What? I have a blog?

Oh, hi there.

Greetings from my dining room table, strewn with books, Letters in the Mail, drafts of short stories, and who knows what else. This is where I sit every morning and evening. To write.

On paper.
Or in a doc.

And to check the face book and to catch up on email and to follow the book world via Twitter, and sometimes to submit to lit mags.

And I frequently have a cat in my lap.

xoxo

Cat FAQs 2

Q: Are cats social animals or solitary?

A: Cats are social; they enjoy having people or other animals around to play with/groom/hang with. If they're by themselves or ignored most of the time, they'll start exhibiting the anti-social behavior with which cats have been unjustly stereotyped.

That said, like anybody who grew up in a big family knows, sometimes you just need a moment.

Follow-up Q: Is that the bag from the first FAQ?

A: Yes. Observe the gangsta necklace in the upper-right corner.

Cat FAQs

Q: Why are cats flexible?

A: So they can sleep like this...

...and so that later, when they're playing in a paper shopping bag and get their head through one of the handles and start running like a maniac around the house thinking a loud crinkly blue monster is chasing them, they won't kill themselves when they finally run between the piano bench legs and detach themselves from the bag while keeping the handle around their neck like a piece of gangsta jewelry.

what's his name...

I think, once you open yourself to helping those in need, you find more opportunities come your way to do so.

We got a call Saturday night from a friend who said he'd found a kitten in his car engine, and after a three-day ordeal had finally gotten him out of the engine and into a crate, and would we be willing to help him? Technically, we were at our limit of two foster cats already. But this one felt right. Our friend is allergic and has four small children, and this kitten would need some time, attention, and effort to get him healthy.

Once we got him home, we put him in the "new kitty" room and thanks to the wonderful people at NCHumaneSociety, we got rid of the fleas feasting on his little body and have an appointment to get him caught up on shots and neutered. He's only about 8 or 9 weeks old.

Look at that face! 

This was shortly after his bath. He's so tiny! 

Here's where we need your help. We're trying to finalize a name for him. His whiskers are singed and one of his paw pads is blistered from the hot metal he was surrounded by in the engine. So we were thinking a name having to do with heat or a car would be cute...Blaze (Blaise?), or Singe, or Honda (haha)... And for some reason the name Max came to me. He's mini, but he's a max survivor—a little wild thing (he's sweet but he lived like a wild thing for a bit), like Max, the king of the Wild Things.

In your comment, suggest your favorite name for this little guy. Pick from one of the above, or come up with a new one! Thanks!

Consider yourself, one of the family...

Introducing Oliver. The newest foster to chase string around here. Last Sunday, a friend I work with saw someone pull into their neighborhood's clubhouse parking lot, set him out of the car, and drive off. She called me that afternoon to ask if I knew anyone who was looking for a cat. They took him in, bought him litter and kitten food (he's probably around 3 months old) and gave him a safe home for a few days, but they couldn't keep him.

Talk about perfect timing...

I should have written about it, but I think I was trying to hide what a softy I am: about a month ago our foster cat Sally found a new home. She's doing very well, but the first couple days without her were rough for me. I kept expecting to see her in the window or jumping up on the bed with me or running out in front of me with that "chase me" look on her face. She was one of the best cats I'd ever had, and it was tough to give her to her forever home, as much as I love where she is now. We had her for over a year. Same with Carson. He's about to join his forever home, too. He picked our cable technician, Bobby. Both times Bobby's visited, Carson couldn't leave his side.

All that to say, we have space for a new foster and then my coworker finds this little lion.

So I picked him up yesterday after work. When I get to their house, my friend's husband hands me the cat and as I'm holding him and looking at him, the name Oliver comes to me. Oliver Twist was homeless, kind of, but I think I thought of the name because of this movie I loved when I was 5.



The whole 35-minute car ride home, he rides on my lap, yowling from time to time. His last car ride didn't end so well... Once home he gets to stay in the "quarantine" room for the first week to make sure he's not sick (he looks really healthy though). And to give the other cats time to get used to his smell before they meet face to face.

I think he wore himself out

This guy's going to get adopted fast! He's young, extremely well-behaved and affectionate, and darn cute. As hard as it is fostering cats, I couldn't quit. Not with cats like Oliver who need homes.

order of business...

...upon returning home after a week away. These are my priorities:

dispose of furballs (both the shed and the regurgitated kinds),

feed them the treats they've been without for a week,

have some quality hang out time,

play time,

 

and finally,
staring out the window time.

