Another mouse?

“Hey, Sprout. What do you have there?” I heard Friend ask down the hall. “Something fun?”

I smiled when she came back, then scowled when I saw she still had the Gatorade ring in her hand. “What did he have?” I questioned briskly. “You didn’t give him the ring?”

“He already had a toy.” She said, smiling. “It was once alive. Might still be alive.” She mused. “It’s behind his door.”

“$100.” I offered. “You go get the mouse.” Then I frowned with great concern when she sat down with her laptop again. “Seriously,” I whined. “I can’t do this!”

“You need to get a magnetic dog door.” She advised for the hundredth time.

I whimpered pitifully as I went to the kitchen, searching for heavy-duty grocery bags and copious amounts of paper towels. Then I grabbed the broom and dustpan, proceeding slowly down the hall toward extreme mental torture.

“Is it in my bathroom?” I asked softly, peering around the door while keeping my body safely in the hall – an entire bedroom between me and the ick.

Friend walked briskly by, a couple of paper towels in hand and snatching the bag from me.

“You’re going to get it?!” I asked, thrilled, then took a couple of steps after her, my tools outstretched. “Do you want my broom and dustpan? Gloves? More paper towels?”

“The hard part,” she said, “will be convincing Sprout to give it to me. Go on, Sprout.” She said firmly.

“I’ll get a spray bottle!” I called, eager for a chance to escape the carnage. I – keeping a safe distance – spritzed the cat several times. He just stared at me – he rather likes water. But he was distracted enough that Friend was able to get the ick.

I turned rapidly when she emerged, loathe to see the remains of the creature. “It’s all the way dead.” She announced and I made a horrified face.

“You touched it when it could have been alive? Wait! I don’t know what to do with it yet! Don’t show it to me!”

I moved quickly toward the garage and the heavy garbage bags. Shaking one open, I pretended she wasn’t laughing at me. “OK,” I instructed. “Put it in the bag, but do NOT touch me with it!” Keeping my face turned away, I waited until a gentle weight settled in the bottom. Then I took it outside to the garbage can.

“You picked it up with just a paper towel?” I asked when I returned inside, incredulous. “I am in awe of your bravery.” I added solemnly as she shook her head at me.

“I was going to just pick it up by the tail, but I thought that would freak you out. It’s just a mouse.”

“$200 if you stay the night and deal with any more ick.” I said as she threatened to go home to deal with her indoor cats and laundry. “But what if he brings something else in?!”

“Magnetic dog door.” She reminded. And I sighed.

“Sprout!” I called as I heard him come in once again and race down the hall to my bedroom. “Sprout!”

“Does he have another one? Already?”

“I don’t know.” I whined. “$20 if you go check.” Seeing she wasn’t eager to do so, I crept down the hall, chased him from the room and – standing on tiptoe – peered in the bathroom.

“Hello? Mouse? Are you in there?” Not receiving an answer, I was inspired. “Chienne! Come here, pretty girl!” She trotted down the hall, tags jingling happily, and looked at me.

“Can you go check the bathroom for ick?” I requested. She responded to my nudge and entered the room, returning after mere seconds.

“Did you find anything?” I asked, hearing Friend laughing down the hall.

I walked to Sprout’s room, saw him on the bed, and closed his door. “No more outside for you.” I proclaimed before returning to the living room to search for dog doors that would prohibit his leaving to hunt. I heard his little body thud against the wooden barrier as he started to speak indignantly against his unfair imprisonment.

“His ick is not only gone,” Friend stated with a sad shake of her head, “but you won’t let him find more?” Then she grinned at his howls of increasing volume.

“No more ick.” I said firmly, stopping to smile myself at his pleas for the freedom found only in the great outdoors.

I found this and will order one tomorrow – there appears to be some problem with the website thus far. Then, feeling sorry for the poor kitten (who is also a killer, apparently), I closed the dog door with its protective plastic covering and released him from his room. He blinked at me sleepily when I opened the door.

“He didn’t even care.” I informed Friend loftily. “He was napping.”

“I think he cares now.” She offered a moment later. I listened more closely to the thudding and talking from the kitchen.

