aimed directly at Domingo...

"If Domingo comes to our house again and comes up on our porch, I'm going to close the door on him and not let him inside so he can't come in and leave again!!"

When we returned home on Saturday night and she saw the cat toys we had bought and went to look at Domingo's bowl, she broke down into very angry tears. She insisted on going to the front door to stare outside to see if he was coming back so that she could lock him out. And then, after we held her and validated her mix of sadness and anger, she went upstairs to her bedroom and started crying and yelling at Domingo thru her "imaginary therapist".

The plan was, we would go as a family on Sunday to pick out a cat.

However, those plans changed. Big time.

In the evening on Saturday, Chris took the kids to the park, as I was drained from being out and wasn't feeling well. Henry wasn't feeling well, either, but his was what appeared to be a plain ol' upper respiratory infection. (Mine was more of the "over-indulging on a Friday night and paying for it on a Saturday morning" kind.)

When Chris came back from the park with the kids, he said that, huh, Henry didn't want to play. That was our first clue...

Second clue was when he turned his nose up at pizza.

Finally, before bed and after several albuterol nebulizer treatments, he started to spike a fever. We tossed around taking him to the ER then but thought better of it because we thought he just needed a good night of sleep.

In the morning, his fever was still on. Not super high for a three-year-old; it was around 102.9. However, he once again shunned breakfast and just didn't "look right". After two nebs, I yanked out my stethoscope and took a listen. I have trained ears (I'm a nurse), and I was absolutely horrified by what I heard. He had crackles and wheezes throughout his lungs. And his color was pale. He was lethargic. He was just not our Henry.

So, we packed Henry up and I drove him to the local ER. This is his third visit in three months... Chris and Lucy stayed behind since we didn't think it would be too terribly serious, and ER staff loathe a crowded room.

When we got there, Nurse Deb, who has seen Henry on all his prior visits, had a look on her face that matched mine - something was definitely not right this time.

We put the pulse oximeter (which measures oxygen levels in the blood) and were both extremely unhappy with the number we saw: 89%. For a small child, it should be in the upper 90s or even 100%. Most adults are in the mid-to-upper 90s.

We were taken to another room, and another nurse came in to start Henry on O2. At this, Henry panicked because he knew that this wasn't going to result in a sticker and a ride back home with some meds.

The attending pediatrician came in, and he stated quite clearly that Henry needed better care than what our small community hospital could provide. So he was arranging for an ambulance transport to Peoria to the Children's Hospital of Illinois. While he was talking, Henry lay down on the gurney and fell sound asleep. He was so lethargic, the doctor got a little panicky and had to rouse him. He roused easily but fell immediately back to sleep. His belly was full of air, and his little chest painfully rose and fell rapidly, to the point where we could make out other bony structures (known in the medical world as "retracting"). His heart rate was high.

I called Chris to give him the status update, and he replied that he and Lucy were on their way.

Then it was the typical ER blur - it took four sticks from four different nurses to get brave Henry's IV started. He was incredible, even though they had to keep digging. Lucy was in hysterics watching and hearing her brother in pain while being told she must stay out of the way.

Once they had the IV in, he was given a dose of IV antibiotics and then had to be stuck (again!!!) for blood to check to see if he had any "blood infections".

This was followed by a trip to radiology for an x-ray of his chest. The techs gave him about seven rolls of stickers as a reward for his courage, and he then proceeded to cover his legs, arms and chest with stickers, almost every available square inch of his body, so that they would really have to look to try to stick him again.

Once ready for the ambulance, Henry kept asking if the police officers were ready for him. We kept reminding him that he was going in an ambulance, not a police car, but the idea didn't stick with him until he was actually loaded up and strapped in with seatbelts similar to what you would see in a race car. I rode along with him, and I had a similar apparatus attached to me. After about 20 minutes, Henry drifted back to sleep.

We were admitted to the hospital, and the events of the next 24 hours were far less exciting. Henry made leaps and bounds. The staff monitored him closely and weaned him off of the oxygen. He never really regained his appetite, but his fever resolved. The resident from the University of IL indicated to me that the antibiotic that was given was very strong, and he likely was responding to it.

Chris' family came to pick Lucy up and to visit with Henry. Again, more whirlwind.

After a semi-restless night of breathing treatments followed by chest exams that remained sketchy, Henry seemed to turn the final corner. The crackles had resolved mostly. He still sounded a little "gunky" and wheezy, but he was greatly improved.

The next morning, the nurse came in and unhooked his IV fluids and even took him off the pulse oximeter. She declared "Go! Be free!" and directed us to the pediatric activity room. Henry played for over an hour, until he began to get sleepy.

We didn't find out until much later that he was going home, and the pediatrician who had admitted him in the first place wasn't resolute in his decision. His basis for discharging Henry was that he had been off of oxygen long enough.

Henry was thrilled when they came in to take out his IV, and he actually was able to pull it out himself (he was so proud). We took a tubby to wipe off residual hospital tape and put on fresh PJs. I promised him a trip to the store to pick out some special cars or trucks.

We went to Farm King, and Henry chose for himself some diecast semi-trucks. He and I went to bed fairly quickly - he slept in Chris' chair, I slept on the sofa.

