Chapter 29 (Animals I’ve Known and Loved, cont.)
MUFFIN
I really missed having an animal in the house after Kaiser left. Right around the time Alby was born, Marlene and Joe Browne moved up the street. Along with their house they moved into was ownership of the previous occupant’s cat, Muffin. The previous owners had figured that it would be easier on the cat to stay than to adapt to a new home and neighborhood, and Marlene, like me, loved all animals. Problem was, Muffin didn’t like Trixy their miniature Spitz, so she began shopping around the neighborhood for a better home.
At this time I had no idea that other families were also trying to lure him in. Every time he would come to our house I would lavish attention on him, giving him tuna fish or last night’s leftovers. The children all loved him too, so we worked together to convince the cat to live with us, after checking with Marlene. (Later at a neighborhood get together--we women had for a night off once a month to gather at one or another's house to talk to people who were more than three feet high--I learned that Muffin had stopped at all their houses at one time or another, measuring them up, seeing if there were competing pets and such.)
Although Muffin was a sissy name, he was all male cat, and would disappear for days doing his tom-catting, coming back all dirty with his long hair matted. It looked like he did all his fighting under a greasy car or truck. I decided That muffin should be neutered, and called the vet to set up an appointment. The day the operation was to take place, the cat disappeared. I called to cancel the appointment, and set up another. The day of the second appointment, Muffin disappears again. Embarrassed, I called them again. When I apologized, saying that it seemed like Muffin knew what I was going to have done to him, they said that was probably the case. Cats can sense such things. We left it open--that when I was able to catch the cat, I’d take him down to their office. Of course, we weren’t able to corner Muffin until a Friday afternoon. I called them. They wouldn’t be able to neuter him until Monday, but suggested I bring him down that evening, and leave him over the weekend.
These offices have teenagers who work part-time. I once considered such a job, and they showed me a stack of about fifty applications ahead of me. When I brought Muffin in, a handsome teenage boy came to take him back to a cage for the weekend. I was embarrassed again as Muffin looked such a mess. His fur was all clumped up in balls along his abdomen, and there was grease and dirt all along his head and back. “He’s such a mess,” I said.
The boy expertly sized up Muffin’s sloppy condition and said, “Oh, we can clean him up for you… We’ll trim off all this on his abdomen. We have special shavers.”
I must have sounded worried when I okayed his being cleaned up, and said he’s kind of sensitive. He said, “Don’t worry. It won’t hurt him a bit to cut the balls off!”
My jaw dropped and my face turned red. The boy suddenly listened in retrospect to what he had said, also turned red, and quickly said, "...The fur balls! The fur balls!”
Although Muffin became more of a homebody once neutered, there seemed no way we could keep his hair from getting terribly matted. I’d promise myself I’d brush him daily… or at least weekly,… and where did I leave that brush? …and he’d be all matted up again. He didn’t sit still for it either, and more than once I nicked him loosening up a fur mat, so I couldn't blame him for his reluctance to be groomed. At that time I decided I’d never get another animal that would be inclined to have its fur mat up like that. (That was before others in the household decided to get an Old English Sheepdog, but that's a later story within an explanation of my not being a part of the decision... or the household.)
On a snowy morning on New Years Day, I found Muffin hunched and drooling,looking sick, by the back door down stairs. (It seemed ironic how many holidays or Sundays my pets needed emergency treatment.) I called the indulgent Dr. Norris, describing Muffin’s symptoms. He thought the cat must have somehow uncovered and ate a toad, as it seemed like he had been poisoned. But when I brought him down for closer observation, Dr. Norris realized that Muffin’s jaw was broken. He figured he was hit by the snow plow, as cats and dogs will walk where the snow is less deep. He recommended my taking him to Dr. Mendel, a vet who specialized in small animals. [The same place I took him to have him neutered, but didn’t mention that to Norris.]
