Occam’s Razor

Interview with a cat

Our current cat Arthur is sweet, a bit dumb but quite lovable. He was obviously traumatized at an early age. Brought home from a shelter, even after having been with us more than a year, he remains skittish. If we rise from our chair, he moves immediately toward safety. He would make a good military planner; he always has an exit strategy. I have been working to coax him into be a lap kitty like my late lamented cat Sprite. Perhaps he will chill out in time. I occasionally put him on my lap but he quakes with nervousness. If I scratch him lightly while he is on my lap, he will hang around for a few minutes. Eventually his panic button takes over and he jumps off my lap. Only once has he actually sat on my lap and only very nervously.

My wife knew I missed having a lap kitty since Sprite went to his well-deserved feline reward. Since she has friends into animal rescue, she pitched the idea of another cat to me. I was amenable to the right cat. Through her friends, she learned of Tuxi, a 4-year-old female cat who is very much the lap kitty type. If you have a lap, she will be there. Tuxi is a large cat, with short charcoal black fur and white paws. Her markings make her look like she is wearing a tuxedo. From her modest girth, she obviously eats too much. She apparently spent many of her early years outside. This might explain her attraction to laps: they are warm and frequently the outdoors is cold.

Things looked promising at first. We kept Tuxi confined to the TV room with a litter box, water and plenty of food. We lavished attention on her. Tuxi though quickly wanted out of the room and that was a problem. She whined and complained when we were not there. When finally given the opportunity to get outside the room she bounded around our rooms putting her nose literally into places where they did not belong, like the blinds. She was not intimidated by our nearness or heights.

Arthur watched her curiously and looked desperately like he wanted her to be his friend. However, Tuxi wanted nothing to do with him. She hissed whenever he came near. One evening she mysteriously escaped from her room. She spent the night and the subsequent day under the living room couch howling, often at ear piercing volumes, refusing to go use her litter box or even be moved. From the smell, we knew she had peed on the carpet under the couch. When Arthur plaintively approached she would hiss some more and growl until we could feel tremors in the floorboards. Her yowls reached all corners of the house. She refused to shut up until 4 a.m.

She has scratched me once when I needed to get up. However, when I sit down, she is on my lap in an instant. If I need to get up before she has received her quota of lap time, she can hiss and bite. Her bite though does not leave an impression.

What to do with a desperately affectionate kitty obviously carrying the baggage of a less than stellar kittenhood? It is hard to say no, but she is just not working out. Her loud yowls are even louder than our former cat Squeaky’s. Yet I realize Tuxi is just being herself. She is a product of her environment. She would work out right in the right home, just not here.

Maybe we need to leave well enough alone. Arthur may not be much of a lap kitty and he often seems bored, since he does not quite understand the concept of play. Nevertheless, he is generally quiet, friendly and predictable. The most evil thing he has done was pee in our vents after we first got him. That cost several hundred dollars in duct cleaning, which we needed to do anyhow. Since then he has been amazingly sweet and innocent. He may never get over his skittishness but that is okay. Our bonding time will be on the bed when I am under the covers. There he languidly stretches out on his back and allows me to scratch his tummy. He purrs obscenely as I (generally unsuccessfully) read a book.

I hope Tuxi finds a home worthy of her. It will need to be a place where she is the only cat. She will want access to the great outdoors. She will want plentiful access to laps. She will need a home where her loud yowls will go unnoticed. I think she will find such a place in time. It breaks my heart that our home is not the place.

If you can offer her such a place, never abuse a cat and live in Northern Virginia, send me some email. (Please put Occam’s Razor in the subject line to bypass my spam filter.) She may still be up for adoption. She has had all her shots, is neutered and has tested negative for feline leukemia. She is a delight to have on your lap. In the right home, she would be a terrific cat.

December 20th, 2007 at 10:22pm Posted by Mark | Life 2007 | no comments

Coaxing the Cat

Language is a wonderful invention. If only we could talk to the animals like Doctor Doolittle, perhaps life’s little adventures with our pets, like trying to pill a cat, would be much less stressful on all concerned.

Our three year old cat Arthur has been with us almost two months. Whereas he used to spend 90% of his time hiding in fear behind the couch, now he spends about 25% of his time there. He can come out when coaxed a bit, and sometimes when not coaxed. When he comes out we lavish him with attention, which mainly consists of petting and belly rubs. He purrs outrageously.

But he is a cat from a shelter. He spent a year in a cattery with thirty plus other cats. So it is not surprising that he is skittish. He is used to being vigilant 24/7. He is constantly watching for threats. In short, he has not learned to trust us, probably because he was abused by a previous owner. If we approach him he generally backs away toward a safe distance. We usually have to get on the floor or assume a non threatening posture before he will move toward us. Our approaching steps give him plenty of warning. He assumes the worst: that there is some evildoer out to kill him. He figures it is better to be safe than sorry. So behind the couch he goes.

Arthur must have lived a Spartan life. He does not know how to enjoy life. We bought him a nice, comfortable cat bed and even tried placing him in it, and he runs away from it. We also have gotten him a scratching post. He will not go near it. Instead of a nice cushy cat bed, he chooses to sleep behind the couch. There he feels relatively safe, but he is always facing with his eyes looking outward so he can react to potential threats. Our last cats liked nothing more than to rest in the sunbeam in the middle of the living room floor. He either doesn’t understand its allure or sees being out in the open like that to be too much of a threat.

He likes the safety of our screened in deck. When weather allows we send him out there. He vigilantly looks down upon the lawn in search of other animals. A cat wandered into our yard once. That got him very excited. The days are now shorter and cooler now, so it is harder to send him outside. However, he must petition us endlessly even if after going outside in 40 degree weather he quickly decides maybe inside is better. He is very polite about petitioning though. He will sit a few feet from the door and stare at it. Surely, he must think, if I stare at it long enough it will open. Of course if the weather permits we let him out. We do not have a pet door.

He has also discovered the basement. Aside from the deck, it is his favorite place. He traipses down the stairs and sits on the old couch in the family room, facing the door. This way, of course, he has plenty of warning if predators are approaching. I think this is where he finds the most peace. He has at least thirty seconds to hide, if necessary. It is quiet and cool in the basement. I come down in the evenings to say hello. I often bring a kitty treat or two. He is a bit reluctant to let me sit next to him, but eventually accommodates. Getting a tummy rub is too much of a temptation.

