Loki's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

This is not a happy kitty.

The kitties went to the vet today for their annual checkup. Or rather, I took them to the vet, because it's not like they were just going to hop in the car and drive themselves over there.

Tengu has gotten wise to my normal trick of leaving the carriers out and open, then luring the cats inside at the appropriate time. I ended up having to corner him in my bedroom and stuff him into the carrier. However, Tengu also got a Gold Star from the vet for being in a fine example of a cat his age and in perfect health. It was apparently the only gold star the vet had given out all day.

Loki, on the other hand. Loki. There was screaming and growling and hissing and spitting. There were one or two swipes at the vet, though he didn't seem to have his claws out for it. They had to try to wrap him in a blanket, he was being so bad. And there was no way in hell he was going to quietly let the vet look at his ears, which he's still having problems with. So he got a jab in the butt (plus hissing, spitting, and snarling) with some sedatives.

And he fought the sedation the whole time. He's still fighting it now. This cat will not just go to sleep. I always knew Loki was stubborn, but this is a whole new level of Fuck You I Ain't Gonna And You Can't Make Me. At home, Loki is slowly wobbling around like a drunk, and every time he looks like he's going to fall asleep he gets up and wobbles around some more. I was trying to just keep him in my bedroom to start with, but then he just would not stop trying to get up on the windowsill, even after I had to rescue him because he almost fell off. I think I've got him contented with a sunbeam coming through the patio door now. Maybe.

And he keeps glaring at me with this eyes barely open and his nictating membrane at half mast, which is both hilarious and creepy at the same time. It's a look that promises there will be hell to pay, just as soon as there's just one of me instead of seven or eight wobbling around his field of view.

However, all of this did have a good purpose. It turns out the ear problems he's been having for years are because he has ear mites. A weird, asymptomatic case of ear mites. Because the gunk coming out of his ears doesn't look like ear mite gunk, and he's never given them to Tengu despite the fact that they're very contagious and Tengu will not leave his ears alone, yet Loki's ears are just crawling with mites. Bizarre. And the vet also said ear mites tends to be a young cat thing, and a farm cat thing, so maybe Loki got them before I picked him up (since he was born on a farm if memory serves) and has just had them ever since. Either way, I've got a treatment for him, so hopefully that means his ears will clear up and we won't have to go through this drama with him again.

Hopefully. Next time they go to the vet, it's for vaccinations, so there may be more of the good drugs in his future.

School's Out All Summer!!!!

DONE WITH GRADING DONE DONE DONE DONE DONE WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!

So, other than the grading, I had way more fun teaching this semester than I did last semester. Probably because I like sed/strat WAY more than I ever liked mineralogy. Hopefully everyone had a reasonable amount of fun with it. Though the one problem with teaching a class that I really enjoyed when I was an undergrad is that I wanted all of my students to just love it as much as I did... and of course, that's not going to happen. Some geologists are sedimentary people, some just aren't.

I'm already working to improve the assignments and materials for next semester, since no matter what I'll be teaching this lab at least once more. One of the harder things I'm trying to do is develop a grading rubric for one of the major projects, since I think that'll help me grade, and also help the students figure out exactly what I'll be expecting from them. I ended up using the rubric for grading this semester, but only as a very fuzzy guideline where I erred on the side of being nice. It seemed to work out mostly, but I've got to do some fine-tuning before next spring. Which really means doing it some time this week, before all the motivation gets sucked out of me.

One thing that's really starting to drive me nuts is just how many points get lost over students just not reading the directions, or not answering the actual question that's asked, or things like that. And I always feel just a little guilty, taking points off if something is done in pencil instead of pen, but then again, damnit, I said on multiple occasions that it needed to be done on pen.

Though I feel less guilty for deducting points for the assignment being handwritten instead of typed. My eye strain on all the terrible handwriting makes me feel much, much less charitable.

But anyway. That's pretty much done with teacher stuff for the semester. Grades have been sent off to my advisor, and all that's left is a bit of cleanup. I think I did pretty well for my first semester on this class - next spring ought to be even better!

And many thanks to Loki, who helped me in this time of great stress by laying on top of the papers and refusing to be moved.

Also, my friend David seems to have a blog now: Unintelligently Designed, which wins for its name if nothing else.

Fuzzy Kittens Are Good (III): Go Fish Edition

Loki would like to know: Got any fours?

Second Chances

You may recall that back in July, Isaac helped me get a cat out of a tree. I tried to shove the poor, frightened animal into a carrier then, and it escaped. I kept an eye out for the cat after that, and thought I might have seen it a couple of times, but it was always far too wary.

