The results of Quint’s vet visit last Friday tells little more than what we already knew: He’s 12 years old, at a good weight, and once again, is on the verge of chronic kidney disease. But not just yet. His urine registers as almost dilute meaning it’s close, but not yet over the line into kidney disease. He showed at the same level as last year. He’s healthy and he’ll be rechecked in 6-12 months.
What we also know is that Quint has no intention of checking out or stealing Viola’s new box in the kitchen, and being that he’s the only one who has chosen not to do so is fairly expected. Quint’s a gentleman that way. The fact that he rarely jumps up onto a counter helps.
Quint knows this is his preferred box, upstairs, close to a big water bowl and a south-facing sunny window. The box fits him well and like all Colehaus cats, he enjoys the single sheet of crinkly paper lining the bottom. Any more than a single sheet tempts him to rip off tiny bits to chew up and sometimes, not always, spit out. Since Quint’s also a neat and clean boy, he doesn’t like chewed up crinkly bits littering his box area (even though he creates them), so we’ve learned and know only one sheet of crinkly paper is the right amount.
The things you learn and know about your cats over time, often without really thinking about those things, are amazing. Wouldn’t you agree?
Welcome to mid-July here at Colehaus. We didn’t have a particularly damp, cool spring but for whatever reason, some flowers seem to take their sweet time opening. The daylilies, for example, are usually halfway done blooming by now, yet there they are, just thinking of opening up. Take your time, flowers. Fine with us.
Here’s a tale of grasses: Mom loves non-spreading grasses. She says it’s something about the different foliage texture from leafy green things and the near constant movement of swaying in slight breezes, not to mention all the different colors grasses come in.
This particular variety, the name long lost by now since it’s a seedling of a seedling of a seedling going back some 25 years, is so pretty, Mom can’t bring herself to dig it up and all its long reaching seedlings to throw into the yard debris bin once and for all. Yet every year, she’s out there pulling up starts from flower beds, from between cobblestones, and sidewalk cracks, cursing her love of the plant. “Can’t you be just one?” she pleads and it responds by gently waving its seed pod heads no.
Something a wee bit more manageable are the purple Columbines. Unless you want to be swimming in Columbines here, you cut the seed pods before they turn brown. No worries; it’s a perennial and will be back for another reproduction attempt next spring.
And this is why neighborhood cat Colby will always remain an outside visitor. Colby, it was sprinkling and that blue grass didn’t need an extra watering from you.
Regular visitor Lloyd was recently seen a good quarter mile away over in the fancy house neighborhood cutting across the fancy private park, heading our direction for the chicken catnip treats he likes. We think that’s called slumming it. Surely, someone has fancy cat treats over there? Surely, someone else can afford fancy cat treats over there?
This mama raccoon waits for Dad every morning and while the two get NOWHERE CLOSE to one another, both have taken up softly growling at each other as the preferred method of communication . . . until Mom stomps out there and tells them both to knock it off.
Four wild plants, Mom calls them bird poop plants, since she didn’t plant them and blames the birds. Foxglove, phlox, little daisies, and marsh marigold.
Here’s the state of the old giant Golden Arborvitae bed, forever more called the newest flower bed, or if you prefer as Mom does, the back west side flower bed formerly known as the Golden Arborvitae bed. Intentionally planned as a pollinator bed, Mom transplanted some of those bird poop plants – daisies, marsh marigold, and foxglove along with a couple of spirea and azaleas. Then she mixed in some perennials and sprinkled old sunflower and perennial seeds here and there.
All look good for a first year growth; small but up and coming. Some perennials subscribe to the old adage: 1st year it sleeps, 2nd year it creeps, 3rd year it leaps and that seems to be true for the white coneflowers and dwarf Nile lily.
What baffles us is the lack of bees and bumblebees. Usually, they are everywhere and it’s troubling to have seen only two bees in the past two months (given that Mom’s not out there inspecting flowers for bees every day). A mile away, a huge, multi-acre pasture/open field has been torn up and paved over for the building of giant, football-field sized warehouses that we can assure you this town has no need for. Could all our usual bees have been coming from there? We still have a treed green space, creek, and cow pastureland spread out down the hill that looks filled with native plants. The sight of no bees is disturbing and we can only hope the lack of them is due to flowers blooming late.
Indoors, the Hoya is blooming. Again. And in case we somehow miss seeing this one, another bloom bud is swelling, assuring there’ll be flowers throughout July and into August. For never being able to get Hoyas to bloom in Mom’s past, she sure seems to be doing something right this time around! That something right could also be called ignoring it.
All the Colehaus Cats are doing well. We know Quint and Pia both are in early stages of kidney disease, Tessa is mellowing slightly in her crankiness, and Viola is just as independent as ever. Sometimes, when she’s working outside, Mom get a little weepy thinking about Mr. G who’s now in Idaho and was the best garden cat visitor ever. And always the smart guy, Dad stays inside on these hot days to help keep his MS from flaring up. For the moment, all is calm.
Sometimes, Quint hides very well. Like a couple of weeks ago when he knew he had a vet visit. Mom carefully timed out her day, figuring it would take approximately 2.56 minutes to find Quint and either plop him into the nearby waiting carrier or take him downstairs and whisk him into the carrier sitting by the door. Add another minute or two to get him into the car, carrier buckled in, and a light, soft blanket tossed over and tucked in here and there. And they’d be off for the 20 minute drive, with 5 minutes to spare once they got there.
Except he wasn’t upstairs and wasn’t downstairs. Mom’s brain was racing, “Did I see Quint this morning? Yes, he demanded his brushies. I saw him. But where is he now? Quint, where’s my Quint?”
Nothing. Not a peep.
She looked in the usual upstairs spots and then, systematically searched all rooms, even the forbidden entrance ones, and closed each off. All clear. No Quint upstairs. Downstairs, Mom checked the bathroom and closed it off. She checked both closets. Nope. Closed those off. She looked in spaces much too narrow and small for Quint, but she looked and felt around anyway.
She looked behind things, thinking all the while there was no way he’d get out into the garage, would he? No, not Quint, who’s scared of anything garage-like, even the door leading to the garage. Mom whirled around and saw the tip of an orange tail. Ah-HA!
There he was, practically right out in the open, sitting on Viola’s favorite kitchen chair not more than five feet away.
So really, the question is will he be “hiding” there again today when he goes back to the vet to check something else?