Arthur is also an oral cat. Thankfully he is not particularly aural. His meows are more like high pitched squeaks, which makes him rather enduring. He would just as soon lick you as have you pet him. His sandpaper tongue is a bit annoying, but it is his way of saying he loves you. He would be thrilled to lick your finger or, better yet, gently gnaw on a digit or two. Arthur is amazingly respectful for a cat. He has never scratched us or bit us out of malice. In fact, his one game with us is to gently push our hands away with his paws when he is lying on his back. He is inured to typical cat toys. Even a peacock feather failed to elicit a playful reaction from him.

For a homeless and likely previously abused cat, Arthur is adopting rather well. Still, earning his full trust will require many more months, at least. On occasion he can be coaxed on to our laps, but only for a moment. Like virtually all cats he has the ability to jump on couches and countertops. However, he prefers the floor. Maybe he figures they are forbidden territory.

So earning his trust is a long term project. This is why his recent bladder infection was particularly unwelcome. A few weeks ago we noticed the pungent smell of urine when the heat went on. In fact, it was so bad I nearly had to leave the house. We investigated the heating grates and sure enough, there was evidence that he left his markings. We have had enough cats to suspect what the issue was: a urinary tract infection.

Off to the vet he went. He did better getting into the cat carrier than I expected. Still he whined all the way to the vet, but calmed down once he was in the office. They had to keep him all day in order to get a urine sample. Sure enough, the UTI was confirmed. We were given a two week supply of pills. But they also wanted us to put drops into his ears and eyes. Uh oh.

At first, getting the pills into him turned out to be rather easy. They have these Pill Pocket thingies now for pets. You place the pill inside and generally the cat or dog just gulps it down. They think they are eating chicken or fish or whatever. As for the ear and eye drops, they quickly became impossible to administer. Arthur simply did not trust us enough. Both my wife and I have scars on our arms from valiant attempts to keep him restrained while the other person put them in. In fact, medicating him made the situation worse. He spent more time behind the couch, not less. Eventually we decided the trauma we were inflicting was counterproductive. We gave up on the drops for now.

Then a few days ago Arthur figured out that there was something funny tasting inside those pill pockets. He became reluctant to eat them. We could have picked him up and tried to shove them down his throat, but we knew that would exacerbate his trust problem. So we were reduced to coaxing. And if you know cats you know how well that worked. I was reduced to putting it in his food dish and waiting until he got hungry enough to eat it.

A return trip to the vet yesterday gave ambiguous results on whether the infection had cleared up. Fortunately we returned with a different flavor of pill pocket, this one salmon flavored. Arthur decided this one was okay to eat. With less than two days of pills left, we may get through the UTI problem. Still, our house still smells somewhat of cat urine. I have cleaned the heating grates with a professional cat spray odor remover. I did the same thing to the wood floors. I sprayed parts of the carpet. The odor still lingers from time to time. I hate it.

Hopefully the UTI and spraying problems are now behind us. He hasn’t been digging at his ears as much so we are hopeful there too. Perhaps we can now regain his trust. Perhaps eventually we will reach the point where he will realize we are there to help him, not to hurt him. We are looking forward to it because while he is a skittish cat, he has a fundamentally sweet nature.

I keep hoping that one of these days he will nestle into my lap like my last cat Sprite so enjoyed. He may not be a lap cat at heart. I have coaxed him up on our bed a few times, and he enjoyed the attention he got. But the road to winning his full trust will likely be a long one. Perhaps if he has a long enough respite from further medical issues, he will feel like a full member of the family.

November 2nd, 2006 at 05:14pm Posted by Mark | Life 2006 | one comment

Welcoming Arthur Dent

It took about a week, but Arthur Dent (our newly adopted cat) has emerged from hiding. He still likes to spend much of his day trying not to be seen by hiding under the sofa. Increasingly though, we find him in less hidden spots, such as on a dining room chair. He is waiting, waiting silently and patiently for something or someone. Maybe his is waiting for the other long dead cats that he smells to emerge. On the other hand, maybe he is just waiting to feel sufficiently safe to release a restless spirit that so far he has not chosen to manifest. Since he chooses to wait then we will wait too.

When he wants attention, it helps to listen. Unlike our evil cat Squeaky, he is not a shouter of a cat. He lets out plaintive and short duration high-pitched squeaks. We understand that means, “Does anyone want to pet me?” Mostly though he prefers silence and stealthiness. Having spent a year with thirty or so cats in a room the size of our living room, perhaps he is just enjoying the luxury of being alone.

He remains something of a peculiar cat. We are used to cats that are in your face. It is likely that over time, as trust is established, he will become one of these cats too. Right now, he remains skittish. He wants to be approached gently and quietly. If I lumber down the steps, he will go hide. If I sit down on the floor, call him in a soft tone, look him in the eye and then gently offer him my hand, he will approach me tentatively. Once I give him a quick pet and he turns into my love slave.

He loves to be gently scratched under his chin. He also likes me to use both hands and gently scratch both sides of his face at once. Like most cats, he demonstrates pleasure by kneading the carpet with his paws, licking me with his sandpaper like tongue and, when he is feeling very comfortable, flopping on his back and exposing his belly. I can rub his belly up near his chest, but not much further. In that sense, at least so far, he is a different sort of cat for us. My last cat Sprite was totally fearless in my arms. I could touch him anywhere, carry him anywhere, and put him in any position. The more outrageous the move, the louder he purred.

Perhaps in time Arthur will become this way. Right now, he seems to be in no hurry to sit on our laps. This seems to be something he does not do. He has not established enough trust with us to allow us to pick him up either. Nevertheless, when stimulated he certainly can be very affectionate, purring strongly and rubbing his soft fur against our hands and legs.

He is not much of a vertical cat. We are also used to cats for whom ascending vertically is as natural and walking. Thus far, he has not gotten above chair height. I am thinking that perhaps a previous owner trained him not to get up on the furniture. This is not necessarily a bad thing. We never liked our cats to think they could jump onto tables and countertops, and would shoo them off. Otherwise, we gave them free reign to ascend as high vertically as they wanted.

Nor has Arthur yet expressed an interest in the outside. Darkness and quiet are mainly where he finds comfort right now. We have tried to entice him to play with a number of toys. No dice. His one game is the paw game. He will reach out and pat your hand or finger with his paw. He does it very nicely and does not scratch you at all.

