CANDY

I don't cook except for making candy. I make the old-fashioned kind. Like fudge:

And divinity:

And pralines:

And my favorite that my mother used to make when I was a kid, peanut butter candy:

Tomorrow I get to cut them and parcel them out. It's hard to know who eats candy and who doesn't nowadays but I've never had anyone refuse it. My petsitter gets a package and also the vet's office for their loving care of my sweet cats. Then my critique partners and some other friends.

I try to give it all away--yes, I do, I really do!--but somehow there always seem to be a few pieces left over.

Guess they'll take care of those pounds I've struggled to lose.

MORNING WALK

So my guy and I were walking and to our pleasure met a lady with two dogs. To our amusement, a cat seemed to be leading the way. We found out that, indeed, the cat was with them.

The dogs were cute little things. The white one is fifteen and the other, only three. I didn't ask about the cat but I should have.

It seems that whenever Diane walks the dogs, her cat goes with them. I guess the cat feels she has to keep an eye on them, like a guard cat or something. Or maybe she just goes along to make sure they behave.

Anyway, the cat, being a cat, does not need a leash. She knows perfectly well what her job is.

GONE GIRL CAT

Our sweet boy-cat left us this spring. Now our feisty girl-cat is gone, too. We are still a little shocked at how quickly we lost them. He was nearing twenty -- we don't know his age for sure -- and she was just seventeen.

We'd had the boy a few months when a relative called. A papa cat, mama cat, and four kittens had turned up on his doorstep. The papa delivered his family and left. The relative took the mama cat and a neighbor took the kittens. Two of them found homes. Would we take one of the two that were left?

We went to look at them. The neighbor already had five or six adult cats -- she was brave to take on the four kittens! -- and they were all in the living room, looking on with bemusement as one of the kittens ran around playing with a toy. If another cat tried to take it away, she grabbed it back. And they let her. That little black and white ball of fur was clearly the boss. She cowed them all, including her brother.

My guy pointed to her. "That one. She's got personality."

And that she did. When we got her home, she assumed the role of queen of the house and never relinquished it. Our darling boy-cat wasn't sure what to make of her but was too much of a gentleman to object. He let her do as she pleased except when it came to food. He had been a street cat, and he took umbrage at anyone interfering with his meals.

So for all but a couple of months of her seventeen years, she lived with us and her adopted brother. When he left us, she must have been bewildered. I don't think she remembered life without him. She went downhill, had to be put on steroids. That helped, bringing back her appetite and giving her some energy. I thought the worst was past.

Then last week, she threw up, curled up into a ball, and refused to eat. Even her favorite tuna juice got nothing more than a desultory sniff. She started hiding under the computer table or in the closet without moving for hours, and I knew it was time.

I do think she was pining for her brother.

Now the house is quiet and we have no need to watch for a warm furball or make room for a little form to lie beside my guy while we watch TV. We are thankful for all the good years we enjoyed them, but oh, we are missing both of them dreadfully!

The queen:

Our gentleman:

CATS

I've been a little distraught. My boy cat is old. Like about twenty.

The last couple of years he's been blind and deaf, but he was able to find his food dish and his litter box and his bed. Then he began having some mental problems. Meowing in the middle of the night. Going around in circles. Wanting to eat every couple of hours.

But he was still in pretty good health so we catered to him. Feeding him three or four times a day, putting him in his bed when he meowed, moving him to a familiar place when he got lost.

We were making it fine until the last couple of weeks. Now he's looking tired and withdrawn. And he's making hacking noises that sound like whooping cough. When I pick him up, he's uncomfortable. He's always been a gentleman and would never scratch me, but I think he's beginning to be in some pain.

I can't see him suffer, but it sure is hard to let him go.

Here he's asleep in his little bed. I moved it into my bathroom because he likes it in there. The girl cat usually sleeps with him, but lately she's deserted him. I'm wondering if she knows he's feeling bad and is making it easier for him.

Pets are like children. Easy to love and hard to lose.

NEW USE FOR CAT POOP

A blog about forensics led me to this interesting article.

 http://www.scienceworldreport.com/articles/16065/20140716/parasite-discovered-cat-poop-combat-cancer.htm

What is says basically is that there's a parasite in cats' intestines that stimulates the body response in a person similar to the one that fights cancer! Normally the cancer shuts down the immune response, but this parasite (which can be found in cat poop) might actually jump start a stronger defense! (They're testing the resulting drug now, ironically, in mouse models.)

I'm impressed.

And all this time, I thought my cats were full of hot air when they proclaimed themselves superior beings. Guess I'll have to apologize. And treat their litter with more respect.

And speaking of litter:  Here's Roz giving me the evil eye because her box isn't clean.

