The Sheepcat

Welcome, Minty

After a hiatus of nearly two years since the kitten Ginger graced this home, the Sheepcat is now fostering a mature cat named Minty.

I've learned my lesson from when little Ginger first arrived. Fearing that she would feel cooped up unless I let her roam the whole apartment, I found instead that she sought the comfort of a confined space and rather comically ended up scurrying up inside the arm of my sofa, the poor dear. So Minty, who quite shy, will stay in the bathroom for the next few days.

I'll post a pic once she has settled in.

It's a Bug and It's a Feature

Here's a nifty bug-identification site with lots of pictures.

Snails

Walking back from a pub one rainy night in Kraków, we happened across the largest snails I think I've ever seen. When I went strolling the next morning, there were still snails on the path.

The coin in the first picture is a Canadian toonie; the 1-złoty piece in the third is about the size of a Canadian or US quarter.

Giant Aquatic Rodents--Who Knew?

I went to Jimmy Akin for the lowdown on the hullaballoo about the Gospel of Judas and found, in addition to that, a whole series on Lenten observances. The most unusual is this report about the rule allowing Catholics in parts of Venezuela to eat capybara meat on Fridays during Lent as if this rodent were a fish. Rest assured there's a reason for this.

Incidentally, when I was travelling in northern Bolivia many years ago, I saw a creature I'm pretty sure was a capybara.

Kitten Chronicles, Day 5

My friends are laying bets that I'll try to keep dear little Ginger after her three weeks are up. I guess the danger sign will appear when I start accosting strangers on the streetcar and offering to show them pictures of "my" little darling. Well, we'll see.

She's now well settled in chez moi. For the first few days (after the couch adventure) I kept her in the bathroom, where she seemed content with her smaller quarters. Yesterday, though, she started mewing from behind the bathroom door in a way I was almost sure meant "I want out!" and sure enough, she began romping around the apartment as soon as I opened the door. So she'll have the run of the place except when I'm going out or napping, or when I need to answer the front door--I really can't have her escaping. She loves to curl up beside the hot air vent, or in the TV stand beside the VCR, and you should see her teeter across the top of the row of books that are lined up on the floor along one of my walls.

Books--uh oh. The place has been moderately kitty-proofed, but it's only a matter of time, I just realized, before she tries to leap onto one of the many bookshelves (good ol' Billy from Ikea), and there'll be trouble when she does, because several shelves have books stacked two deep, and the outer books are perched a little precariously.

Anyhow, Ginger is eating well, which is a good sign. There was a bit of fresh kitty up-chuck on the bathroom floor when I came home one evening, but nothing like that has recurred, so I think as long as I keep watching her carefully she'll be fine. Her increasingly athletic capers are certainly very encouraging--aside from the two times she's run at full speed and thunked head-on into solid objects, namely, my computer case and a wall. Hopefully she'll learn fast.

Honey, Would Fox or Ermine Go Better with this Outfit?

Oh my. For those who can't resist making it perfectly clear it's a dead animal they're wearing. Note: I don't actually mind it when people wear fur (yeah, yeah, I know, awfully big of me), but this urban boy finds this hat a bit much.

Relive the era of the mountain man with this authentic full-body coyote Mountain Man Hat. … The perfect gift for rendezvous black-powder re-enactment enthusiasts.

Made in … Canada. Ohh, Canada! Does Kate know about this, or is it way too large?

Update: She sure does (okay, 'cause I told her). Anyhow, thank you very much, Kate, and a warm welcome to your many loyal readers! My site meter is going berserk, by my standards at least.

Link via Southern Appeal.

The Sheepcat Has a Kitten!

I'm now fostering a delightful kitten, as of this afternoon.

Way back in September (at my "reception reception" as a matter of fact), a friend told me that the local humane society needed volunteers to take care of animals for periods of a few weeks at a time. Some of them are mildly ill, some just need lots of TLC, and once they're in good shape they are then put up for adoption. And so I filled in the form, went in for the interview, and waited till I was in a position to actually take an animal--certain deadlines made it inadvisable to take on new domestic responsibilities, I figured. And I wanted to get my normally untidy apartment somewhat cat-proof. Hah! Cats are remarkably ingenious, I was very quickly reminded.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. This afternoon my friend Alan took me to the shelter to pick up a wee kitten, just five weeks old. She was described as "tan" to me, and I've taken to calling her Ginger, since she didn't already have a name. Her brother from the same litter, poor thing, fell seriously ill and had to be euthanized. (Topic for another day: the unique nature of human souls and why human euthanasia is morally a totally different matter from euthanasia of non-human animals.) So my task is to monitor her to make sure she stays healthy and well-hydrated, and puts on some weight. I learned this afternoon how to feed her with a syringe, since we hope she'll eat on her own but she still needs to get a supplemental feeding three times a day.