“Is that him at the dog door?” I asked incredulous once again. Friend nodded.

I got up to see him exploring the strange covering with great anger. He meowed at me. “No.” I told him easily, then returned to the loveseat feeling satisfied with my plan. I had kissed Chienne on the head and told her to let me know if she needed out. But the cat is unhappily locked inside from now on.

He's napping on the ottoman as I type, but I'm quite sure he's plotting his next expedition. I only hope I'm smart enough to thwart it.

A Sprout-date

It's been quite some time since the kitten got more than a passing mention. I decided that talking about writing my book (which might have been all I did today) would defeat the purpose of putting that obsessive energy toward the book and away from other people. I also realize that I kept the kitten because I wanted to tell the story of how I found him because I thought it was adorable. And I didn't want to be the blogger who allowed the kitten who found her to be put down. So His Sproutness found a home in part due to all of you. So you deserve some detailed information about him, yes?

Of course.

I can't decide what I think about the little fellow. I sometimes consider him as a Screwtape-type character. Superior, dignified, disdainful of all he sees. But then he prances by carrying one of Chienne's squeaky squirrel toys and the mental image falls apart.

"I don't think he knows he's a cat." Dad said when I was home, watching the little guy wrestle with a dog ten times his size.

"He knows." I responded, thinking of how he cleans himself, retreats to places of safety when strangers come around, sleeps during the day and plays at night (this I don't like). "He's just adapted to his new environment." He does play with squeaky toys, comes when he's called (if it's only me around and he deduces there's minimal risk of having to go in the car), takes food from my hand and eschews grace for speed when eating.

He still sleeps in his room during the day, but will select an upper corner of my bed at night, nuzzling my fingers when they appear from under the pillow. He approaches me often to be petted, though Chienne gets terribly jealous when that happens. He lets me clip his claws, though he's not fond of the process. He prefers crispy treats to soft ones.

He enjoys my parents, though he does bite them. I flick him when he bites me - firmly rebuking the act - and he's stopped. I reached to pet him yesterday and he opened his mouth to bite, then licked me once instead. I found him a crispy treat.

Both my parents are scarred from his attempts to play though as they refuse to scold him when he bites them. "What if he stops liking us?" Mom asked. "He already hides from everyone else! And I like to pet him!"

Little One loves him dearly, favoring cats to dogs in general. Over the week we spent at home, he grew used to Mom or me holding him still while she gently stroked his coat. Sometimes she would muss his fur and he'd busily smooth it back into place. She also would hurry to take his toys from any of us so she could whip them around with a speed that was equally frightening and amusing. While he ran away at first, he learned to duck and cover and would play with her a lot. On the last day we were home, he climbed on her lap and allowed her to shower him with affection.

My favorite of their times together? She would come in the house and yell, "Prout!" Then, raising the pitch of her voice, and crouching down, she'd call "Here, kitty, kitty, kitty..." Then again - still high pitched - "Here, kitty, kitty, kitty..." After waiting mere seconds, she stands up throws her hands up in exasperation and shouts, "Come on, 'Prout!"

It's delightful.

He didn't come once.

All in all, he's a funny, sweet, pretty little guy. I really love him very much and I'm glad he's around. So I'll thank you all for making me a better person and inadvertently convincing me to keep the little kitten I found outside my house.

Lost and found kitten

“Sprout?” I called, starting to get impatient. “Sprout! Here, kitty…

"Kitty! Come!”

I looked down at Chienne and she stared back at me. “Go find the cat.” I ordered, then got in the shower. As I shampooed, I thought it was unusual for Sprout not to come greet me after I returned from walking the dog. But it’s not worrisome.

Strange that he didn’t come investigate when I turned on the shower to warm up, I pondered. He’s typically quite interested in the water, in a “hope that doesn’t get on me” sort of way.

I remembered calling out to let him know we were leaving when we had departed on our walk. I informed him when we had returned, though it was more to irritate Chienne (who is quite jealous) because she was dawdling by the flower bed on the front walk.

It worked – she scampered inside to assert her superiority against her tabby friend (or foe – whichever). But I didn’t hear the requisite hissing or sprinting in a game of chase. Perhaps I missed it. I’m sure Sprout’s around. He’s just being contrary, I soothed. Cats don’t come when called.