CATS

The cats anxiously awaited the running of the Belmont Stakes yesterday.  Here they are on the sofa in front of the TV, eagerly watching for the race to start.

Well, maybe anxious and eager aren't quite the right words. The boy cat is asleep, and the girl cat seems to be heading that way, too.

As it happens, the girl cat left just as the race was about to begin. I guess she knew what the outcome was going to be: no Triple Crown winner this year. She must not have wanted to hear the moaning afterward.

The boy cat slept through the whole thing. Maybe it was for the best. I think he had bets on other horses.

CAT FANCIES

My girl cat wants to run away with the gypsies. Gypsy cats, that is.

Yes, she keeps trying to rush out the door when it's opened. She got out into the garage the other day and roamed about for a couple of hours, but that didn't make her happy. She wants outside.

She's seen the feral cats strutting around the neighborhood. I think she's in love with the one who shows up in our back yard occasionally. I admit, he's a handsome fellow, but she's too old for that stuff.

My boy cat, ever the gentleman, urges her to follow her dream. I think he'd like to be rid of her.

But she'd never make it outside. She's been inside since she was a kitten. She has no idea how to stalk a squirrel or bring down a bird like these tough outside cats do. She'd starve to death.

Of course, it might take awhile since she's a bit overweight. (Looking down on her, one thinks of a huge bulging sausage.)

"No, sweetie," I tell her. "Gypsies aren't the happy, singing, dancing cats that the movies portray."

I hope she listens. If she ever makes a break for it, I'm not sure my boy cat will let her back in.

ONE MORE COMPLAINT ABOUT THE CATS

It's not only litter my cats are finicky about. They seem to have taken up my entire life.

My daily schedule:

Seven a.m. - (sometimes as early as five if they've consumed all the dry food) - one or both start meowing for breakfast. Loudly.

I get up, replenish the dry food and put ice water in their fountain (yes, they demand ice cubes in their water).

Next, I fix their canned food. This means mincing the meat (and this is the ground kind, not the flakes or shreds or morsels) into even smaller pieces on two plates. If the can's been in the fridge, I must microwave the food for a few seconds. I then mound the minced food up on each plate before putting them down. At that time, I forcefully direct the boy cat to his dish since he always tries to eat the girl cat's food first.

Then the litter boxes need tending, including a sweep of the floor since my girl cat tends to get exuberant when she's in her bathroom and tosses litter everywhere.

Then back to the food dishes. Any food that's left gets mounded up on one plate for the boy cat. He likes to come back later and dig into a new pile of food.

About one p.m., the boy cat starts meowing. Persistently. It's time for his nap and he doesn't like to nap alone. Most days, I'll lie down with him on my bed for about an hour. Sometimes the girl cat joins us. If I'm busy and can't nap, I put her on the bed with him. If she stays, that will keep him quiet. If she doesn't, he ends up in my lap, squirming as I try to work on the computer.

About five p.m., the girl cat starts meowing again. She's quite vocal when it comes to meal times. So I go through the same thing as in the morning, except they take a stool softener before eating--yes, you read it right--to keep them regular. (Hey, they're old and have problems!) They learned how to hide the pills in their mouths until they got out of sight where they could spit them out. So I have to buy broth, and not the kind with celery and carrots but the unadulterated, expensive broth, to mix their powder in. They love this and lap it up eagerly. Sure beats using a syringe to force it down their throats.

At night, they don't sleep with us much any more, thank goodness. When the girl cat sleeps with us, she gets between my knees and I can't turn over. Lately, they've been staying in their cat bed or on the sofa where I've laid one of my dirty shirts to entice them to curl up.

And that's my routine.

This can't be natural. Surely, every cat owner doesn't cater to their cats like this. I must have trained them wrong, but it's too late to change them now. Guess I'm stuck till they kick the bucket.

CATS AND THEIR LITTER

I have finicky cats when it comes to their bathroom habits. They want their litter clean.

If it isn't up to her standards, my girl cat sometimes uses the floor next to the box. Even an extra litter box doesn't help if it isn't clean.

I usually feed them in the mornings, then scoop their litter. I was running behind the other morning, putting some dishes up that had been in the dishwasher overnight, and heard a "meow." She was sitting in the door of the utility room where their litter boxes are, looking at me.

"Hold on. I'll be with you in a minute."

"Meow!"

"Just wait a minute!"

"MEOWL!"

Only it sounded like "MY LITTER!" And she looked quite huffy. Like she was about to spit.

So I gave up, cleaned the litter box; she got in and did her business.

Not even a thank you.

Ungrateful cat. At least it wasn't on the floor.

CATS

The cats had a good Christmas. Santa brought them a catnip scented scratch pad, but a relative gave them a bed! Okay, it was labeled as a dog bed, but it was still pretty plush. And it was big enough for two!