We have learned a few things about Arthur from his medical record. He is about three years old. He spent the last year in the Friends of Homeless Animals cattery. He has been to the veterinarian twice while he was homeless, once for an upper respiratory infection. He is current on all his shots and is neutered. He also once had mild conjunctivitis. He has an appetite and generally eats all the food I lay out for him. He is fastidious for a cat. He keeps himself well groomed, which I take as a sign that he is reasonably happy. Mostly he is a gentle cat. This is fine with me. I just wish he would come out more often. Every time he does, he gets plenty of positive attention. The good news is that we can usually coax him out now.

For myself, I am satisfied at present. Now that he is out, I am content to let him become adjusted to his new home at his own pace. If I can pet him once or twice a day, that suffices. If I can eventually coax him to jump on my lap, I will be happier. If he turns into a cuddle cat, I will be ecstatic. I think in time all these things are possible as trust is slowly extended and replied to in kind.

One thing for sure: our house now feels like a home again. Thanks and welcome home at last, Arthur.

September 20th, 2006 at 08:34pm Posted by Mark | Life 2006 | 2 comments

Small Steps

Allegedly, we are cat owners again. I say “allegedly” because we have not seen much of our cat since he arrived last Saturday. If Lord Voldemort is “he who shall not be named”, our new feline is “he who shall not be seen”. Well, at least not very much.

These are some of the hazards of adopting a cat who was likely abused earlier in life. If instead we had adopted kittens, it is unlikely they would be so reticent about showing themselves. So far, our new cat, which came to us by the name of Papa, has spent daylight hours studiously in hiding under our couch.

After we unfortunately had to evict him from under our bed the first night, he spent the first couple of days and nights under the loveseat in our entertainment room. We slipped a litter box behind it, which he quickly found. We could hear him use it occasionally. Now he prefers to spend the day under our living room sofa. This is a bit of a problem since there is no way to put a litter box behind it. He eats, drinks, and defecates at night. In the morning, there are signs that a feline has been around. There are little clumps of grey dander on the floor and carpet. Generally, his food is gone too.

We know it is important to be patient. This new cat will eventually fully emerge from his shell. He is already making small steps. Sometime after eleven o’clock at night when my wife is the only one still awake, he quietly emerges. She may hear the litter box in use. After two nights, she looked down the stairwell to see the cat looking up at her, fear in his eyes. The next night, he made it up a couple more steps and waited there for a while before returning to under the couch. Three nights ago was a breakthrough. He came into the computer room where my wife spends most of her free hours and sat warily under the desk. My wife avoided any major movements, but slowly put her hand down by her side. It took about ten minutes, but he warily approached her. She gently scratched his head. He stood up on his rear legs, put his front paws on her legs, and purred outrageously. This went off and on for half an hour before he slowly ambled downstairs and returned to his spot under the couch.

Since that time, he has visited my wife every evening, when it is quiet, around eleven o’clock. I dutifully fill his food bowl and change his water dish in the morning, but otherwise I do not see him. It is not easy for me to give him space. I want to peek under the couch, as my daughter does when she comes home from school, and say hello. However, he does not seem to like this attention right now. Eventually he turns around so he is not facing her. He will fully emerge in time, but on his own terms, and only when he feels it is safe.

I have to respect that. Still, I find it hard. After six months without a cat on my lap, the absence of a feline has made their lure that much stronger. Now, I am practically aching for a feline on my lap. I am not sure this cat will even be a lap sitter. Nevertheless, it would be nice just to pet him. I would like to give him a scratch under his chin, as I did with my last cat Sprite. I must be patient.

I did see him briefly this morning when I stumbled out of bed around 6:15 a.m. I usually elect to wake up our daughter and send her to school. I am now careful to open our bedroom door slowly in case he is out there; I do not want to startle him. So far, that has not been a problem because he is elsewhere. This morning though when I did glance down into our living room, I saw him on the carpet, just next to the living room couch. He looked up at me warily. I doubt cats are schooled in reading human emotions, but I smiled and said nice things to him. “There you are,” I said. “There is no reason to hide. We love cats around here.” That was enough for him: fifteen seconds or so of cautious staring, then a quick dash back under the couch. That is where he had remained utterly silent all day. I sent a toy ball under the couch this evening in the hopes that he might play with it. However, it must make too much noise for him. Right now, he is still anxious not to be seen.

It is human nature to anthropomorphosize pets. It takes deliberate effort to remember that he is a cat, not a human being. Animal scientists assert that the emotional part of animal brains is much larger than their rational parts. They are believed to live mostly in the present, but to carry powerful emotional impressions of their past. Found outside a gas station in Lovettsville, Virginia and rescued by Friends of Homeless Animals, this three-year-old cat has likely been abused before. Trust will have to be earned slowly, on his terms, in small paw steps.

Meanwhile, I avoid upsetting his delicate balance. I want him to heal and to trust. It is probably not a good idea to run the vacuum cleaner today. Since his cat box is in the entertainment room and he may need to use it, I have avoided television. Fortunately, this is no sacrifice, since I have largely given up television anyhow.

Perhaps tonight will be the night we become a little better acquainted. Since I do not have to go to work tomorrow, I plan to stay up late. I am hoping that if I sit quietly here on the computer he will gently head up the stairs around eleven o’clock, as he has the last several nights. The question is whether he will keep coming up the stairs when he sees me, or will head back under the couch. Maybe, just maybe, I will get to pet him.

This is of course quite a change from the cat we met in the cattery. There you simply sat down and he was one of a half dozen cats all over you. There were cuter cats than him, but arguably, he was one of the most affectionate. The message to us seemed clear: he liked us and he wanted a new home. The reality of a new home though will take some getting used to. He may smell evidence of cats past, wonder where they are, and whether they are going to attack him. Therefore, he remains very wary and very cautious. Cats for the most part do not deal well with change. Relocation is one of their biggest traumatic events. Yet he must settle down eventually. In time this new world with us will becomes routine and the old memory of the cattery where he spent about a year will fade. He will understand he is in a place where he will be loved and doted on. It will be a special place that will be all his and we will be his special humans with whom he has chosen to spend the rest of his life. When the weather is temperate, he can sit out on the screened porch and enjoy nature. Otherwise, he can roam the house as he pleases, watch birds, humans and automobiles pass by on the street through the window, sleep in his new bed that he has not tried out yet, and generally be spoiled rotten with as much attention as he can hold.

For now, we just wait for him to emerge. It must be done on his terms though, not ours.