It's good to be home.

And the real work begins

I officially have my MFA in creative writing, but when people ask me how it feels to be a graduate I can only stammer something like "pretty much the same as when I was a student."

I'm back to work and back to trying to find a daily writing routine, or asking myself if I even need a routine. I don't fancy the idea of routine... but is that just my laziness? Is it my personality? Would I thrive under self-imposed routine? Or dry up?

Sitting at my desk this morning, catching up on writerly to-dos like figuring out which literary journals and magazines to subscribe to. (Glimmer Train, Tin House, or Ploughshares? Poets & Writers or The Writer? AWP or Writers Digest?) I've got to check the local library to see which ones they get.

I've been gone for 10 days and my cats are especially affectionate. Despite the show they put on of being aloof and un-needy.

I have homework from my wonderful advisor A.J., who apparently isn't done with me yet. I'm not complaining! And my list of books to read now includes The Accidental Tourist and Train Dreams, per her recommendations.

And I want to set tangible goals: like reading x number of books per month, writing x number of new stories, submitting x stories to x journals. Anyone else working on submissions, I recommend registering on Duotrope.com. They have a lively resource of journals and markets, well categorized, and make tracking deadlines and themed issues a breeze.

So there's where my mind is--a flurry of ideas and questions, trying to figure out life post-MFA.

Fostering

I've written about our foster cats before, but I've never explained why we started fostering, and I never got to write about Robin before he got adopted.

Last October, on our magnificent two-week tour of Utah's national parks, we stopped for a day in Kanab, UT, home of Best Friends Animal Society, where the show DogTown was filmed (it aired a couple seasons on the National Geographic channel).

We spent the afternoon hanging out with the cats, specifically the FIV and special health needs cats. The idea  is, all of these cats are adoptable--friendly, affectionate, will live long happy lives--but in many eyes, they're damaged goods, unlovable. So the sanctuary takes them in and provides them with a great environment until somebody comes along or visits the website and adopts them.

Sometimes all a cat needs is for someone to just sit with him or her, so on their terms they can approach you and feel safe enough to receive affection. Some of these cats aren't shy at all about giving and receiving affection.

Anyway, we loved the idea of saving perfectly adoptable pets from being euthanized in overcrowded shelters, so when we came home we hooked up with our local Humane Society as cat fosters. This means we choose to rescue up to two cats at a time from the county animal control shelter and keep them in our home. We get to know their personalities, introduce them to our three other cats, and eventually take them to PetSmart on Sundays for adoption days.

First we fostered Art/Dodge. Rather than moving to the sanctuary in Florida as I wrote earlier, he found employment as a barn cat for a woman who works with the local Humane Society. He's got a nice cushy barn, ever-plenty food, and lots of nooks and crannies to play in.

Next we got Carson. He's a big hunk o' love if I ever met one. We have conversations about everything from his litterbox to what I should wear that day, and he loves to sit at my feet or be cuddled. His favorite pastime is to lick our cat Dawson's ears. We say they have a bromance going on; and on top of that, I'm a little smitten with him. He's going to be hard to give up.

Then we got Robin. He chirps when he purrs and loves to play with anything that moves, including, when we introduced him to the other cats, Carson. At first he was shy with Carson, but before long he was treating him like a jungle gym. He weighs probably a third of what Carson weighs, but when he pounced on Carson, the big teddy bear would yowl and run off as fast as he could. On my very first day taking any of our cats to PetSmart, within a half-hour of arriving and getting Robin in his display crate, a young couple came in looking for a playmate for their young female cat. Someone pointed them to Robin, and they fell in love. It was hard to see him go, and I had been dreading that moment. On the way to PetSmart, I had called Andrew, crying, wondering if he'd be OK not getting to say goodbye if Robin got adopted. Andrew's not as dramatic as I am--he's fine. But as for me, once I met the couple and saw how they handled him, I knew Robin had found a good home.

To replace Robin, a week ago we rescued Sally, a tiny one-year-old girl who mixes up her play and her affection. She loves to be loved on, but all of a sudden she'll flop on her side and try to wrestle your hand. We're teaching her appropriate boundaries. Play with toys, Sally. Hands are not toys. But her face just screams cuteness, and she loves to "make biscuits" with her paws. I'm sure she'll get adopted fast, too.

The Life of Cat Foster Parents: Carson

Meet Carson. We did not name him. 