I draped an old towel over it for protection. (Cats, as some of you know, tend to throw up hairballs, undigested food, and other stuff.) So here they are, cuddled up in their new bed in front of the heater.

Oh, and that's one of my guys' photos they're staring at.

For a day starting off in the low thirties, it's been pretty good. We might actually get out and go get a hamburger or sandwick. Probably some bread and milk, too, since it's going to be cold again tonight.

Brrr. We may have to move further south.

CATS

The cats are quite excited that Christmas is here. And they're being pretty good.

Our Christmas tree has been up since Thanksgiving and only one ornament's been displaced! In previous years we couldn't keep ornaments on the tree, period. Also, only one present's been hijacked (the boy cat thought a gift bag's tissue would make him a nice bed); in some years, we had to stash the presents in the closet instead of under the tree.

My best guess is they're behaving themselves because they're waiting for Santa. I think they've finally learned he brings good little cats gifts, while bad little cats get fussed at. We're still keeping an eye on them, though.

Here the girl cat is curled up to the boy cat, letting him snooze on her. See how angelic she looks?

Wait. Maybe she's choking him. His head's hanging kind of... Hmmm. Better go break it up!

CATS vs THE VET

So the cats were looking puny. The boy-cat had been treated for a urinary infection a few weeks back, but I suspected the girl-cat was having the same problem and made her an appointment. Then, I noticed the boy-cat wasn't using his litter box as he should so I called the nice lady at the clinic who said, "Bring him in, too."

We loaded them both up in one carrier and went to the vet's office. Once inside the examining room, my boy-cat, who is always a gentleman, came out with a feeble meow of protest and a reproachful look at me, got looked at, gave his sample, and yes, his infection wasn't completely cured.

Then the vet reached into the crate for the girl-cat.

Such hissing and screaming and unsheathing of claws I've never seen!

Evidently, the vet had. He hopped way back and said, "Oops. She's a little anxious." Then he looked at me. "Maybe you'd better try to get her out."

So I soothed her, reached in and got her. But she was still unhappy at her predicament, hissing and threatening, making the poor vet very cautious in catching her by her scruff and holding down her back end. Once he got his sample, he put her in the crate with the boy-cat and jumped back while my guy slammed the door.

He wiped his forehead and looked at the crate. "You know, he's got to be thinking, 'What! You've made the bitch mad and now you're putting her back in here with me?' I bet she takes it out on him, and he didn't do a thing."

And she did, hissing at the poor boy-cat all the way home like it was his fault, not even giving him a chance to protest he hadn't liked being handled either. Once out of the crate, he hid for the rest of the day while she stalked around and muttered to herself.

I hate taking them to the vet. I don't think the vet likes it either.

OUT OF COMMISSION

We've had company this month and finding time to even power up the computer has been challenging. I think our busy season is over for a while though. And I find I miss it! No hurrying to go to the beach or the pool or the Village. No going out to eat. No biking around the neighborhood. No engrossing conversations.

Not that it isn't nice to have the house back to ourselves. The cats are of two minds: they've had people spoiling them, whipping out the brush at the first pitiful meow, petting them and calling them beautiful. On the other hand, they can roam through the house without being picked up and hugged, and they can take their naps in peace.

They can't decide whether to be happy company's gone or sad. So she wakes up and looks around expectantly to find her admiring audience.

And he peers around corners trying to see if he needs to make a grand entrance in case someone's waiting to fawn all over him.

Yep, I think we're all suffering from withdrawal!

BACK YARD

Our back yard is lovely. Miniscule but lovely. Whoever lived here before us planted very carefully, because all of a sudden it's burst into bloom.

Stepping out the back door and looking to the left, we have lovely yellow daylilies:

Then, slightly to the right, a fragrant jasmine:

Past the jasmine are roses and some purple flowery bushes:

And toward the end of the walk, one lone poinsettia:

And the cats are licking their chops over the birds they see out the sliding doors. They keep begging to go out, but I keep telling them they can't. But I think they're going to like it here anyway.

That's assuming we ever get settled.

TRAVELS

Setting off again for north Georgia. We plan to visit relatives, go to the shooting range, and see our tax guy.

Yes, the dreaded income tax deadline is getting nearer. We heard the IRS didn't have its computers tuned up for the latest tax changes at the first of the year, so we've put it off. I hope they're ready for us now.

I took a course in figuring income taxes once and vowed never again. It seems to me, if we have to give up part of our income to it, the government could make the whole thing easier. Like just taking our blood to sell or something.

But then I guess the CPA's and tax firms like H&R Block and Hewlett Jackson would be out of business. Not to mention all the government employees.

Oh, wait! Then we'd have to pay to support them!