But when I stepped out of the shower, toweling off and reaching for lotion, I called for my lost kitten with increasing irritation. I was worried for no reason, I knew, but what if he’d finally tackled the dog door? Escaped to the great outdoors? I was planning to leave tomorrow morning (early tomorrow morning – 4AM early. Pray for me.) and couldn’t go without him. Even if I didn’t adore the furry creature, Mom never fails to ask about him. I’m not completely convinced I’ll be allowed to bring him home with me, but I do know he’s an eagerly anticipated visitor for Thanksgiving.

“Sprout…” I drawled it into 2 syllables, walking up and down my short hallway.

I took out garbage at 7 and it was now approaching 10. I was barely awake at first – had shifted, drifting easily into full consciousness, when I realized it was light outside. Garbage pickup is early and I didn’t want to miss it – I’m terribly disappointed when I forget and have 2 weeks worth of trash lying around.

So I stumbled through the house, collecting items to throw away. Cleaned the litter box. Mumbled something at Chienne, then clipped on her leash so she could wander to the curb with me. But I remembered closing the door leading to the garage before hitting the button to open the big garage door. I didn’t want Sprout to escape. I made sure he wasn't in the garage.

I was in the kitchen, tapping my lip with my fingertip, when I remembered I’d folded towels later in the morning. So I walked briskly back down the hall, calling the cat, then pausing to listen.

“Sprout?” I said gently, moving toward the garage, just in case.

As I turned the doorknob, I heard insistent meowing. Opened the door to a fluffier than normal cat. I wasn’t sure if he was deeply offended or trying to keep warm in the chilly garage, but his tail was at least three times its normal size.

I followed him as he ran in the house, then past me and Chienne toward the bedroom. I apologized profusely, told him he really was quiet and easy to miss, and he allowed me to pick him up to cuddle.

He’s now very careful to scamper back inside before I close the door. Poor cat. It’s unusual for me to trap him somewhere, but it’ll likely happen (on accident, of course) again.

It’s very unusual for me to not feel like writing for the blog. I had topics in mind – my 3 journals (this blog, other blog, dream journal (which is not blue)), my hatred of Thanksgiving, my strange delight in going home for an extended stay, how well things went at work today – but would rather work, pack and finish up with cleaning my house than weave some depressing or complicated story.

So I’m going to go with it – leave the 2 drafts of posts unfinished yet saved. Try to use the special software for one project again and see if the server troubles have resolved themselves. Allow the Tylenol PM to work so I can sleep enough to be functional at 4 tomorrow morning. Continue to remember items that need to make the trip with me. Eat the rest of those chili-lime peanuts in the pantry (they might go bad! Maybe. And I want them.) And not write anything all that interesting.

Though I am considering putting the bell back on the cat’s collar next to his shiny, silver name tag.

Shhh... then Pounce!

I'm not feeling so well today. I couldn't get up this morning. I tried and shuffled back down the hall to rest some more just after 6. I just couldn't. I was so tired and achy and my head felt weird.

And there's the fact that I sleep so well when my precious puppy is otherwise occupied. So when Unnamed Friend is here, I'm relegated to "that person I know" in a certain canine mind so that she can dote on her new favorite friend. Which means that instead of cuddling with me, then sighing when I happen to shift positions (or nudging me awake to scold the cat when he attacks her), another human must cope with her. If I were a better person, I suppose I'd try to lure the dog in my room.

I'm not a better person.

So the story of the day is that Chienne went to the vet for her allergies - I adore my vet. Then I came home, attempted to get ready for work, then irritatedly put on pajamas and took more Advil and went back to bed. I'm all sick! Achy and nauseated. Foggy and sleepy. And I want to work - I'm not sad or afraid or anything other than suffering from some evil virus. So I slept. Chienne slept. But Sprout?

Sprout has a plan. He aspires to capture the tail of Chienne.

This plan can be enacted in any room of the house, and his target doensn't seem to mind his attempts at hunting.

"They play tail." Unnamed Friend said as I told her, pleased with their ability to interact, despite the sporadic hissing. "One cat will twitch her tail, and the other cat will chase. Moms do it for kittens. Friends do it for friends. It's fun."

