Adopted by the Cat

Tags

adoptee, adoption, Anticipation, Cats, Comfort, Dealing with Adoption, Hiking, Injury, Patience, Purring, recovery, Rescue

Cats make the best nurses. -Author Peggy vanHulsteyn

Cats create purr vibrations within a range of 20-140 Hz, known to be medically therapeutic.

A cat purring on your lap is more healing as the vibrations you are receiving are of our love and contentment. – St. Francis of Assisi

If you put a cat and a bunch of broken bones in the same room, the bones will heal.
-Old Veterinary Adage

*******************************************************************

Mr. Charlie Chapman,
Cat Practitioner

I’ve always loved Autumn in Santa Fe, New Mexico-my hometown since 1967. In the past I’ve hiked my way through October, November, and early December, enjoying the crisp air, golden aspen leaves, the first snowfalls. It was a time full of anticipation, as I looked forward to skiing and snowshoeing. Not this year, however. Today marks two months since a serious hiking accident that twisted and sprained the muscles of my torso and resulted in a lumbar vertebra stress fracture-> https://tinyurl.com/yb2ruz3k Since then, I’ve been consumed with recovery.
During this long, lonely recuperation process, a surprising hero has come to the rescue: Charlie Chapman, who’s promoted himself from ordinary house cat to NURSE CHAPMAN. Ever since I came home from the ER, broken in body and spirit, he’s been by my side. He’s watched as I’ve gone from barely being able to walk from room to room in the house, to leaving on short walks around the neighborhood. He’s witnessed my exhaustion at performing the simplest tasks. If I have to flop on the bed to rest, he naps next to me. His purrs often lull me to sleep. He cuddles on the side of me that’s currently suffering most. It’s as if he’s trying to inject cat love into my aching torso. He’s on duty all day, all night, week after week, month after month.

The doctor prescribed rest. Here! Follow my example.

The Neurologist predicted that it would take three months for my injury to heal, and in the meantime I’m trying everything to relieve the relentless pain: physical therapy, water workouts, Reiki, acupuncture, various medications and salves. They help temporarily but don’t seem to speed healing. What IS helping? My cat!
A couple weeks ago, I took “Nurse Chapman” to Cedarwood Animal Clinic for an ongoing gastrointestinal problem. The vet sent a stool specimen to the lab to see if there was an infection. Nothing showed up. Finally, it was concluded that kitty’s diarrhea was due to stress. I realized that by not getting better myself, I was upsetting HIM! At that point, I decided to act as though I were better, to do an extreme attitude adjustment. It was bad enough that I was under the weather. I didn’t want to make my cat ill as well. So far, it seems to be working. Chapman’s problem has cleared up; I can only hope that my vertebra is mending. The lumbar stress fracture one of those things that can and probably will knit back together. Hopefully, both Chapman and I will be well by the end of next month. Then he can go back to his role as adored house cat, not a nurse on duty 23/7, and I can go back to longer walks and HIKING.
That would be the PURR-fect Christmas present for us both!

****

Join Elaine on alternate Mondays for reflections on the world as seen through adoption colored glasses.

 

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Poetry Monday

Tags

adoptee, Cats, escapism, Fiction, IRS, libraries, moths, nonfiction, Reading as therapy

A Series of Unfortunate Events

~Lemony Snickett: Book series for children

First it was a cat bite (yes, my own beloved Mr. Chapman when I was trying to keep

Even the best of friends, when engaged in a fight, becomes a wild beast.

him from getting into a fight with Fred, the neighbor’s cat…don’t ask; it was a stupid mistake)…

Then it was a letter from the IRS saying I owed more money (I didn’t but the snarky missive sounded ominous and I had to take it to my CPA for clarification and a final sigh of relief)…

The last straw was a massive invasion by tiny closet moths. Those pests had laid eggs in every one of my 15 Persian area rugs and even gnawed away at wall-to-wall carpeting. (I had the rugs removed, washed and moth proofed and the wall-to-wall steam cleaned; Every closet was treated for moths; I got rid of half of my wardrobe…a massive purging.) Exhausting and expensive but a war I was determined to win.