Never mind.

And here are the babies, crushed that we're leaving them. They actually woke up from their nap long enough for me to record their devastation.

Not. They're looking forward to seeing the catsitter. She thinks they're perfect.

SHIPS IN THE NIGHT

I was sound asleep, dreaming of the sequel to my light mystery. (When I'm trying to figure out plots, I often dream of whatever I'm writing.) Right in the middle of the heroine peering over a mountainside to find a makeshift air strip down below, comes this HONK!

Let me tell you, I jumped six inches and woke up pronto! And looked wildly around to see what train was about to run over us.

It was a ship. We're a couple blocks up from the channel and can usually hear them pass. Last night it sounded like it was coming through our bedroom. The boy-cat must have heard it, too, because he came and crawled into bed with us.

Took me a while to get back to my work-in-progress, what with my pounding heart and the boy-cat licking my face to make sure I was all right. Or maybe he wanted me to get up and feed him.

I don't think my guy heard a thing.

CATS WHO THINK THEY'RE DOGS

My cat thinks he's a dog. When I eat, he puts his feet on my knee and looks at me like a dog. All hopeful and pleading.

"Don't beg," I say. "You're a CAT. Cats don't beg."

He doesn't listen but continues to give me the soulful look.

"Cats rule the world," I lecture. "They tell everyone else what to do. They do not beg."

My admonishing doesn't stop his begging. If I don't give in, my guy does.

And when I feed him and his sister, he wolfs his food down like a you-know-who (which means he's liable to throw it up like dogs do). Then he rushes over to push his sister back from her dish. She pushes back but it's useless. She may be queen of the house, but when it comes to food, the boy cat is immovable.

"You aren't a dog," I tell him. "Cats are finicky eaters. You need to take lessons from your sister."

She smirks at him, but he doesn't care. He's too busy cleaning her plate because while she was daintily eating half of hers, he has swallowed his food whole.

I'm wondering if a cat psychiatrist could help. Maybe it's a lack of self-esteem?

HAPPY NEW YEAR AND THE EARRING WINNER IS...

Happy New Year, everyone! I hope next year will be wonderful!

We celebrated with the crud -- for a week now -- but are nearly well. The cats celebrated a little too much. They hid under the bed during the fireworks, but the boy-cat came out to get in the bed with us later. He was so groggy -- I don't think he was inebriated, but who knows what they were doing under there? -- he couldn't quite make the jump and woke me up, hanging on by his claws. To the comforter and not me, thank goodness.

After I reached down and pulled him onto the bed, he conked out.

Hmm. He does look a little hungover today.

AND:

The earring winner for December is Kairbear 2468. Kairbear, if you'll email me at cherylbdale@hotmail.com with your mailing address, I'll have the earrings sent to you.

For anyone who's interested, another pair will go up soon for January's giveaway.

Happy 2013!

TRAVELS

Made it up to this side of Atlanta for my aunt's funeral and back. Listened to Christmas music all the way up so it wasn't till we got there that we heard about the shootings in Connecticut. It's still hard to take in, how one person can deliberately do so much damage to others' lives.

The trip up and back was long and fast, but we got to visit with family, some of whom we hadn't seen in years. The sad occasion let us reconnect so seems the old saying is true: everything does happen for a reason.

Our cats don't sulk, fortunately. They were happy to see us back and showed it.

Evidently they thought we'd abandoned them. Not sure how they managed it, but halfway up the interstate, our babysitter called, wanting to know if she'd forgotten she was supposed to take care of the cats. No, I told her, we were going up and coming right back so they'd be fine. She had the flu and sounded like it, but she was determined to check on the babies if she needed to. I assured her they were fine and told her to go back to bed. Not many babysitters are so conscientious!

But now I'm wondering how the cats got word to her of their supposed abandonment. I don't think they know how to  punch buttons on the phone. Although we do have the babysitter's number on fast dial...

The girl cat, jumping up from her nap to greet us on our return.

The boy cat, rushing to his food dish on our return.

TIME OFF

I'm tired. After several weeks of unexpected deaths overwhelming us, expected friends and relatives visiting us, and expected-but-not-sure-when edits coming in, I'm ready to take time off.

I wasn't meant for this merry-go-round of upsets and out-of-ordinary events. I like my life to be ordered, predictable, laidback. Unexciting.

So now that our last visitors have gone home, I find I miss the two eight-year-olds chattering and running through the condo.

Even the cats, who pretended to hate being brushed and petted and oohed over by strange little people, seem to miss them. The girl cat shows no interest in the tennis players outside the window at all, and she's usually right there watching the ball go back and forth. The boy cat sits in the kitchen and meows for food because he's used to having little hands catering to him.

It's very quiet here now. Guess I'll work on those edits.