A week ago, the kids that live next door told me there was a cat, hiding under one of the cars in our parking lot. It was the same cat. It was wary, frightened, skittish, but it also wasn't running away like it had been. I went inside and grabbed a bowl of cat food. Despite the fear, despite the little kids that were trying desperately to help and in reality only getting in the way and scaring the poor thing more, it came out from under the car and started eating. And eating. One of the kids went and got it a bowl of water, and it sucked half the water down.

The cat was the same one Isaac helped me get out of the tree. It was also rail thin, with big awkward feet that would have been white if its fur weren't so filthy. After it sucked down one bowl of food, the cat let me pet it, and even managed a rusty, uncertain purr and a sad, squeaky little meow.



Mike wasn't that happy when I dragged him outside to see the cat. He's always been more pragmatic than me. I was all for dragging the little cat into our house right that instant. He pointed out that it might have FIV, or feline leukemia, or fleas, or who knows what else. But he also knew that I wouldn't be able to sleep, just leaving the little one outside. My next door neighbor was in the same situation; she has two other cats as well, and he husband wouldn't have been happy to suddenly acquire a third.

So Mike and I made a deal; we'd take the cat to the emergency vet, have it checked out, and then we could keep it overnight in the spare room so I could take it to the shelter the next day.

The cat turned out to be a she, was 6-8 months old, and got a clean bill of health other than being incredibly thin - just six pounds. We sat in the chilly exam room while the vet took the cat to the back room to the quick tests for FIV and leukemia, and I sent a text message to Evan, one of my fellow grad students. He'd mentioned that he wanted a cat. I told him that I'd found one, and the first thing he asked was, "Aw, is she cute?"



For the last week, she's been living in my spare room. I've spent time with her every morning, and when I come home, and before I go to bed. She has a purr twice as big as her body, and a meow like a rusty gate. I've been just calling her Squeaker. She's sweet and loving, but also skittish; it's not hard to imagine how hard her life must have been up until now. She loves to be petted, to lean against my leg and purr. She doesn't know quite how to play right with humans, and gets a little bitey. I'm glad that Evan decided to take her. After just a day, I don't think I could have taken her to a shelter. But I can let her go to a good home.

Evan's going to make a good dad for a skinny little cat that needs a lot of love. He decided to name her Shiraz (hopefully I spelled that right). When he loaded her into his car a couple of hours ago, she was wailing and carrying on. It's hard, not being able to explain to someone that their life is about to get better, so much better.



So tonight the cat we dragged out of a tree four months ago went to her forever home. And I'd be lying if I didn't say I'm already missing her, but the two brats are already much happier without another cat lurking behind a closed door. I'd also be lying if I didn't admit I was crying, just a little, right now. But I think I'll get to see her again soon, in her new home.

I don't think that second chances in life are all that uncommon. They happen all the time, little opportunities to correct mistakes or backtrack on bad decisions. But I also think that the second chance to save a life, even a small, humble life, doesn't come around all that often.

Fluffy Kittens Are Good (II)

Tengu would like to take this opportunity to remind you that he, too, is freakishly adorable.


Not much going on at the moment; it's been a very busy week, but not in what could be even broadly defined as an interesting way. I did have an interview with ExxonMobil earlier this week, but I'd like to hold off saying anything about that until I know if the super exciting possibility with them comes true.

So yes. Kittens.

Fluffy Kittens Are Good

Example provided:


QED, bitches¹.



1 - Post not actually about fluffy kittens. Void where prohibited.

I'm wearing my big girl writer pants now!

I'm super excited today, for a couple reasons. One is that it looks like I might have landed a little freelance writing work to supplement my income going in to grad school, so I'm all wound up and nervous about that. But even more so, I've published my first ever short story in a pro market! WOO!

So pretty please, go to Beneath Ceaseless Skies and check out my story, The Book of Autumn. Go now. It's okay, I'll wait.

If you liked it (and I hope you did!) please consider supporting Beneath Ceaseless Skies, since the editor (Scott) is an incredible human being who gives sad little newbs like me a chance. Actually, please consider supporting BCS even if you think my story was total crap and you're now about to flounce off in a huff. Because then Scott could presumably use the funds to find stories less lame than mine. So either way, we all win, right?