Thus today’s poetry offering, one which reflects the way I’m feeling and also expresses love for my favorite go-to activity when life becomes too much. READING READING and more READING!

PLEASE BURY ME IN THE LIBRARY

Lately I’ve found myself reading a wide variety of fiction and nonfiction works, often from my own at-home bookshelves

by J. Patrick Lewis:

Please Bury Me in the Library
Please bury me in the library
In the clean, well-lighted stacks
Of Novels, History, Poetry,
Right next to the Paperbacks,
Where the Kids’ Books dance
With True Romance
And the Dictionary dozes.
Please bury me in the library
With a dozen long-stemmed proses.
Way back by a rack of Magazines,
I won’t be sad too often,
If they bury me in the library
With Bookworms in my coffin.

Are You a Book Person?
A good book is a kind
Of person with a mind
Of her own,
Who lives alone,
Standing on a shelf
By herself.
She has a spine,
A heart, a soul,
And a goal —
To capture, to amuse,
To light a fire
(You’re the fuse),
Or else, joyfully,
Just to be.
From Beginning
To end,
Need a friend?

*******

Have you ever felt like escaping a slew of troubles through binge reading? Have you found comfort in a library? Please share your own favorite “reading escape routes.” And while you’re at it, sign up for my reflections on adoption and life— published every other Monday.

The Goodbye Baby gives an insider view of growing up adopted.

Adopting Hope in the Face of Mortality

Tags

appreciation, Attitude, Books, Cats, Friendship, Guest Posting, Hope, Mortality, Parkinson's Disease, Spontaneity, writing

Note from Elaine: Today’s guest blogger, Peggy van Hulsteyn is one of my most successful writer friends.  For the last 15 years, she has been battling  Parkinson’s Disease, and yet
she continues to write charming books and contribute inspiring pieces to the Michael J. Fox Foundation website. I hope you, Dear Reader, will find her essay as uplifting as I do.

WHEN YOUR MORTALITY CALLS, DON’T HANG  UP

-Peggy van Hulsteyn

The first time my Mortality called, I refused to answer. When the old Crone rang me up again, I told her to buzz off; she had the wrong number.

The third time she called she did away with the niceties.  Her message was brutally clear: “You have Parkinson’s disease.”

Who was this obnoxious Nosey Parker? Had she just escaped from the home for the bewildered? Could it be Yvonne, my former agent, taunting me while she imbibed the tawny Port wine favored by the Royal Braganza family of Portugal?

When I thought about it in retrospect, the mix-up was obvious. When you have a name like Peggy van Hulsteyn, people are always confusing you with the multitude of other females of the same name.

I responded: “There’s been a mistake. I know nothing about a disease called Parkinson’s. Leave me alone or I’ll report you to the local authorities!” (I had no idea what that meant, but it sounded menacing.)

So, did she politely beg off? Are you kidding? Instead, she put me on speed dial.
But I couldn’t ignore the scary seeds she had planted in my mind. Surreptitiously,  I visited three neurologists, assuming that they would tell me to ignore this hoax.

The most disconcerting thing is that the old biddy turned out to be right. I did indeed have PD! Was she one of Santa Fe’s many clairvoyants? Is it possible I had misjudged this situation?

After months of her nagging, I had an epiphany.  Ms Mortality was not the enemy, but actually a friend! Her diagnosis of Parkinson’s was a wake-up call telling me it was later than I thought. She spoke the Truth and was an unexpected cheer leader, not a naysayer. Her mantra of  “Don’t postpone joy” resonated down to my core.

I was the worst type of convert once I joined  her “Time is Short” band wagon. I am continually challenging my fellow baby boomers to plunge head first into the carpe diem pool.

I am happy to report that I am taking my own advice. I had always wanted to
have a Nancy Drew party, but felt I was too old. When I got PD, I thought “Who cares?”  So last week my favorite chums donned their best frocks and we all played girl detective while enjoying a delicious ‘50s style dinner from The Nancy Drew Cookbook. It was my best party ever.
More from the “Time is Short” list:

Don’t leap into the future; treat the present as a present.