September 15th, 2006 at 08:45pm Posted by Mark | Life 2006 | no comments

Lucky Animals

The Friends of Homeless Animals shelter is out somewhere in Loudoun County, Virginia. I will not say exactly where it is. Their web site does not tell you. Considering that many of the animals at their shelter were found abandoned or abused, there is no point inviting more trouble. However, if you gently inquire and you do not sound like a dog or cat abuser, they will provide directions to the shelter.

You will have to visit them on the weekends when they have adoption hours. However, if you fall in love with one of their homeless cats or dogs, plan to wait a week. The adoption committee will first check out you out. If you had animals before they will inquire with your veterinarian. Expect a home visit. No “cat stays in the garage” types need apply. In fact, you have to promise that your adopted cat will stay indoors, will never be declawed, or will be taken to the animal shelter. In other words, you have to not just say that you love your cat or dog; you should be able to demonstrate that you can follow through.

If an animal at FOHA has to wait for years to find the right owners, so be it. Any cat or dog that ends up at FOHA is a fortunate animal. First, in many cases they have been rescued from neglect. Second, if they have not been spayed, the veterinarian will take care of it. Third, they will be fed a healthy diet, be brushed and cleaned regularly, and, if they are a dog, exercised regularly too. Fourth, unlike many animal shelters, they will not be euthanized because there is no room at the inn. Fifth, most animals will be adopted in time. They will then have the quality love and attention they might not have received from their last owners.

It takes a constant stream of devoted volunteers and doubtless a heap of money to run this kind of animal shelter. Much of the work is not glamorous. Dogs need to go for regular walks. Cages must be cleaned. There are many cat boxes to be changed, and cat gorp to be removed from the floors. They need volunteers during adoption hours. Then there is the work involved in maintaining the substantial infrastructure: hauling food and supplies, managing the property, fixing kennels, and showing off pets periodically at local events.

As you wind your way through the one lane gravel road toward their property, you are likely to see volunteers walking dogs on a path in the woods. As you park your car, you are likely to hear the sometime deafening roar of dogs barking. Most cannot wait to be your friend. Our particular destination was the cattery. A cattery is a house for felines. This particular cattery held about thirty cats. As a rule cats prefer to have their own space. I suspect some of these cats were a bit stressed from having so little personal space. Still they made do, and could often be found going through a cat door to a protected outside space. One room in the cattery was devoted to kittens. It is currently kitten season, and there were plenty of kittens needing adoption.

We were looking to replace the irreplaceable. Sprite, my cat companion of more than 19 years, was put to sleep in March. Since that time, something has been deeply wrong in our house. To put it plainly: it lacked a cat. A trip to FOHA made us realize just how much we missed having a feline in our lives. It also made me sad to see so many wonderful animals without homes of their own. I wanted to bring them all home, but I knew it could be only one cat.

Only which one? This was a source of some consternation in our house. For we each had different requirements from a cat. My wife wanted one that minimally impacted her allergies. Domestic short hairs were preferred over longhaired cats. My daughter wanted one that was young, playful and affectionate. However, she was nearly 17 and would be out of the house soon. Since we would be responsible in the long term for the pet, my wife and I had to be mindful of our limits. I wanted Sprite back. Since that could never happen, I could settle for a generally quiet and affectionate adult cat, preferably the type who would rest happily on my lap while I worked on the computer. At least none of us wanted kittens. Having done it once we knew that while they were awfully cute, they could also be amazingly destructive.

Our daughter fell in love with a cat named Stephanie. She had tested positive to exposure to Feline Infectious Peritonitis, and had a number of teeth removed. She was sweet and snuggly, but after talking it over with our vet she looked like she might turn into more of a special needs cat than we could handle. I was directed to a cat called Spike, a lovely yellow tabby, who was very quiet and docile. I felt sorry for Spike. Mabel looked like a good compromise choice: small, short haired and affectionate like Stephanie, but without the potential FIP problem. She might have come home with us had she not scratched our daughter unexpectedly.

We settled on a cat called Papa, a very affectionate brown and black haired tabby who was also docile enough to let us pick him up and cuddle him. Papa had been found on the side of the road in Lovettsville, Virginia. A sister of a FOHA worker took him home, but he volunteered to hide in her basement. She thought for sure he was going to be a hostile cat, but she was surprised to find that in time he turned into one the most affectionate cats she had ever met. Thus he came to FOHA, where he stayed for a few months until we adopted him today. He was named Papa because in the shelter he was both affectionate and looked after all the younger cats.

Thus far, he has yet to come out from under our bed. While we hope he will not hide there too long, we can certainly understand how this kind of transition would be hard on any cat. Meanwhile, we are pondering new names for Papa. Papa may turn out to be like our cat Squeaky, who named herself. Originally, she was named Pixel. However, because she could not stop talking and made a sound like a door on a rusty hinge, Squeaky became her name. Papa’s meows are small and rather plaintive. I doubt, now that he is away from other cats, that he will turn into a loud cat.

Loud or quiet, we are glad to have a feline in the house again, even if he chooses to hide under our bed for now. Whether a good or evil cat, we will love him regardless and do our best as pet owners.

We have lived in our house thirteen years. Since Sprite died, it has felt more like a house than a home. When the couches are covered in cat dander again, when I automatically empty the litter box on Sunday and Wednesday nights, when I find myself lounging around and find that a cat has appeared on my lap, when I have to watch where I walk lest I trip over a cat, then it will likely feel like a home once again.

September 9th, 2006 at 08:51pm Posted by Mark | Life 2006 | one comment

The lure of the feline

One thing I have noticed: our house stays cleaner now. It is amazing. Whereas I used to spend part of each week wiping cat gorp off the carpet or the floors, or vacuuming the cat dander off the sofa, now we can go for months without needing to vacuum the living room. Of course, it helps if you rarely use your living room. There is no television or computer there to draw people. It is there mostly for show. Consequently, I can still see on the living room carpet the imprints from the wheels of our vacuum cleaner weeks after I vacuumed.

Our kitchen floor also requires half the cleaning it used to. We kept the cat food and water in one corner of the kitchen. Cats may be finicky about what they eat, but they are careless about how they eat it. When we had our cats Squeaky and Sprite, they lived on The Science Diet. I could count on cat food pellets scattered for several feet around their food dish every day. Usually I could not tolerate this disorder for more than a few days before I had to sweep it into the trash. I am a bit anal that way. The absence of cat food in the kitchen may explain why we did not suffer our usual invasion of ants this spring.