The shelter provides the food and litter and other accessories, which we bundled into the car along with Ginger in her little cardboard carrying box, and back to my apartment we came. I set up the litter tray and the food and water dishes before letting Ginger out. Very soon after she was free, she went and hid behind some boxes and stayed there for several hours. Okay, she's a little skittish at first, let's give her a little time to adjust to her new surroundings. No cause for alarm yet.

First real misadventure: I stuck a slightly stale baguette into the microwave in an attempt to freshen it up. I'm not sure where I got the idea but in any case I gave it too much time, with the result that it actually started to burn--I've never burnt anything in a microwave before and probably hadn't even considered that this might be possible. Anyway, when the bell went off, there was a distinctly smoky smell. I opened the microwave door and felt like some sort of deviant geologist looking at a strange sample of rock such as one cuts open to reveal its cross-section, which one then polishes, and gives to a scientifically minded  youngster. From what I could see, a black streak apparently ran through the core of this hard and dry baguette. I set the baguette aside and, assuring myself that Ginger was still safely hiding in the back room, opened the front door to let in some fresh air. Please, Lord, please, don't let the smoke detector go off and scare the living daylights out of that poor kitten.

Whew! No smoke alarm.

Later I listened with morbid fascination as crackling noises continued to emanate from that burned baguette, until I could bear it no longer and took the thing outside to the green composting bin.

At 4:00 Ginger was due for a feeding, so I retrieved her from her hiding place and mixed up the food with the water. Smart move, Alan, doing it in that order, very smart. But once I'd gotten that far, I figured she'd skedaddle to somewhere I'd take forever to dig her out of if I let her go, so I made do with one hand holding her and one hand preparing her meal. Eventually I got the syringe full of …, well, let's just say that I didn't think it looked very appetizing. The nicest way of describing it would be like a kind of watery dhal, only without any chunks. Pretty much as predicted, she rebelled at first but then accepted the feeding fairly readily. Within a few minutes she'd eaten the full 15 mL. Good for her.

Next step: poop. I took her into the bathroom and showed her the litter tray. (Had I done this earlier too? I don't think so.) She immediately did her business. Hmm, not very solid. I called one of the experienced volunteers whose numbers I'd been given. No worries, just watch for mucus or blood. And the volunteer advised me to keep the kitten in a confined space, saying that at that age and size, having the run of the full apartment can be a little overwhelming, and she also might hide somewhere I couldn't find her. Uh-huh!

So I left Ginger with food and water in the bathroom when I went out for a few hours. (I saw The Nutcracker with my mother. Wonderful!) When I came back, I decided to let Ginger out for a little while, and she made a beeline for the living room, where … bless her and her nine lives, she managed to crawl inside a dilapidated old couch I have. (Years ago it had been picked up by my then housemate, who had a penchant for liberating curbside treasures that would otherwise have gone to waste.) Within a few minutes I heard intermittent scratching from within one of the armrests. Dreading the thought that she might start to panic and exhaust herself, I decided there was nothing to do but strip away the fabric, foam, and cardboard to get at where the scratching was coming from--no great loss, as far as the furniture is concerned, really. So that's what I did, at which point Ginger crawled somewhere else within this monstrosity. Eventually I retrieved her and put her back safely in the bathroom. Humane Society, please don't take her away from me. Really, it only sounds bad. I'll be nice to her, promise!

And in the bathroom we played. I rubbed behind her ears and toyed with her paws (with their tiny but effective claws). She nibbled a bit of solid food off my fingertip. I lay fully clothed in the dry bathtub, since it has the largest flat surface anywhere in the bathroom, and stroked her back, over and over and over again. (She's going to be a Catholic kitten by the end of her three weeks with me, she'll be so used to hearing the rosary.) And somehow it all seemed worthwhile.