Today, his appetite is coming back slowly. He's been started on his new neb, and he's also on steroids. The pediatrician says he can probably go back to school tomorrow, depending upon how he is doing.

It's almost 9pm - both children are sound asleep. I hear no random coughing or wheezing.

I think Ms. Jean and the other trusty staff at Henry's preschool can handle his "'roid rage" tomorrow....

 

 

A Day of Curiosities...

It started with a man appearing on our front porch, knocking at the wrong door (we have two entrances to our house via the front porch, and people seem hesitant to go to the FRONT door).

He was a strange man who spoke fast thru deeply yellowed teeth. He presented me with a card. A card advertising his masonry services. Curious. We just so happen to be in need of a mason to repair our chimney and give us a quote on repairing our driveway...

As I stood in the doorway talking with this man, up from the front porch steps came a cat. A striking gray cat with downy soft fur. He didn't scurry or scamper. He sauntered up to the front door, and, as if he had lived here his entire life, entered in thru the doorway and began to walk around. Curious.

Befuddled by the goings-on, I politely asked the man if he would mind waiting on the porch whilst I summoned my slumbering hubby and search the house for our uninvited visitor.

I closed the door, ran up the stairs to our bedroom and said to Chris, who was peeking at me from beneath the down comforter with one eye half open, "No time to explain - we have a man here who fixes chimneys and we have a stray cat roaming around downstairs."

Chris has this ability that I have always admired. He can raise each eyebrow individually. Me, I can only raise them simultaneously. I'm sure it has something to do with him being truly ambidextrous. In any case, before I bolted back downstairs, I did notice that his right eyebrow was cocked much higher than normal, causing his brow to furrow in the "Excuse me?" fashion. Curious.

In any case, I made a beeline for the drying/dining room to check on our resident kitty, Kelly. She has been my feline partner for thirteen years. I saw her crouching on what is supposed to be the sorting table for our laundry but which has sadly become a catch all and her favorite nest. Her fur was ruffled, and her pupils were half-dollar sized. Yep, she must have met our visitor. No help, though. No paw wave to say "He went that-a-way!"

So I began lifting curtains, peering thru doorways, climbing under tables (this is where having a very large house can be a disadvantage, amongst other reasons). No sign of the gray stranger.

No matter - I had to get back to work. So I closed off the drying/dining room to secure Kelly for the time being. I was willing to take my chances with her being completely peeved that I'd temporarily cut her off from food, water and litter.

I went back into my office and started sending out S.O.S. messages to my fellow cat-loving coworkers. Before anyone really had the chance to respond, I heard Chris holler from the second floor "He's up here." And then he promptly retreated outside to talk turkey with the mason.

The gray kitty emerged triumphantly down the staircase. Had our foyer been restored, it might have been his most regal moment. However, I dashed over to him, scooped him up and penned him in my office with me.

Food, water, litter - all at his disposal. But why had I done it? Curious.

My dad posted on my Facebook account earlier today that I took after him, taking in strays and loving them.

This is true. Being the daughter of a conservationist, I grew up surrounded by wild animals that my dad had brought home for us to nurture and nurse back to health. Why, I even remember he and I fishing at the Sportsmans' Club one day and coming across an abandoned nest of eggs. My dad took those two eggs home and lovingly incubated them until they hatched into Canada goslings, which he later named Eek and Meek. Those geese grew to love my dad as though he was truly their Papa, and they would follow him everywhere.

My dad is also an accomplished hunter. He hunts deer, bear, turkey, grouse...and he uses his prey for food. And he is always respectful of the hunted animal. I believe he once told me that he said a prayer over any kill because it was a way of paying respect to the animal that would help to feed his family. He often donates meat to feed the impoverished.

I really do have a lot of respect for my dad, because he has a lot of respect for nature. I think he appreciates and sympathizes with animals better than any human I know. (But Dad, chippys are animals, too....)

After spending about two hours visiting with our gray vagabond, I finally got up the nerve to ask Chris if we could keep him. The answer of "I don't care, either way is fine by me" was all I needed. (I think he knew I would plead with him if he said no - this is an adorable feline, and he and I were already bonding as he snoozed pleasingly at my feet.) Besides, Chris is a softie for animals, too. And I have a feeling that this cat will earn a place in his heart very quickly. And I know for certain that neither of us could have given him the boot back out into the cruel world of speeding cars and garbage cans.

I was tempted to post signs to see if anyone is missing a cat. However, this kitten (roughly 6 mos of age per my friend Elizabeth) is not neutered, does not have tags or a microchip (I am familiar with the feel of the tiny lump on the back of the neck) and was one of many stray cats we see wandering the 'hood. I feel just in my decision to give him a proper home. And, let's face it, I'd weep if he left us, now that I've had nearly ten hours to bond with him...

The kids and I went shopping for treats, kitten food and flea/tick spray. And, of course, some toys. We've also got two litter boxes and two sets of food/water trays - one for each cat. Until he's been properly examined by a vet, I don't want to take any chances with my irreplaceable Kelly.

So, what a curious day. Just when you think you know what's going on, the unexpected happens. Sometimes good, sometimes not so good. But an adventure either way...

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Vagabond Wanders In

This beautiful all gray boy kitten wandered into our house while we were chatting with a masonry company. What to do now? He's very extroverted and sweet...

Sent from my iPhone