As regular readers know, Squeaky and Sprite have gone to meet their makers. Squeaky went first, in 2004, at age 17. Old age only made her louder, more annoying and more crotchety. My beloved cat Sprite passed away in March at age 18 and a half. They are still with us though. Their cremated remains hold a place of honor on our mantelpiece. Had they tried to walk on the mantelpiece when they were alive we would have chased them off. Now they rest there with our blessings. They earned the right to such an elevated place in our house.

We have been dealing with too much death these last few years. Losing cherished family pets is traumatic enough. Losing my mother last year added to our sense of loss. Our family unit is still trying to get its bearings. We are still in the boat together, but the waters have become quite turbulent. We realize life is about change, but it seemed easier to pretend change was not happening to us. As if I needed more evidence, my daughter starts her senior year in high school in about a week. She could potentially be off to college in a year, although I suspect she will opt for community college and commute from home. It still hurts to visit my father and know my Mom is not puttering around the kitchen. It seems very strange that, at nearly 80, he is dating other women. In addition, I turn 50 next February. My wife and I are also eyeing our financial portfolios with retirement no longer an abstract concern.

Our six months without a pet have not been entirely bad. I found other things to do with my time than feed the cats in the morning and take their used litter out with the trash twice a week. With no cat serenading me outside my door, I sleep better. I have rather gotten used to not having a cat on my lap while on the computer. I notice it is a lot easier to type without a furry, purring behemoth stretched across my lap.

Still, I think my family is ready to take on another pet. My wife has been pushing a rabbit as our ideal next family pet. Like a cat, they are certainly soft and cuddly. They can be cute like cats too. Most importantly, she is not allergic to rabbits. So with my encouragement she learned about the House Rabbit Society. They put us in touch with a local woman who keeps rabbits in her house. She had four when we visited her a few weeks back. Her house often acts as a way station for rabbit in transition, since rabbits like other pets are often turned in or abandoned.

One of her rabbits was a Hurricane Katrina survivor. We sat on her floor and let the rabbits scamper around us. This survivor rabbit had recovered nicely. Once deeply antisocial, she was now the most curious rabbit in the house. She repeatedly came around to sniff my foot and rub up against it. They are rabbit loves signs. She would let me pet her a little bit too, although she was skittish. I enjoyed my time with the rabbits, but I was not quite sure we could make it work in our house. There was no place for a rabbit hutch. In addition, it is quite a pain keeping them safe from live electrical cords. Rabbits have teeth that can slice through an electrical cord without any difficulty. I also noticed that while they used litter boxes, it was only to urinate. They were quite content to poop wherever and whenever they needed to. I did not particularly like the idea of having to daily vacuum the rabbit poop off the carpets and floors. Rabbits also require a watchful eye. When they are out of their cages, you needed to know where they are at all times. We agreed that rabbits were probably impractical in our household.

We discussed other pet options. We never owned a dog. A few breeds are hypoallergenic. Nonetheless, there are some significant drawbacks to dogs. First, they require much more attention than cats. None of us is the type who likes to take walks with the dog 5-6 times a day, particularly in the early mornings. In addition, many dogs are yippers. Cats can be loud too, but dogs tend to be much louder and more persistent. When I arrive home in the evening, I need solace. I could not see getting much with a dog in the house. In addition, I have found dogs to be a bit too devoted for my taste. I do not mind adoration from a pet, but 24×7 in your face adoration is too much for me. Therefore, we scratched dogs from our list.

We were hopeful in our cat free environment that my wife’s allergies would subside. That has not proven to be the case. She takes multiple pills and sprays for her allergies. After Sprite died and the dander receded, she went off her Flonase nasal spray. Yet she soon developed sinus infections anyhow. The doctor put her back on the Flonase. So while cat dander would remain an irritant for her, it would be just one of many. Since she would have to treat her allergies anyhow, getting another cat is no longer out of the question.

We are considering cat breeds that have less dander. Bengals and Abyssinian cats reputedly have less, but they are harder to find. (There are also hairless breeds of cats, like Sphynx cats, but I find them personally revolting.) Having had Squeaky and Sprite as kittens, I am not particularly anxious to go through that furniture-shredding phase again. Instead, I would prefer a gentle indoor adult house cat, preferably one amenable to lap sitting. Perhaps a new cat would restore some sense of balance to our out of kilter lives.

Our daughter seems more anxious than I am to have another house cat. She spends much of her free time surfing web sites looking at cats for adoption. Through my covenant group, I know a woman who works for a local animal rescue shelter. She sent me a flyer of cats available for adoption. Since this week will find me in Shepherdstown, West Virginia attending leadership training, this weekend is not a good one to adopt a cat.

My wife seems happily resigned at this point to another cat. She too prefers cats, just not their dander. Perhaps next weekend we will start our search for a new feline friend in earnest. With another cat, we know that our house will be louder, messier and dirtier. However, I think our house will feel more like a home again. Perhaps when I retire in the evening, I will once again find a faithful companion on my bed, his nose pressed into my face. Like our last cats, he will probably want to sleep with us on the bed. Like them, he will be disappointed. We will cuddle him (if he will let us) then gentle drop him outside our door before we drop off to sleep.

August 27th, 2006 at 11:19am Posted by Mark | Life 2006 | no comments

Petless

Poor Fred is dead.

This is no April Fools joke. Fred the Ferocious Fish is dead.

Fred was our one remaining pet. They have been dropping like flies lately. My beloved cat and soul mate Sprite was put to sleep on Sunday evening. Now this. I come back from taking my father to the Udvar-Hazy Air and Space Museum Annex only to find Fred careened over at the bottom of his tank.

Fred you see was our pet betta. Originally, she was my daughter’s pet fish. However, taking care of Fred was not one of her priorities. Eventually my wife took over most of the fishy duties, which involved changing his water and cleaning his small tank every other week or so. I did my small part. I added Fred to my morning chores by putting a pinch of Betta Bites food in his tank. I’d also give him a cheery “Yo, Fred” too.

I thought Fred was a happy fish. My wife though was convinced he wanted to be a piranha. At two inches long though he was likely not going to bite off our fingers. I thought he was just intensely interested in us. When we were in the room, he was often at the side of the tank staring at us with those big beady eyes of his. However, if you did anything to his space, Fred was going to be on your case.