I've been pretty much exploding into random bouts of joyful squealing since I signed the contract for the story at the end of June. I just didn't talk about it all that much (on the internets at least) because I wasn't entirely sure when it would be published. And the last time I sold a story, which was to a token payment market, I ran around and told the world how gleeful I was, and then everybody wanted to know when my story would be published so they could join in the celebration. And it got kind of embarrassing after a while to admit that, well, I didn't actually know, but I totally swear I wasn't hallucinating it or anything.

And this morning, as soon as I saw that it was online and all official-like, I went and bought my affiliate membership in the SFWA, because (1) it let me check off one of the smaller ticky boxes on "nerdy shit I want to accomplish before I die" and (2) I just can't resist the fun of being able to claim that John Scalzi is my professional overlord, and least kind of sort of. Though of course the real reason is that the SFWA is an incredibly important organization that hauls a lot of water for its members, and it's a good place to go if you're interested in writing science fiction and/or fantasy, and maybe some day making a career of it.

Of course, there is no such thing as perfection, particularly not in connection with something as messy as life. Just to keep me from floating off like a little glee-filled balloon, this morning Loki (the cute but stupid cat) decided to eat an enormous rubber band. So I've been following him around the house all day in anticipation of him gracing the carpet with rubber-band-filled kitty vomit. I did talk to my vet and he said for now, that's all I can really do... hope that it comes out of one end or the other and doesn't get stuck in between. So please keep your fingers crossed for me on this one. I'd really rather Loki not hoover up my new earnings with a vet bill, but what can I say. He's a helper like that.

In which I owe Isaac, big time

You may or may not know this about me, but I have a soft spot that is actually larger than my entire body for cats. And a soft spot only slightly smaller for dogs. If there is a dog or a cat looking sad or sounding pitiful, I will be there, and I will quite likely be sniffling a little bit myself. This sometimes gets me into... well, not trouble exactly. But into awkward spots.

Thankfully, my friends know this about me and put up with it. Such as when my best friend, after driving up to Denver to visit, ended up sitting with me for hours at an animal shelter on July 5th so I could hand over a little lost dog that I'd found.

Tonight was another example. Isaac had just dropped me off and I was fumbling for my keys when I heard a pathetic mewing. It took me a while to locate the source, which involved a sad little game of Marco Polo where I wandered around the grassy area of my complex and meowed, then listened for the kitty to meow back. Then I had to go in my house and locate a flashlight. Then I had to look around some more. I eventually found a cat a little more than halfway up one of the pine trees near my house.

Common wisdom says that if a cat gets itself up a tree, it eventually will get itself back down. Common wisdom can hang itself; I didn't think there was any way I'd be able to sleep tonight with a sad kitty crying outside my window.

So I called Isaac, because I knew he'd still be awake, and hoped he had a ladder. And, remarkable enough, he didn't tell me to go to hell, even though he'd just been sitting down to eat something. Instead, like the amazing friend he is, he tied his ladder to the roof of his car and drove over to help. I spent the wait standing under the tree with my flashlight and meowing at the cat. Quite a few people from my neighborhood passed by in that time, and they probably all thought I'd gone mental.

Getting the kitty out of the tree was a two person job. Isaac climbed up and tried to peel the cat off of the tree. Considering how small the cat was, it had an impressive, kung-fu like grip and Did Not Want To Move. He managed to get the cat wrapped up in a towel, which he then handed off to me. I tucked it under my arm like a football and carried it down the ladder.

So, Operation Rescue Cat From Tree was a success. I'm sorry to say that Operation Shove Cat Into Carrier was not, however.

It's very likely that the cat is a resident of the neighborhood. There are several people here that let their cats outside. I think that these people are all insane. My housing development is next to a highway and two extremely busy streets. We're also near an open space where there are coyotes. I tend to disagree with the practice of letting cats wander unattended outside to begin with, and here I just worry they'll end up as road pizza or a coyote snack.

But anyway, this cat didn't have a collar, so I had wanted to shove it in a carrier, hold it captive in my house, and probably take it to the vet the next day. Because it was quite the adorable little cat as well. Unfortunately the cat had other ideas and escaped. I tried to follow it, but it ran off toward the highway and I didn't want to pursue, just in case the cat thought that might be a good avenue of escape.

And Isaac still loves me, and most of his blood remained in his body even after his wrestling match with an extremely displeased cat in a tree, so I suppose it could have gone a lot worse.

