Tea and Dragons

Henrietta is departed not long after my last entry; one of the receptionists at the vet fell in love with her, and since she was still making me sneeze I passed her on.  I haven't heard anything though I offered to take her back if there were problems, so I assume all is well; I will call at some point. 

She went into a sort of apologetic heat five days before, well-behaved but rather pathetically asking me to make it better, which of course I couldn't.  She was so uncomfortable, poor thing.  But that does answer the question of whether she'd been spayed or not. 

I've been off most social media for weeks, haven't touched Twitter really and spent a month not looking at LJ.  Pain absorbs my energy even when I'm on analgesics, and I've had to switch to the prescription ibuprofen.  My ovarian cyst has returned and it rather rivets my attention. 

I'm to make an appointment for surgery this week.  *sigh*  I don't want to go through it all again, but there's not much choice; the thing's at three inches and growing and I have days where I can't concentrate for hours at a time.  At least I don't have the nausea yet. 

The surgeon keeps urging me to have the whole thing removed, but common wisdom is that a hysterectomy can cause major health problems down the line, and the recovery time is more than I can afford.  I'll settle for losing the one ovary... 

As some of you know, I feed feral cats. 

Recently, I've been coaxing the boldest of the kittens (a lovely calico) to come close.  We've got to the finger-sniffing stage; I can touch her when she's eating if she's not looking, but she'll dash off and then come back to the food.  Progress with this kind is always slow. 

A few nights ago, in the dark and rain, I saw a half-grown cat that I thought was one of the four regular kittens; it took me several minutes to realize it was tabby-striped instead of black-and-white, and I was absolutely startled to be able to touch it.  It was literally starving; fur stretched over bone. 

Last night, it appeared out of the night and screamed frantically at me until I put food down, even stropping my legs a few times--hardly feral behavior.  It growled vaguely as it ate, but I figured it was just protecting the food.  I stroked a hand down its back; it had some kind of injury on one flank. 

Tonight, on impulse, I brought out the carrier, figuring that I could possibly put the first can in there and so lure it in.  It didn't quite work that way, but in the end I bundled it in and brought it inside. 

It--she, I got a look at the back end finally--is indeed starving.  Half-grown, long tail, a handsome tabby coat, and fortunately not nursing.  She's got wounds on both flanks and it looks like something tried to rip her throat out. 

And she's not only merely cautious--I let her out of the bathroom within the first ten minutes--and talkative, she's definitely domesticated, as she was just trying to imitate a purring fur tippet around my neck and chest. 

She's shedding in clumps, she's got itchy ears and open sores, she may be running a fever, and she smells bad.  And she's curled up next to me on the couch giving herself a bath after fifteen minutes of as close a cuddle as I would allow, and purring some more.  I'll see if there's an open vet tomorrow and pray she's microchipped, though in this neighborhood she was more likely dumped or simply lost. 

We're going with "Henrietta" for the moment. 

No one turned up last night for supper, but tonight I saw the Siamese again, under a parked car.  And I think (I will pick the male gender) he is a purebred--he has blue eyes and chocolate points, and if there's anything else in there it's pretty diluted.  I haven't heard him speak, though. 

So I put out canned food for him as well as crunchies in the usual place.  I tend to save cans for special occasions like pouring rain, as they're more expensive.  Of course, shortly after that the others showed up, presumably hearing the cans opening at a thousand yards, but he hung around.  He wouldn't eat until I backed off, but he was there. 

He doesn't look emaciated, not even as thin as I think of a pointy Siamese being, but he's probably fluffed as hard as he can manage in the cold. 

The ferals are back!  At least two of them, anyway. 

I haven't seen them since last autumn at the latest; they just stopped showing up for food in the evenings and I refused to pile the stuff and just leave it.  I thought something had happened to them; sad, but that's life on the edge. 