"I don't think Chienne knows she's playing tail. But she seems happy enough to be oblivious to it."

The problem with any plan is that there are unforseen snags. And in what could be my favorite picture of sweet kitten, this is Sprout getting whacked with the very prey he sought. The tail wags at the will of its owner, and she's sometimes happy and sometimes sleepy. And the 2 states can morph rapidly, leaving a playful kitten to squint and dart away. Or get hit with a tail.

Either leaves me giggling and reviewing photos in delight as I lie on the bed with Klennex and a bottle of water.

But planning must be instinctual, for Sprout hasn't lived here long enough for me to train him. And while Chienne sleeps and whines and sighs just like I do (I can't remember exactly why, but I said, "You and me? It's like we have the same mind." To which Unnamed Friend replied - while giving me a look - "You realize you're talking to your dog." And I nodded happily, reporting that Chienne wanted to take a walk. I understand the dog quite well.)

I also admire taking a step back and considering your goal, which is what I believe Sprout is attempting to do here.

But then - great little creature that he is - he gets right back to it. He learned from his mistake, backed off a little bit, then stayed low to avoid detection (Chienne did know he was there - she just didn't care. I was petting her head and laughing, so she was quite content.)

Look at the concentration! The narrowed green eyes, the outstreched paw.

I'm so proud.

But, well, sometimes the best of plans go awry. The tail is taken away and you're presented with a head. You can glare at the head or you can avoid getting licked by the tongue that comes out of the head with frightening regularity.

The lovely thing is that I wasn't warning either of them to play nicely. They seem to have accepted each other, and we're coexisting peacefully (or playfully - it depends on the moment).

But since I do enjoy a happy ending, I thought I could conclude with the fact that the tail usually returns - in some form or another.

Sometimes Chienne turns around - not out of any altruistic feelings toward Sprout's plan, but because she was comfortable in her former position.

Sometimes Sprout stealthily moves again so that he is located at her back end, once more prepared to squint, focus and pounce.

I can only hope that I wake tomorrow feeling ready to do some squinting, focusing and pouncing myself.

Please note...

I'm seriously considering - in what I can only describe as an effort to waste massive amounts of time - going back and tagging my old posts. All 300+ of them. I believe this will make them all show up in bloglines for those of you who use that to read me. So I'd like to suggest that you edit your subscription so that you ignore updated items. This proposed project also gives me a chance to read and fix typos for everything I've written here! Imagine the time that will take!

Chienne and Sprout can apparently live quite peacefully. They're both on the floor, staring at each other across the living room. Chienne knows she's not to hurt him and he takes shameless advantage by swatting at her periodically then scampering away. My little hound mix isn't a very good hunter though. She'll wander around, looking for her feline friend, not realizing that he's actually following her as she moves from room to room. Even as I write, his tail is twitching as he anticipates getting the best of his floppy eared housemate. But the hissing is rare. They're actually doing really well - all that worry for nothing.

My parents left early this morning and it brought the expected sadness for me. I don't like it when people leave. It's been lovely - for the most part - having the extra noise and energy and activity in the house. Yesterday - since some home improvement project is mandatory - we replaced the globes in some of the light fixtures. It made a huge difference - I'm really quite pleased. I hated the chandelier over my kitchen table with a passion, but putting these on made it pretty. My favorite are sort of like these on the fan in my living room. As far as gifts from my parents, I'm enjoying them tremendously. So while Mom would have stayed forever, Dad was ready to head north to deal with his car projects. I'm blinked back tears as they drove away, but returned to giggle over my animals and stare sleepily out the window at the cloudy day, contemplating playing with my blog while I run Matlab code.

I suspect there are worse ways to spend the day.

Sprout finds freedom.

I'm sleepy. There was sightseeing yesterday (waterfalls! And I didn't even have to walk through a shooting range to see them!) with my parents. We drove a good distance, but it was well worth it. The scenery was gorgeous - more than enough for another blog template. I think that you'll be spared the photo posts here shortly. But for now? Look how pretty!