Dr. Mendel fastidiously wired poor muffin’s jaw with the skill and precision of an orthodontic surgeon. I think I was charged $52. I was afraid my husband would think that too much to spend on just a cat, so I wrote a check for $30, and paid the rest with cash. (At least it wasn’t an operation like the one on a girlfriend from high school days who broke her jaw in an automobile accident, and had to have her jaw wired shut for over a month and was on a liquid diet. And I’m sure the bill may have been a little bit more… ya think?!)
The only side effect Muffin had to his injuries, was a temporary paralysis to his right foreleg. I found that a brace I made from a toilet paper roll worked well, so he could hobble around. Several days later when I removed it to see, ...he was fine.
Muffin lived a long life of about fifteen years. He was always independent like most cats. Wasn’t real friendly, or much of a cuddler. He reined king of the house when we had dogs again, and learned to stand off any strange dog that tried attacking him. Like cat’s do when they are scared, he’d hiss and his long hair would stand on end so he appeared twice as large, and then he’d stare that dog down… even the most vicious would back off. I never saw him run from another animal.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 30 (Animals I’ve Known and Loved, cont.)
PRINCESS
Although we had our cat, I missed having a dog around. I wanted to wait until Alby was a toddler before I got another puppy…it would be just to much: A baby, two preschoolers, and a puppy. So, Princess visited me. She was a shepherd mix that was mostly collie, and had that kind disposition… a dog belonging to neighbors up the street. Princess was a good name for her gentle nature. She’d accompany me if I took a walk, but I’d let her in for a snack, and eventually she’d fall asleep under the kitchen table. Many a day the owner, Sharon, would call me to ask if Princess was there. She was like a piece of furniture… I just took her for granted and had to look to see if she indeed was there.
I began to realize that I would have to get myself another dog. Borrowing a neighbor’s just didn’t cut it. I began looking for the perfect type… no more Weimaraners!
In a magazine there was an ad for some kind of pet vitamins. A woman was holding my next dog: An English Springer Spaniel--liver and white. I cut out the ad, and put it on the refrigerator. She was my dream dog, and eventually I knew one, just like the picture, would be mine.
MUFFIN
I really missed having an animal in the house after Kaiser left. Right around the time Alby was born, Marlene and Joe Browne moved up the street. Along with their house they moved into was ownership of the previous occupant’s cat, Muffin. The previous owners had figured that it would be easier on the cat to stay than to adapt to a new home and neighborhood, and Marlene, like me, loved all animals. Problem was, Muffin didn’t like Trixy their miniature Spitz, so she began shopping around the neighborhood for a better home.
At this time I had no idea that other families were also trying to lure him in. Every time he would come to our house I would lavish attention on him, giving him tuna fish or last night’s leftovers. The children all loved him too, so we worked together to convince the cat to live with us, after checking with Marlene. (Later at a neighborhood get together--we women had for a night off once a month to gather at one or another's house to talk to people who were more than three feet high--I learned that Muffin had stopped at all their houses at one time or another, measuring them up, seeing if there were competing pets and such.)
Although Muffin was a sissy name, he was all male cat, and would disappear for days doing his tom-catting, coming back all dirty with his long hair matted. It looked like he did all his fighting under a greasy car or truck. I decided That muffin should be neutered, and called the vet to set up an appointment. The day the operation was to take place, the cat disappeared. I called to cancel the appointment, and set up another. The day of the second appointment, Muffin disappears again. Embarrassed, I called them again. When I apologized, saying that it seemed like Muffin knew what I was going to have done to him, they said that was probably the case. Cats can sense such things. We left it open--that when I was able to catch the cat, I’d take him down to their office. Of course, we weren’t able to corner Muffin until a Friday afternoon. I called them. They wouldn’t be able to neuter him until Monday, but suggested I bring him down that evening, and leave him over the weekend.
These offices have teenagers who work part-time. I once considered such a job, and they showed me a stack of about fifty applications ahead of me. When I brought Muffin in, a handsome teenage boy came to take him back to a cage for the weekend. I was embarrassed again as Muffin looked such a mess. His fur was all clumped up in balls along his abdomen, and there was grease and dirt all along his head and back. “He’s such a mess,” I said.
