A “Clowder” of Purrr-sonalities – Chapter 2

Posted on January 15, 2014January 15, 2014 by Dusty Roads

Rocky was named after the Rocky Balboa character.

He was a feral kitten who should have been scared of humans. The neighbor kid had found a nest of kittens and taken the “orange” kitten to play with him. When he went to return him, the mama cat had moved the rest of her litter.

When I found the kid he was using the kitten as a literal “fur ball” throwing the kitten in the air and trying to catch him when he came back down. When I came yelling and screeching the kid threw the kitten in a grocery cart, bounced the cart a few times to see the kitten juggle around and then took off running. The kitten , who would become “Rocky” was so tiny that he fell through the wire bottom of the cart.

I thought oh oh, he’ll head for the woods now but instead he picked himself up, shook his head and with that little kitten waddle, made a bee line for me.

The kitten’s eyes were runny and swollen, obviously infected and who knew if he had injuries from his treatment by the kid. At the vet’s office they refused to treat him unless I named him. Under pressure like that I couldn’t think of anything cute or original. All I could think of was that the kitten didn’t have any more sense than Rocky did in the movie by the same name. Yeah, Rocky got beat up, knocked down but he wouldn’t stay down. He got right back up and in the end, bruised and bashed up, he won. So this little resilient kitten became “Rocky”.

I still planned to take him to the shelter. Little Joe never accepted other cats. So I put the now treated kitten in the spare room for the weekend. The first day was fine. I’d go into the room to spend time with him. As soon as I called “Rocky” he’d come toddling out from where ever he was hiding. The vet was surprised that he was eating solid food. They thought he was too young to be weaned but he didn’t seem to have any problem eating the canned food I was offering. He was so tiny and cute.

This was when I first learned what a great escape artist Rocky would turn out to be. Coming back from an errand I saw the door open to the spare room. My heart dropped. I was sure I’d find his bloody little body shredded somewhere.

Was I ever surprised when I found a black and white Persian cuddled up with a tiny orange kitten on the couch.

Rocky had found a home…fur-ever.

A “Clowder” of Purrr-sonalities

Posted on January 14, 2014January 14, 2014 by Dusty Roads

Definition: Clowder : a group of cats

I’ve been around cats all my life. I haven’t always understood how to be gentle and kind. There are many family stories of me dressing the family cat in baby clothes and pushing her in a baby carriage.. or the best/ worse story is when I was holding the cat while she desperately tried to escape me, the toddling baby terror. As the cat scratched me mercilessly I hung on and screamed for my mother to “help me”!

(Selfish little brat wasn’t I?) My mother’s response was to tell me to put the cat down and she wouldn’t scratch me. But I was stubborn and refused, crying all the time. I don’t remember this , of course, but it’s one of those standard holiday stories that always gets pulled out when the clan gets together to reminisce.

Over the years I always seemed to have a cat, usually just one. I never thought about cats being social animals. I always thought they were quite independent. As my life evolved and my knowledge and empathy matured I decided that maybe cats left alone all day should have a companion.

I worked long hours and didn’t pay a lot of attention to my pets. I fed them and kept the kitty litter clean but playtime was short. My favorite times were the end of the night when we had “cuddle time”.

I’d had a series of solo kitties over the years but when I first thought about adding an extra cat it really wasn’t my choice.

At the time I had a Persian named “Little Joe”. Little Joe had “issues”. He was the original “grumpy cat”.

Introducing him to other cats was futile. He wanted nothing to do with a companion. As he was getting older I rescued a tiny kitten from an abusive neighbor kid.

My plan was to take the kitten to the vet, get a clean bill of health and then surrender it to a shelter. Things didn’t quite turn out that way. To my surprise my grumpy, old Persian liked the kitten and the kitten liked Little Joe. So began my experiences with a multi cat household. That kitten was Rocky.

As grumpy as Little Joe was, Rocky was irrepressible. He was so full of life and joie de vivre he literally bounced off walls.

At the time Rocky joined the household he only weighed in at 1.2 lbs. Little Joe, on the other hand was a whopping 12 lbs. A real David and Goliath match up.

When Little Joe had had enough of Rocky’s antics he’d try to carry Rocky around like a mother cat, by his ruff, except he seemed to always miss the ruff and get Rocky’s whole head in his mouth. I’d hear muffled mews and go check and there was Little Joe dragging poor Rocky along the floor with the head completely in his mouth.

It never deterred Rocky. He’s be right back after Little Joe or racing around the apartment.

Photo of the Week~ Week 2

Posted on January 13, 2014January 13, 2014 by Dusty Roads

Well folks, I made it through another week! Yes I managed to take a picture everyday this week and now I will try to do it all again.

I was surprised again. Tallying up the likes, shares, and hits; the photo with the most points is Buddy 2014.

The runner up was not the one I expected. It was Foggy Woods.

I wonder if being the first picture posted for the week had anything to do with that?

Those Were The Days

Posted on January 5, 2014January 5, 2014 by Dusty Roads

Didn’t I just say that I hate the cold? I don’t hate the snow. It’s pretty and if it could be warm I might actually like it. It seems to me as a kid I liked it. I remember snowball fights and snowmen and snow forts. I loved “tracking” little animal prints through the white stuff and even learned to snow shoe.

Remember the “Flying saucers?”.

They were round aluminum disks that we sat on to go twirling down the hills when we weren’t racing on the toboggans, I remember the flexible flyer too. We’d hold it up as we ran like crazy only to throw ourselves on it while we were still in the air, kind of like a belly flop except we wanted to do this to get the sled moving faster.

Remember the ice crusts? We’d use plane old cardboard boxes to go sliding then. Just don’t fall face first as that crust could slice and dice. I made many trips home bloodied up.

I even went horseback riding in the snow when I could sneak out. That was a big no-no when it should have been a yes-yes to keep the horse from getting too frisky. 🙂 A fine example of 20-20 hindsight. But my point is that I didn’t always hate the cold and snow.

I hate it now because it hurts. It makes my joints ache, especially my hips, knees and ankles. Today we can add in my right shoulder, maybe from shoveling? I wish it didn’t affect me that way.

I see these wonderful nature programs on PBS, polar bears, elk, caribou and other northern snow-loving animals.

I want to photograph these animals in the wild, not at the zoo. I want a picture of a deer standing in a field of snow for one of my Christmas Cards.

There’s a place, a sanctuary, where I could photograph wolves but the best time to go is, you guessed it, in the winter.

Right here in Massachusetts we have wintering grounds for snowy owls. The best known one is Duxbury Beach, a six mile long barrier beach. Snowy owls that try to settle at Logan Airport are trapped and moved to this stretch of sand to rest before they continue on their southern migration.

Photographing the “Snowies” is a common winter pastime for bird photographers and birders hold walks to look for them along the beach, but let me tell you, that wind off the water is cold. I’ve driven over to that beach only to chicken out once the wind hit me. I guess I’ll never make a serious nature photographer…more like a fair weather one.

So until I figure out how to keep warm out there, I’ll stand by my “I hate the cold” comment.