With apologies to Mr. Shakespeare

Is this a kitten I see before me
His belly toward my hand? Come, let me pet thee.
I touch thee not, yet long to still
Art thou not, adorable vision, purring
To invite my hand? Or art thou but
A kitten of the mind, a belly trap
Proceeding from the cute-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet, in form as palpable
As the cat which once I touched.
Mine eyes are made the fools of the other senses,
Or else I await a shredding; I see thee still
And on thy claws and my arm gouts of blood,
Which was not so before.
I touch and it is done; the purr invites me
Hear it not, be wary; for it is a spell
That summons thee to heaven or to hell.

Return of DeathCat

Doctor casts new light on cat that can predict death. Oy.

For the most part, it sounds like the doctor is trying to focus on the comfort that the cat can provide terminal patients. Which is good. I'm a big believer in the wonders of a fluffy, purring, shredding machine. But this?

When Oscar was about six months old the staff noticed that he would curl up to sleep with patients who were about to die.

So far he has accurately predicted about 50 deaths.

Sigh. I'd really like to know just what they mean by "accurately." Does the cat only hang out with people who are about to kick the bucket? Does everyone he sleeps near die within a certain amount of time? Cats sleep an awful lot... I realize he's at a nursing home and all, but are patients dropping like flies there? Or does he just sleep by himself until it's time for someone to kick the bucket?

I realize that it's just a fluff article with a cute picture of the DeathCat, but still.

"I don't think Oscar is that unique, but he is in a unique environment. Animals are remarkable in their ability to see things we don't, be it the dog that sniffs out cancer or the fish that predicts earthquakes. Animals know when they are needed."

Fish predict earthquakes? I actually googled this. And found another fluff article about Oscar, the earthquake-predicting fish.

By the way, an okay summation of the "animals predicting earthquakes" thing can be found here, courtesy of National Geographic. That Rupert Sheldrake is an advocate of this idea makes me a little suspicious to begin with.¹

A reproducible connection between animal behavior and earthquakes could be made, he said, but "as the Chinese have discovered, not all earthquakes cause unusual animal behavior while others do. Only through research could we find out why there might be such differences."

So... animals can predict some earthquakes but not others? Now, I confess, I am no expert on earthquakes, so I could very well be wrong. But at its most basic, an earthquake is an earthquake is an earthquake. Either you've got seismic waves of some magnitude or you don't. Maybe you could argue that large earthquakes with a lot of foreshocks might be in a different category, but that's also the sort of thing you can observe with seismographs - and sadly, lots of little earthquakes aren't necessarily a predictor of a big one, or we'd be able to predict big earthquakes ourselves and wouldn't be worrying about what the animals think.

Honestly, I'd be willing to buy the idea of animals reacting to foreshocks if there were a decent explanation for it that's backed up with actual evidence or at the least a plausible mechanism. Animals interact with and observe the environment differently than us, so I can certainly believe that they can notice things that we don't and react to them. But when we're talking a situation where one time, dogs howled, an another time, a bunch of hibernating snakes woke up, and this other time the cattle were restless, the inconsistency really doesn't help the case. It just ends up sounding like a lot of confirmation bias to me, kind of like Oscar the DeathCat.

My new hypothesis is that animals named Oscar are psychic. My sample size of two confirms it.




1 - Yes, this is technically me committing a genetic fallacy, but darnit, people. I'm a writer, not a philosopher.

Cats are manipulative little brats.

But we already knew this.

Cats 'exploit' humans by purring; apparently there is a particular sort of purr - or tone that can be put in a purr - that motivates humans to get moving and fill the food bowl because it's just that annoying. It's plausible, considering the "soliciting purr" does have similarities in frequency to a baby crying... and anyone that's heard a baby cry knows that it's one of the most annoying sounds in the world, and we're just biologically programmed to do whatever it takes to make the awful noise stop. From the paper itself:

Embedded within the naturally low-pitched purr, we found a high frequency voiced component, reminiscent of a cry or meow, that was crucial in determining urgency and pleasantness ratings.

Now that is interesting. It's even more interesting that it may well be a learned behavior, though that makes sense as well. Cats are quick to learn anything if it means they'll get food or a treat. Meow in mom's ear in the morning? Gets your thrown off the bed. Purr in the world's most annoying fashion? Normally mom's fair enough that a purr won't make her mad.

I actually don't think I've got personal experience with this "soliciting purr," probably because I've got both my boys on a gravity feeder. Which would explain why they're both chubbing up. In the future I may have to switch to rationing their food, so we'll see if I get to hear the annoying uber-purr then. As things stand right now, when my bad kitty (Loki) wants me to get up, he does it by throwing things off the shelves, on to the floor. Or licking my eyelids. (I'm not making it up.) I think a manipulative purr would definitely be preferable.