There was work today. Meetings where I actually contributed - apparently knowledge was gained at my meeting. I gave myself credit for finding the waterfall, but not for learning very much. But I picked up some information which I was able to share with my colleagues back at home. Lovely.

I also touched base with my volunteer coordinator - I'm one step closer to getting started. The Plan update 2 is looking good!

We have also opened the door for the kitten. It's going well - no blood has been shed, though the stares are not overly friendly. I just had to pause so that I could pet the dog located behind my knees and aim the spray bottle at the cat who was carefully planning his attack on her. I prevented said altercation successfully.

Little Sprout is rather... playful. I lost track of how many times he launched his slight body at the backs of my legs. Or tried to wrap his paws around my arm so he could bite me. But we're controlling Chienne and allowing Sprout his explorations. So he races between rooms, plays with his string, delights in startling us with his pounces. I rather think the animals will sleep well tonight. I hope I'll do the same.

I have posts in mind - 2 of them, actually. But I'd like them to be written well, and I can't come up with the time, energy or focus at the moment. Mom and Dad have decided to head north on Friday morning rather than Sunday though, so my typical wordiness shall return shortly.

In the meantime, I shall stare at my new graphics with utter delight. I hoped the brown would work well, and I'm ever so pleased with it. I want to add some categories, and think I know how to do it easily. I really just want to create another sidebar picture though - I like doing those for some reason. It's good to have a hobby I enjoy.

Random - swearing, Sprout, submitting, and Celexa

Stupid, sucky situation
I was halfway done with a post when I got a phone call detailing a situation I found really upsetting. On the big, the-academic-world-rather-sucks level. But providing details would not only be inappropriate, but would involve more water animals than even I know and love. But there was much profanity (from me) and some disagreement on what was right and I’m all irritated now. I see myself on a playground, watching everyone playing inappropriately, then stomping off, folding my arms and pouting while I tell the teacher supervising recess that “I’m not playing anymore! People are mean! And stupid. So there.”

Poor, little Sprout
In other news, and in the absence of focus to complete the post I started, Sprout is soon going to be without food and water in preparation for his procedure tomorrow. So off to the vet he will go, because animals in my family aren’t allowed to reproduce. I’m worried about him, which actually reassures me. I do fret about creatures I love, so the pretty kitty has worked his way into my heart. Oh, and Chienne has figured out where to lie in wait where the cat can’t see her from his normal “check the hallway before deciding to hide” position. She almost got him today – sneaky dog.

Submit! Just approve and submit!
My paper is coming along – I’m going to try to read it (really, really try) one more time before that euphoric moment when I press the approve and submit button. It’s pretty good – I’m hopeful. Pride goeth before the fall though, so we’ll have to see what they think of my pretty revisions.

And Celexa
Oh, the pills. It should come as no surprise that I very much want to take them now. Not only out of fear of what I was when the depression got particularly overwhelming, but because I take to habits quite easily. I was out one night and realized I was really antsy to get home. As I started to say my goodbyes earlier than I had planned, I realized I normally took Celexa around 9PM. Once it gets later than that, I become preoccupied about having access to my tiny prescription bottle. While I know missing a day wouldn’t be that big a deal – and waiting a few hours is completely fine – I have a pretty strong attachment to swallowing that little pill. Trusting that it will provide some stability and allow me to continue to improve.

I’m uncomfortable with the degree I like taking it, though I know I needed it and it was a good idea to start the medication. I haven’t had a migraine since starting, which is a delightful benefit. Nor have I suffered even mild side effects (of which I’m aware, anyway). I don’t feel flat – I just got quite passionate about a situation which affects me in no way whatsoever. I still feel sad sometimes, but it’s not the hopeless despair that so alarmed me before. I don’t hang out on my bathroom floor. I’m sleeping better, though it’s still not great. (When people ask me what I’d ask if given three wishes, the ability to sleep well is always one of them. Selfish? Of course. I don’t care. I would be a much better person if I could get some rest with some regularity and ease.)

The point – and I bring it up because I had a great deal of illogical resistance to taking anything – is that I’m glad I started. I needed the help and it gave me comfort to know I was trying something to improve. I am perhaps overly fond of that comfort and hope that eventually I’m less attached to having access to the medication.