The boy expertly sized up Muffin’s sloppy condition and said, “Oh, we can clean him up for you… We’ll trim off all this on his abdomen. We have special shavers.”
I must have sounded worried when I okayed his being cleaned up, and said he’s kind of sensitive. He said, “Don’t worry. It won’t hurt him a bit to cut the balls off!”
My jaw dropped and my face turned red. The boy suddenly listened in retrospect to what he had said, also turned red, and quickly said, "...The fur balls! The fur balls!”
Although Muffin became more of a homebody once neutered, there seemed no way we could keep his hair from getting terribly matted. I’d promise myself I’d brush him daily… or at least weekly,… and where did I leave that brush? …and he’d be all matted up again. He didn’t sit still for it either, and more than once I nicked him loosening up a fur mat, so I couldn't blame him for his reluctance to be groomed. At that time I decided I’d never get another animal that would be inclined to have its fur mat up like that. (That was before others in the household decided to get an Old English Sheepdog, but that's a later story within an explanation of my not being a part of the decision... or the household.)
On a snowy morning on New Years Day, I found Muffin hunched and drooling,looking sick, by the back door down stairs. (It seemed ironic how many holidays or Sundays my pets needed emergency treatment.) I called the indulgent Dr. Norris, describing Muffin’s symptoms. He thought the cat must have somehow uncovered and ate a toad, as it seemed like he had been poisoned. But when I brought him down for closer observation, Dr. Norris realized that Muffin’s jaw was broken. He figured he was hit by the snow plow, as cats and dogs will walk where the snow is less deep. He recommended my taking him to Dr. Mendel, a vet who specialized in small animals. [The same place I took him to have him neutered, but didn’t mention that to Norris.]
Dr. Mendel fastidiously wired poor muffin’s jaw with the skill and precision of an orthodontic surgeon. I think I was charged $52. I was afraid my husband would think that too much to spend on just a cat, so I wrote a check for $30, and paid the rest with cash. (At least it wasn’t an operation like the one on a girlfriend from high school days who broke her jaw in an automobile accident, and had to have her jaw wired shut for over a month and was on a liquid diet. And I’m sure the bill may have been a little bit more… ya think?!)
The only side effect Muffin had to his injuries, was a temporary paralysis to his right foreleg. I found that a brace I made from a toilet paper roll worked well, so he could hobble around. Several days later when I removed it to see, ...he was fine.
Muffin lived a long life of about fifteen years. He was always independent like most cats. Wasn’t real friendly, or much of a cuddler. He reined king of the house when we had dogs again, and learned to stand off any strange dog that tried attacking him. Like cat’s do when they are scared, he’d hiss and his long hair would stand on end so he appeared twice as large, and then he’d stare that dog down… even the most vicious would back off. I never saw him run from another animal.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 30 (Animals I’ve Known and Loved, cont.)
PRINCESS
Although we had our cat, I missed having a dog around. I wanted to wait until Alby was a toddler before I got another puppy…it would be just to much: A baby, two preschoolers, and a puppy. So, Princess visited me. She was a shepherd mix that was mostly collie, and had that kind disposition… a dog belonging to neighbors up the street. Princess was a good name for her gentle nature. She’d accompany me if I took a walk, but I’d let her in for a snack, and eventually she’d fall asleep under the kitchen table. Many a day the owner, Sharon, would call me to ask if Princess was there. She was like a piece of furniture… I just took her for granted and had to look to see if she indeed was there.
I began to realize that I would have to get myself another dog. Borrowing a neighbor’s just didn’t cut it. I began looking for the perfect type… no more Weimaraners!
In a magazine there was an ad for some kind of pet vitamins. A woman was holding my next dog: An English Springer Spaniel--liver and white. I cut out the ad, and put it on the refrigerator. She was my dream dog, and eventually I knew one, just like the picture, would be mine.
posted by Cranberry Jo @ 9/29/2007 07:19:00 PM
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