We've had him for three weeks, and he is the perfect cat. Part British shorthair, part tabby. I love our three cats, but Carson has their best qualities combined. He's not shy, likes to spend quality time with you, likes to be held, likes to sit on laps, but not for very long. He's not needy. Just a buddy. And he likes to ask questions. "Brrrrr-oww?" His left ear is lopsided, apparently healed up crooked from an accident in his pre-rescue life. But that only adds to his sweet-tempered charm. He also likes to play with water, as taught by his new friend Dawson. I even caught him in the toilet the other day. He thinks he's a dog.



What you see here is, I am well aware, a waste of water. We don't do it often. This was a special bonding moment with Dawson. All the chirping and talking you hear is Carson. The two of them wrestle and follow each other around all day--we think they have a bromance going on. I wonder what Dawson will think when Carson finds his new home. I might cry a little.

The Life of Cat Foster Parents: Art/Dodge

Last December, just before Christmas, Andrew and I became "foster" people to a little gray kitty named Art. He'd been through a house fire, and firefighters cleaning up afterward found him--the sole survivor out of more than 20 cats in this one home. He'd been raised in a hoarding environment. Because of the trauma, he was understandably skittish. But another Humane Society volunteer decided to save him from death in an animal control shelter. Unfortunately, his new foster home went through some upheavals, and the family couldn't keep fosters anymore. He was shuttled to a temporary foster home, then when we signed up for fostering, noting we were open to helping any and all types of cats, he was the first cat we got.

We welcomed Art with all our love and patience. Except for his name. We know a guy named Art; it just didn't seem right to call this shy little kitten with great big green eyes "Art." The name Artful Dodger came to me, straight from Oliver Twist. This little guy dodged a house fire, and come to find out, he likes to filch pens or paperclips if you set them on the floor next to you. We call him "Dodge" for short.

Andrew and I hung out in the guest bedroom with Dodge almost every night for four weeks. We wanted him to get used to our house, and get used to us, before we introduced him to our three other cats. At first he threatened to swat when we held our hands for him to sniff, but he progressed to sniffing our hands and backing away slowly. If I touched him when his head was turned, he'd dart away. He does not like human touch. This has never changed the whole time we've had him. We never let him out of the guest bedroom, afraid we'd never be able to corral him to move him or take him to PetSmart for adoptions. And people typically don't adopt cats they can't even pet, let alone cats who run away from them.

Twice he bit me hard enough to draw bright pearls of blood. The first time was when I picked him up from the temporary foster home. I naively decided to let him out of the cage on our car ride home. Our cat Molly loves car rides. But Dodge crawled under my seat and huddled on the floorboard in the back of my two-door Ford Escort. When I reached around to get him out and back in his cage, he felt threatened--he was cornered--and bit my hand just below my right thumb. I adjusted my tactic and eventually got him by the scruff of the neck and placed him into the carrier.

The second time was last week. I thought I'd try picking him up by the scruff of the neck again. Cats go limp when they're carried this way. It's an instinct they have from the time they're kittens and their mom transports them to new nesting places. I chased him in circles around his little guest room. I probably should have given up earlier, but I'm stubborn. Finally, I cornered him on top of the dresser and grabbed the scruff of his neck. It didn't work. He flailed around and bit my left hand, just below the thumb. I also got some nasty scratches from that attempt.

"You haz string on that camra"

I don't blame Dodge. Cats need to be imprinted with positive human touch from the time they're born until they're a couple months old. If they don't receive this imprint, they won't learn to be affectionate, trusting cats. Dodge was traumatized, shy, and basically feral from growing up in the hoarding situation and then surviving a fire. When I emailed one of the volunteer coordinators at the Humane Society, she found a sanctuary in Florida (http://caboodleranch.com/Index.html) that will take Dodge and let him live out his days with other cats and plenty of food, water, beds, and string to play with. We told him yesterday evening that he will get to retire early to Florida. He seems happy.

I'll miss his antics. I'll never forget the first time I dangled a shoestring in front of him and he came out of his hiding place to play with me. If he followed the string up and saw my hand, his eyes got big and he shrunk back a little. But as soon as I twitched the string again, he forgot about the hand and kept on playing. Tonight, we hand him off again, and he'll be on his way to FLA. I hope he can finally thrive there.

At the same time, we'll be getting a brand new foster kitty. More about that later...

Meanwhile, enjoy this cute video of Dodge flirting with us.