I think that’s all I can write. I’m getting sleepy and the goal really is to submit the paper this evening. It’s not good to do that without a final reading, so I need to go through the paper one last (tired) time.

His Sprout-ness

“So I heard you got a cat.”

I smiled when I heard Brother’s voice. It surprises me still – that he’s an adult, his deep voice matching the maturity of some of his thoughts. His grace under pressure, the kindness with which he treats the elderly people he serves at work. How he’s married. Has a child. The kid grew up at some point. I wonder how I missed it.

“Yes. I do have a cat. It was sort of an accident though.” So I told him the story, listened to him laugh at the right parts, express understanding at others.

“Mom called me today.” He noted after I was done. “Asked about Little One and told me you had another child as well.”

I closed my eyes briefly at that. I wished my own little one was playing and babbling in the background as we talked. That I could achieve what the rest of the family seemed to easily accomplish. Settle on someone to love – a man who would love me in return. Ease into moderate professional success that was secondary to family life. Laugh and argue and share stories. Watch cartoons with my children and push them on the swing set my parents purchased at dramatic savings. Teach them to pet Sprout gently and not to tug on Chienne’s ears. Maybe it’s not meant to be. I try not to dwell on it, but there are moments where it’s a startling pain.

“Would you like a cat?” I asked. “Little One likes kitties.”

“We’re good.” He said quickly. “Between the dog that won’t quit fetching stuff (and she really will chase a ball for hours on end. It's impressive.) and Little One, I don’t think we need another creature right now. Is he a nice cat? How old?”

“He is a nice cat. About 5 months old and very friendly. Well, not with Chienne – she just wants to chase him and he just wants to hiss at her. But he’s a sweet animal – very loving.”

“How do you litter train them?”

“Don’t know. He just knew. He had a family too – I really thought they’d ask for his return. But it didn’t happen. So now he’s mine.”

I talked to the Little One – she got a pumpkin bag at school and is quite fond of this new word. I thought it was "pumpkin" she was saying, but was grateful for Brother’s confirmation in the background. “Are you telling Aunt Katie about your pumpkin?” It helped me out.

Then, as her parents both do, she said, “Love you.” and went to hang up the phone before Brother said, “Wait! I wasn’t done!” So we talked for a few more minutes – work is going well for him, one event he planned was particularly successful, Little One and Brother’s Wife are getting over colds and doing well now.

I told Mom – via email – that I had a cat just last night. Asked that she not be critical because I didn’t mean to get a cat. It just sort of happened. And I didn’t feel like dealing with her and Dad telling me all the reasons another pet was a bad idea.

Then I sent her email at work this morning, thanking her for being so supportive in her original response to my news. She’s a good mom. I love her a great deal. It was likely silly to put off telling her for so long, worrying about her opinion.

So I went down to play with and pet the Sprout. He is a sweet cat, and very pretty besides. After some focused attention, I opened the door, Chinne got up from her sprawl on the floor, and sat politely while I stood guard at the door between them. She set one paw over my leg while Sprout was on the bed, sniffed at his scratching toy. He came over and despite my gentle warnings to play nice, swatted at her paw so she’d remove it from his room. Then he tried to sneak past her as she blocked the exit to his room.

She didn’t lunge – sat quietly and let me scratch her neck, moved her nose closer to him to smell.

And he looked up at her, took one step closer, and swatted her nose with his claws.

At which point I gasped with indignation and scolded him. So he scampered to his corner, put his ears back and glared at me. So I’ll take advice here, but my first loyalty is to the dog. That cat made an unprovoked attack! He’s certainly entitled to protect his room, but I also see her point in guarding her hallway. I’m not sure what to do here – she’s getting better as he’s getting worse. And the likelihood of her playing some passive-aggressive game with him is pretty high – I just haven’t seen evidence of it yet.

It – like so many other things – is a freaking process. Takes time. Plus, Mom’s not going to tell Dad about the cat yet. She has to work up her nerve to share the news and explain that he can’t offer negative opinions. So… this too shall pass. I guess. In the meantime, I guess the lesson is that Sprout doesn't screw around. Perhaps he's irritable lately too.