Bettas are beautiful fish. They are also very single minded. If Sprite was about love, Fred was about vigilance. We tried to explain to him that it was unlikely that any predator fish were going to attack him. However, we could not convince him. We put a few plastic plants in his tank. Most of the day he “hid” in the plants, ready to leap out at a moment’s notice to guard his turf. Otherwise, he liked playing sentry by guarding the perimeter of his hexagonal tank with great care.

For his amusement, my wife placed the underside of a CD next to his tank. It was shiny enough to act as something like a mirror. At first, it freaked out Fred - who was this predator and why couldn’t he kill him? He would puff out his gills; if fish had blood, you knew his blood pressure had to have risen. Nevertheless, eventually even his tiny fish brain must have figured out there was nothing to fear. Over the last year or so, Fred seemed to enjoy preening himself in his “mirror”.

We were surprised by how long Fred survived. We know we have had him at least two years, but it is likely closer to three years. This was not bad value for a fish about two inches long and who only cost a couple bucks. When the computer was not engaging our attention, we could turn around and spend some time watching him. He could be amusing. He liked to spit by blowing bubbles on the surface of his tank. He preferred to sleep at the bottom of the tank. Lately his vigilance slipped, and it would take a tap or two on his fish tank to get his attention. It was clear that Fred’s best days were behind him.

And now he is gone. Perhaps I am bereft of tears for his passing because I shed all I had with Sprite’s passing. More likely, I was not too attached to Fred. He was neither cuddly nor wanted to sit on my lap. I was not sure what sort of funeral he would want. I asked my daughter, who claims to be a Wiccan, what was an appropriate funeral for a fish. She had no idea. So Fred was laid to his aquatic rest by being flushed down the toilet. I figured wherever fish heaven is, it must be in the water, and not in the heavens, so the toilet seemed the most expeditious way to get him there.

Now for the first time in nearly twenty years we are wholly bereft of pets. I do not think we will be without one for long. My wife is already talking about getting another Betta. They are certainly pretty to look at. I doubt though that we will get as much amusement from another betta as we got from Fred. However, if you have to have one fish as a pet, a betta is an excellent kind to get. They are extremely low maintenance fish. They are happy in a small tank with a couple inches of distilled water and a few artificial plants. They can go for a week without changing their water. They do not need either a heater or an aerator.

I have a feeling another warm-blooded pet will have to wait until after we get back from our trip to Paris in July. I know my wife wants a rabbit. She says they are soft and purr like cats, but she is not allergic to them. For me, it is hard to imagine a replacement for my lap cat Sprite. On the other hand, there is a certain liberation being petless. There is no more regularly changing of the litter box. There is no more refreshing the cat food and changing the drinking water. I get to work fifteen minutes earlier in the morning because I do not need to shove pills and yogurt down a feline’s throat. There are no hairballs on the carpet to continually clean up either. On Monday, I vacuumed and cleaned the carpets, which had been heavily abused by our felines these last twenty years. Amazingly, they are still clean. Alas, there is no warm fuzzy and purring thing on my lap looking up at me with big, loving eyes either. Moreover, there is no feline resting between our pillows on our bed, or cuddling up next to me in bed before retiring either. Those familiar and comfortable patterns are gone with the wind.

April 1st, 2006 at 06:46pm Posted by Mark | Life 2006 | no comments

Requiem for a Feline

(If you have Windows Media Player or can listen to a Windows Media Audio (WMA) file, please click here and listen to this music (8.6MB) when reading this entry.)

I have sought love, first, because it brings ecstasy - ecstasy so great that I would often have sacrificed all the rest of life for a few hours of this joy. I have sought it, next, because it relieves loneliness - that terrible loneliness in which one shivering consciousness looks over the rim of the world into the cold unfathomable lifeless abyss. I have sought it finally, because in the union of love I have seen, in a mystic miniature, the prefiguring vision of the heaven that saints and poets have imagined. This is what I sought, and though it might seem too good for human life, this is what - at last - I have found.

Preface to Bertrand Russell’s Autobiography

When I blog, I try to let words express the depth of my soul. Sometimes I come close, but words can never quite capture my feelings. Nothing that I can say in this entry can quite express how I feel right now, although the philosopher Bertrand Russell’s quote above comes close.

I used to poo-poo the notion of angels. Not anymore. Sprite, my cat of 19 ½ years of age who was put to sleep Sunday night, was an angel. He was a special angel sent by the cosmos just to me to provide me comfort, solace and love through two turbulent decades of my life. Sprite was simply love wrapped in a feline form. The depth of his love for me was focused and boundless.

Anyone who has had a pet knows how attached you can get to them. However, some pets are singularly extraordinary. That I was fortunate enough to have him as my pet means that there is either is a God or I am the fortunate recipient of a random act of the cosmos.

Mark me well. I know how people with pets can love them dearly, as I certainly loved Sprite. Nevertheless, Sprite’s love for me was extraordinary and far beyond what I even imagined was possible in my life. During the stresses of life that would have pulled apart ordinary men, Sprite was there for me. His love was like a thousand watt light bulb. He radiated his love on me in such high megadoses I was able to pull through my challenges time and time again. He did it without saying a word, except for an occasionally silent meow. He did it by looking at me intently with his devotional wide eyes and purring contentedly on my lap. He gave all he had and more for 19 ½ years. He would have stayed with me forever had his body allowed it. However, even with a cat with such a gentle constitution, death could not be postponed forever.

Sometime during the last week, Sprite’s intestine became perforated. He developed peritonitis. The twice-daily pills, the daily yogurt, the special cat food and the laxative which kept his symptoms in check lost their efficacy. By Sunday, he had no more appetite and could not even drink from his water dish. He found refuge behind the couch. I coaxed a couple spoonfuls of yogurt into his tummy, which were quickly thrown up.

It was time to visit the emergency veterinarian. I prayed of course that we were not to taking him in to be put to sleep. However, the X-rays revealed the sad truth of a cat who had given all he could give. The perforation could be seen easily, and his kidneys were enlarged and his stomach extended. It is unlikely that surgery could correct the problem. He had worn out. There was nothing to do but spare him further misery by putting him to sleep.

Sprite was quiet but attentive when we wrapped him in a towel and took him into the car. It was evening. He did not fuss in my arms at all. He looked wide-eyed and with wonder at the streetlights, the signs and the stars. He was calm. It seemed to me that they were a comfort to him. Perhaps they were a distant memory of wherever he was before he arrived in this world. While my wife drove, I gently stroked his face. Underneath the towel, somewhere there was a small but consistent purr.