Don’t wait for Christmas to give presents.
I bestow gifts all year round, but during the holidays I am pro-active and
work for the cure. There are many excellent PD research groups.  I have an affinity for the Michael J Fox Foundation, as Michael is short and funny, and so am I.
Be discreet about accepting invitations.  Use the word NO frequently.  Spend your time doing what you love.
I savor writing, quality time with my witty husband, having quiet lunches with dear friends. Easy traveling. Books.
Remember that little things mean a lot.
A couple of decades ago, my husband and I rescued two tiny kittens who had been dumped by the side of the road the day after Xmas.  I hadn’t planned to keep them.  But I did, and wrote three of my favorite books about them! Never has there been so much love and devotion in such small packages; for 18 years they were devoted friends who purred us through the ups and downs.
Maintain  your creativity.
On those days when it is hard to get out of bed, DON’T!!  Instead, picture  yourself as Colette who did most of her writing in bed. Whether you’re penning Gigi or writing Xmas cards, turn the experience on its head. Instead of feeling sorry for yourself,  think of your day in bed as a step toward more originality.
Carpe Diem – Seize the Day!
Don’t dwell on the past and how wonderful you were – you are still spectacular!  Don’t leap into the future; treat the present as a present. It’s a call to cultivate your garden, gather your roses and your friends, hug your cat, turn off the TV and turn on Vivaldi, write a poem, learn French, read Auntie Mame, and embrace its message to “live, live, live.”

BIOGRAPHY OF THE AUTHOR

Peggy van Hulsteyn, the author of ten books,  has written for  Yoga Journal (American and Chinese version), The Washington Post, The Los Angeles Times, USA Today and six international editions of Cosmopolitan. Her most recent book, THE KITTEN INVASION, is a romp that reviewers call “wonderfully witty  and original.”
.  For more information,www. pdhatlady.com

A Farewell to Thomas Cromwell

Tags

Cats, feline companion, loss, mourning, pet adoption, unconditional love

“Cats leave paw prints in our hearts” -Anonymous

The little orange fellow who saw me through recovery from major surgery one year ago, my feline best friend, my constant domestic companion—Thomas Cromwell— left prints that will last as long as I have breath.

My literary cat enjoyed reading with me

Being an adoptee myself, I have a soft spot for orphaned cats and dogs. The universe seems to abound with pets who’ve been abandoned or who have never had a home. Thomas was six years old when my friend Barb found him living in a bookstore, temporarily taken in by the kind-hearted owners. However, the bookstore folks did not intend to keep him. They were hoping for a “forever home.” The large, muscular orange tabby been living on the streets and needed veterinarian’s care.

When I first met him, this cat’s name was Eric. At our bookstore meeting, he pounced on my lap and began purring loudly, love at first purr. My former orange kitty Norman had died at age 12 a year earlier, and I’d been cat-less for far too long. “Yes,” I said, and went through the local Felines and Friends organization to adopt this orphan. After I took him home, he seemed very content, grateful in the way that foundling pets often are. At the time, I was deeply immersed in reading HIlary Mantel’s Wolf Hall. No longer would he be “Eric.” My new cat’s charm, craftiness and intelligence led me to name him “Thomas Cromwell,” after the protagonist of Mantel’s historical novel.

My former orange kitty, Norman, was a tough act to follow, but Thomas was a natural. He needed dental work and unblocking of his kidneys, all of which I took care of. We shared many companionable hours during the few years I had him. Nothing was more cosy than “Tommaso” on my lap during a winter’s evening. When I was recovering from aortic aneurism repair last June, he literally nursed me back to health. He loved visitors and befriended anyone who came to my house. Even people who didn’t like cats seemed to like Thomas.

Thomas spent his final hours napping in the garden

Very suddenly, however, he quit eating, had to be coaxed to drink, and hardly moved at all. I called the vet’s office to say I was bringing him in on a standby basis. The vets had been out for three days for Memorial weekend. Tuesday morning arrived at last but my kitty didn’t make it through the night. At three in the morning I found Thomas Cromwell on the carpet, collapsed on his side and not breathing. It was three in the morning.

At the first light of day, as I wept, I wrapped Thomas in a small fleecy blanket, placed him in a box, and bury him in the back yard. He will be near the graves of others who’ve left paw prints in my heart.
May he rest in peace.

Gone but always remembered