But yesterday I heard someone meowing outside my window, and lo and behold, it was Dusty!  Who definitely remembered me.  Heck, he was calling for me.  I, of course, fed him.  And when I got home last night he was lurking pointedly in the bush next to the door, ditto.  

Tonight I went out to see if he was around, and the first one to turn up when I called was Fluffernutter, who is clearly incubating the next kitten crop (alas).  She too remembered me, but she should; she has to be at least five or six by now, if not older.  And then Dusty turned up too. 

Guess I need to buy more cat food... 

It's downright apocolyptic out there.  I know, it's a mere nothing to those of you in harsher climes, but I could very easily picture this scenario as taking place after some collapse of government or civilization, and knowing that even when the show lets up there won't be any stores open or streets plowed.  I'd survive until my food ran out, and that would be it, done. 

I went out to feed my ferals.  They're still under the snowed-in bush, but there's snow under it now, and I'm afraid they're freezing, but there's nothing I can do about it.  I can't reach them, and even if I could they wouldn't let me catch them.  I can't even toss in a blanket, there's no way to get it in past the branches without lying down and shoving, and I'm afraid that would scare them out into the storm.  It's not that cold, really...it's the wind.  

I'm reading Banewreaker, which really isn't up to the quality of the author's later books and suffers from the common epic fantasy flaw of most of the characters having no sense of humor.  It's depressing.  I'm getting cabin fever.  I want glorious fic to read, a nice long well-written story I've never seen before with a beautifully happy ending, but I haven't found one.  

Grump. 

Wow, it's been a while.  Eh, I've been slightly unwell--no, not an ovarian cyst, but let's just say when it comes to antibiotics the cure can be almost as bad as the disease.  *eyeroll* 

I just went outside for the first time since last night.  It's still snowing but barely.  And it's quiet.  That's the weirdest thing.  The ever-present traffic, even the cars passing at three in the morning, is silenced.  It's not just the snow's hush.  It's not something I ever thought to experience.  

I found only one feral, Dipper the kitten.  The shelter I set out last night was completely buried, fortunately with no one in it, but when I called I heard mewing, and eventually saw the little 'un in the semi-cave formed by a large snow-laden bush.  The ground beneath is actually almost snow-free; the stuff's so heavy that it's formed a roof.  I dropped him (?) down some food, and he looks okay, not even snow-matted. 

I think he'll be all right.  It's not that cold, really; it's been colder this winter.  It's just that there's no place to go.  I wonder why people are shoveling out their cars...everything's closed.  The unbroken snow was up past my knees, and when I tripped, I didn't really fall.  

I should tag this Snowbiggie or something.  Hmph. 

Diners tonight:

Fluffernutter (eldest and crankiest)
Cocoa
Stripers the tom
Weenie (ginger) and two of the three interchangeable Tux Boys
Kittens Pumpkin, Dipper, and Scoot (there's a fourth, but I almost never see them all together) 

Last night was such nice weather that I left my bedroom window open.  At about 11:30, I looked out to see a couple of kittens--five weeks, six?--cleaning up the leftovers from the ferals' supper.  I gathered up a couple of cans of cat food and went out.  There were at least five, and when they saw me they bolted into the bushes, but I put the food down anyway.  Judging from at least one of them, they're Cocoa's litter; I knew she'd given birth and was nursing, but not where her nest was. 

( Cut for slightly disturbing content involving the death of an animal. )

Okay, every year there's a meme going around LJ, asking people to post their Christmas wish lists, from the simple to the truly insane, so that others moved to generosity might fulfill a wish if they like. I've never done one, but I figure this year...I'll post one wish. (I know it's late. Sorry. Life's been hectic lately.)

I forgot to feed my ferals tonight, so I went out late, but only one was still around, the shy wistful one.  He's sniffed my fingers a time or two but shys away at a touch. 

I sat down and fed him, and he showed unusual curiosity in my shoe, so I slipped it off and watched him roll all over it...then he wandered up behind me and brushed against my back, twice. 

*melt*