Sprite left this life with dignity and unflinchingly. We held him in a blanket, looked at him intently and stroked him. I told him again for the millionth time how special a cat he was. He truly was the best cat who has ever lived. Gentleness and love expressed the character of his soul. He watched us with his wide eyes, seemingly hearing every word we were saying although we knew he was deaf. He was not afraid but was comforted that we were there for him. The narcotic he was given freed him of his pain.

“Dad, there is no more I can give you,” is what I heard him say in my head. “Sprite, we will meet again, sometime and someday, and in some other life,” I said to him quietly, tears streaming down my face. “And then once again you will be on my lap, and I will stroke you and pull back your bat-like ears and you will be purring contentedly. I love you, son.”

It was my wife and the veterinarian who actually put him to sleep. I could not find the strength for that final act. Simply seeing the euthanasia tube in his paw was hard enough. He watched my wife intently during the euthanasia, half shut his eyes and was gone. He went peacefully, which was right. In addition, he went embraced in love.

We will meet again, best friend and soulmate. There is no way I could begin to repay the love you lavished so consistently on me for so many years. I thank you for your gift nonetheless. I know we will be with each other again. For now my love, au revoir.

March 28th, 2006 at 10:30am Posted by Mark | Best of Occam's Razor, Life 2006 | 6 comments

Life lessons courtesy of my cat

Do you need a philosophy of life? Rather than read Plato, Aristotle, Nietzsche, and Sartre perhaps you would do better to observe your cat.

If you do not have a cat, the situation is easily remedied. There are plenty at your local animal shelter, usually for little more than the cost of some shots. Unless your cat has neurotic tendencies such as liking to shred your sofa, they are usually not much bother. Yes, they will hack up a hairball from time to time. In addition, some of them, like our evil ex-cat Squeaky can make your life a living hell. However, most cats are content if you change their litter regularly, give them clean water and half a can of cat food a day and amuse them when it suits them. Generally, they will look out for themselves quite well.

Cat philosophy is not written down anywhere. However, simple observation will allow you to glean their philosophy on life. For cats are ruthlessly selfish creatures. They may be selfish but that does not mean they are unreasonably selfish. Their pecking order is very clear: I will do what gives me the most pleasure right now. After about two decades of observing cats up close, I have to say that it is not necessarily a bad philosophy.

I am not advocating selling your children to the gypsies. Nor in our modern world is it a good idea to give no thought to tomorrow. Still, as we wend our way through daily living we could be much happier and a lot less neurotic if we spent some time every day emulating our house cat.

Yesterday, being very cold here along the Eastern seaboard, our furnace was having trouble keeping the house warm. It was maybe 65 degrees in the house. Our 19-year-old cat Sprite is clearly in his declining years. It has been a tough last couple of months for him. He has had bad constipation and diarrhea and lost nearly half his body weight. We now have him on a couple of pills twice a day. This, a dollop of kitty laxative, a half a spoonful of yogurt, and some prescription-diet cat food allows him to lead a decent life in his very old age. There is virtually no fat left on him, so a cold house is quite a challenge.

Fortunately, he is still reasonably mobile. His solution is simply to find the warmest spot in the house. When the furnace is running, he likes to sit near a vent. Otherwise the back of our master bedroom closet, bundled up next to some shoes works fine. There are no drafts back there and a vent behind the wall adds heat. However, even when the day is cold, if the sun is out, then the sun will at some point stream through our living room window. He anticipates its arrival in the room by sleeping in his kitty bed on the living room chair. As he sleeps, the sun will fall over his body. This is his cue to gently hop down onto the carpet and find the big sunny spot. He will bask in the sun and enter a deep hypnotic state, moving slightly as necessary to keep up with the sun’s traversal across the floor. When the sunbeam goes away, he is usually nice and warm, so he curls up into a ball in his cat bed and goes to sleep. If the room is still cold then he will usually sleep with one paw over his eyes and nose. This keeps the air and his nose a bit warmer. For variety, if a human is available, their lap will suffice as a nice heat source too. Lesson: maximize your own comfort at all times. Get reasonably comfortable, but do not waste too much time over it. Allocate no more than a minute for finding a comfy spot.

Sprite never stresses about tomorrow. He accepts what is presented to him and makes the best of it. In his old age, he is not as playful as he was. His inability to relive his younger days does not bother him. I suspect when he dreams his pleasant memories of those playful days of his youth occupy his thought. Lesson: take one day at a time and simply accept its experience.

Sprite knows he is a cat. He thinks he is neither the best nor the worst cat in the world, although I would disagree. In my eyes, he is the best cat in the world. Best and worst are human concepts that have no meaning to him. He has no pretensions. He is simply a cat. He is what he is and doesn’t stress over the fact that he hasn’t done much more in his life than eat, sleep, poop, sits on the occasional lap and play a bit. He has found peace by accepting himself. Lesson: to find happiness be who you are, not what you want to be.

Sprite is a loyal cat. Unlike most dogs, his loyalty is reserved. He is choosy about who he bonds with. Once you have invested enough time in him doing things that make him happy then he will stick by you. He will return the favor by purring, snuggling with you or seeking you out. As long as you treat him right and with respect, he will do the same. If you do not treat him right, he reserves the right to change his mind. Lesson: give affection only to those who return affection in kind.

Sprite is a homebody. We do not let him outside, except on our screened in desk in warmer weather. There he will bask in the sun, or enjoy a gentle breeze blowing through his fur, while he watches birds fly by and squirrels run across our railings. Mostly he prefers to stay inside because it is comfortable and familiar to him. Lesson: home is the best place to be.

I could probably write many more pages of cat philosophy. Since Sprite does not spend that much time philosophizing, neither will I. Rather he spends his days living simply and with complete earnestness. I am your typical restless Aquarian. Nevertheless, through my cat Sprite I have learned to chill out and take pleasure what is in front of me.

Yes, home is where my family is. But more than anything else, home is where my cat lives. For a cat sanctifies a house. He makes it real. For once a cat has made your house a home, it is no longer just a structure. It takes on meaning; it is truly a home. Perhaps that is why, when Sprite passes away, I will want another cat. I will be unlikely to get one. In the 19 years Sprite has lived with us my wife has discovered that she is allergic to cats. For now, she pops antihistamines in order to keep symptoms in check.

I will miss having a cat in my house after he dies. Yet I will know that in some sense the cat will still be there. Because he made my house a home, it will always be blessed. Moreover, we are blessed to have such a spirit among us, teaching us so many useful life lessons, free for the observation.

February 21st, 2006 at 09:23pm Posted by Mark | Philosophy | one comment

My Best Friend the Cat

Maybe this will sound a little pathetic but my best friend is a cat.

Okay, I’m not the most sociable critter in the world but I am not entirely friendless. Nonetheless I think I can say without hesitation that the best friend I will have in this life is 11 pounds or so and is currently curled up on my lap. His head is partially buried in one paw. He lies where he always lies on my lap, with his head on my left thigh and his paws nestled up toward my belly.

His name is Sprite and he’s been my best friend for at least 16 of the 18 years he’s been alive. We bonded shortly after he and his sister Squeaky came home from the Doktor’s Pet Center in Tysons Corner, Virginia in January 1987. In the beginning our relationship was a bit challenging. He had claws and he used them instinctively. This frequently meant his jumping onto my lap and embedding them in my thigh. For about a year I would not let him on my lap until I had first a blanket on my lap.

So Sprite required a little training but he was as good a pupil as a young cat could be. I wanted a lap kitty but at first he was a bit skittish around people in general. So I petted and praised him all the time, and made sure I gave him extra affection when he was on my lap and not sticking his pincers into me. He still gets it wrong sometimes. Fortunately I am now better at keeping his nails trimmed so it is less of a problem. As a kitten he could not sit still for nail clippings.

In fact Sprite and I are now perfectly bonded. We understand each other intuitively. I know exactly where to stroke him to make him happiest. He knows instinctively when to sit on my lap and when to leave me alone. When he wants to sit on my lap he only rarely demands to be on my lap. Rather he petitions very politely. He comes next to me and I hear the roar of his purr motor. I look down and see his wide glass-like eyes petitioning me. I can hear him in my brain: “Can I please sit on your lap, Daddy?”

When he was younger and more agile I would slap my hand on my thighs a few times and he would normally understand the signal, jump on my lap and move into the lap position. At 18 though he has cataracts. Only occasionally can work up the courage to jump on my lap. Sometimes he succeeds and sometimes he doesn’t. When he misjudges he falls awkwardly back and I have to catch his fall. Fortunately he has me well trained. I look down and coo, “What’s the matter sweetheart?” and he gives me a silent meow. And I pick up his 11 pounds and awkwardly put him on my lap. He of course has to move into his special snuggle lap position. And there he settles in for a long couple hours of purring, sometimes sounding like a motorboat engine. At other times his purr is barely perceptible. His eyes open half wide most of the time. He gives me a look of complete and utter adoration. But after a while he seems content just to bask in my warmth and love and enters a dreamy sort of trance-like state, not quite asleep but not quite awake either. He seems hypnotized. The longer I stay on my chair (I am usually in front of the computer) the more he likes it. It breaks my heart (and his) sometimes to have to get up to attend to other things.

Sprite knows to trust me completely. I will never deliberately hurt him and when I stroke him I always stroke ever so gently. I stroke over his bat ears and they twitch with an autonomic response. He likes a scratch under his chin or along the side of his face. I can play with his paws and pull on his nails and he doesn’t mind. He just purrs louder.

On rare occasions he will let me give him a belly rub. He likes any form of affection but it is still difficult for him to be that vulnerable in that way. He doesn’t usually mind being picked up and dragged around. And he’s quite unusual in that he doesn’t mind being cuddled. I can pick him up like a baby and cradle him in my arms. It’s a bit uncomfortable for him but he does enjoy it, and his little purr motor cranks up to high volume.

We should let him sleep on the bed with us now that his sister is gone but we maintain the habit of having a cat free bedroom during our night hours. Nonetheless I often find him on the bed when I retire, waiting for some last minute petting and stroking. If I read in bed he will come right up in my face. Sometimes I have to push his rear down to tell him “That’s close enough, son”. And I do call him “son” all the time. I don’t have a son of my own. I have a daughter I love very much, but it’s too late to have a son. He will have to do.

And what a great son he is! He likes whatever I am into. But he also knows when I’ve OD’ed on his presence and will find a nice corner to go to sleep in.

Sprite has always been an indoor cat. He gets out on the screened in deck when the weather is nice, but is never let out to the wild. He was neutered young so he never lost his childhood voice. But he doesn’t speak much. He believes in the silent meow and the use of Bambi eyes to get his needs met.

He loves us all dearly but without a doubt I am his favorite. He misses me when I am gone. He waits for me to arise on the landing outside our bedroom in the morning, and lately has been greeting me with an almost anguished “Yeolp!” It’s a sort of “I missed you! You’ve been gone so long!” along with some confusion from being a senile 18-year-old cat.

And he may be 18 but he is doing wonderfully. You’d be hard pressed to find a cat his age in better health. His coat droops a bit but he is amazingly youthful. He is as soft as he was as a kitten. He has become a very mellow cat. He is not a complex creature. He does four things. He eats. (He doesn’t mind dry food, but likes wet food a couple times a week for variety.) He sleeps. He poops. And he sits on our laps. That’s it. Mostly these days he just sleeps. He’s an old but beloved kitty.

Still, he seems so completely bonded to me that he often feels like an extension of me, and I of him. It’s like we’re one unit, not two. I have read some books that suggest we don’t bring all of our soul energy with us into a life, and that some remains behind. I have heard that some souls actually spread their energy out into two or more lives at the same time. I don’t know if I take any of this seriously, but I am so completely bonded with Sprite that I have to wonder if there is something to this. Perhaps part of me came into this world as a cat simply to keep me company. Yes, it sounds nuts but at the moment this seems wholly plausible. It fits my Occam’s Razor test: it seems the simplest and most plausible explanation because, yes, we truly are that well integrated. It is sort of supernatural.

Sprite just got a checkup. I now worry at every checkup that they will find something dreadful that means his days as my soulmate and best friend are soon to be over. But the vet says he is doing fine. He can’t see too well but he sees better than most cats his age. I can’t think of anything, even the loss of a parent or sibling, that is likely to leave me more emotionally traumatized than when Sprite dies. Some part of myself will be gone.

But if there is an afterlife he will be waiting for me patiently and he will be back on my lap again. Something like death cannot keep us apart forever. I think on some level we have always been together and always will be together. All I know is I love him dearly and I am so grateful for the 18 years we’ve had together. Every day I have left with him is precious.

January 30th, 2005 at 09:00pm Posted by Mark | Life 2005 | one comment