Failure, Then and Now

So, I went to the hospital yesterday for my monthly bloodletting. I filled out the questionnaire as usual and Bill the Phlebotomist took my vitals, as usual. It's been cold the last few days (relatively speaking, for around here) so I opted for both the heating pad and a blanket and hopped up onto the couch.

Normally, there's just a slight "pinch" associated with the needle insertion and maybe a couple seconds' "burn" from the alcohol used to sterilize the site. This time, although not terribly intense, the pinch and burn went deep and stayed. Nurse Karen, the regular, in-charge person, noticed me wincing and tried adjusting the needle which didn't help. She said, "Breathe in," which I did. I started chanting, "Breathe in, scream out," which got a laugh from both of them. It's much more amusing when you're the one standing up.

After a couple of minutes Nurse Karen said, "That's it. We're done here," and pulled the needle out.

• CSB: Many years ago, when I was in college, the Red Cross came by for a blood drive. They set up a dozen or so gurneys in the dining hall and had a pretty good turn out. When my turn came I lay on my table, and they poked my right arm, hanging the bag below gurney height, I suspect both for the gravity assist and to keep donors from seeing their blood draining out. This was back when I was still giving whole blood and the entire donation process should have only taken 15-20 minutes. (This was also long before HIV/AIDS and a whole bunch of other disqualifiers and the questionnaire was mostly height, weight, blood type and did-you-eat-recently.) After a half hour, though, I was starting to get bored and I noticed that several people who had come in after me were already up and enjoying their juice and cookies. After several more minutes, a Red Cross doctor wandered by and examined the receiving pouch which was only a quarter full. A couple of minutes later he returned, looked at it again and said, "Huh. Your vein has collapsed. It's not drawing." He then proceeded to pull the needle out of my right arm, walk the entire apparatus around to the other side of the gurney and stick it into my left arm. It was a different world back then. There was no question of him not making his quota for the day and I ended up the only student on campus with bandages on both arms.

Anyway, Nurse Karen apologized, said she'd inserted "too high," whatever that means, and that, in addition to any pain, this attempt just wasn't drawing properly anyway. Now, given my history, above, and since I know where that needle has been (I mean, it was sterile before the first attempt, right?) I'm perfectly O.K. with trying to find another spot but, nowadays, that's against the rules and Nurse Karen trashed the lot which included a massive amount of tubing since with platelets the blood has to be drawn, channeled, centrifuged, separated, redirected and returned.

They offered me cookies and a T-shirt but, really, I was only there for a half hour and only five minutes of that was on the couch.

We're going to try again on Tuesday.

Bartleby, the Maladjusted

I'm not sure if Bartleby is coping well with having other cats around quite yet. She's taken to living out of a suitcase. Literally.

Whenever I slide open the lanai door to feed the little mama, she charges inside as is her wont, and  . . . usually . . . charges right back out again (since that is where I and the food now are) but, now and then, she'll just continue on in to Bartleby's plate and try to eat off of that. It's to the point where I'll move Bartleby's dish  up onto the roll top desk if there's any food in it before I even open the lanai door. Bartleby, needless to say is not pleased by this rudeness but her response is to run and hide.

Specifically, she runs into my brother's room, into his walk-in closet and into a sort of stiff-sided red duffel bag thing she found in there. The past two weeks she has spent almost all her time in the bag, as it were, coming out only to eat and use her litter box. The rest of the time she spends curled up in her suitcase in the dark.  I've only been able to trick her into going outdoors once (same results my brother got) and then she wanted to come right back in again, standing up, pounding on the door and whining until I told her she had to stay out for at least an hour. (It was a short hour. It started to rain after 45 minutes, and I relented.) She'll sit before her water dish, facing the wall, head down and just stare at the wall for uncomfortable lengths of time.

When she does go outside, she'll stop to lick one of the small gray stone urns by the front door or sit in it pretending to be a flower.

Can cats get depressed?

On another note, depressing to the human inhabitants of our house: I spotted another cat skulking about the yard, brownish with subtle tiger striping. Could be the father. Could just be another mooch got the word.

On still another note: The kittens' eyes are open and they're bumbling their way around their box climbing all over each other and up the walls. Neighbor Dan brought over a larger box. He thinks they're three girls and a boy. Neighbor Dan's daughters are counting the days until they can take the kittens home. So am I.

Dunk City

They've adopted a new nickname across the river.

One version has it the name was coined by an airline gate attendant announcing a flight here after the first round game of the NCAA Mens' Tournament when 15th ranked Florida Gulf Coast University Eagles beat 2nd ranked Georgetown, only the seventh team to ever beat a number two. Whatever the truth, people here like it and have adopted it.

The university is small and new and generally unknown outside of the immediate area and the students are noted for wearing the colors and logos of any number of other better known and regarded schools. At least, that was the case.

Yesterday, after their second upset against San Diego State made them the first 15th seed to ever make it to the Sweet Sixteen, the team came home to a blowout party. This may be a case where the team's victory actually does benefit the school and community.

They even have their own rap video now.

Slow News Day

Literally. Not just a slow news day, the very definition of Slow News Day.

OMG!! Ducks in the water! Including interviews with witnesses who actually saw ducks in the water! The poor sap assigned to this "story" stayed on scene and was reporting updates right until they went off the air.

My apologies for not being able to embed the video directly.

(And, yes, those are the Nina and Pinta in the background, docked here on their way up the coast.)

Fickle Felines

So, Neighbor Dan came over yesterday evening and asked if we had seen a little gray cat around recently since it had been coming around to his house and his daughters had been feeding it (in the garage since Mrs. Neighbor Dan is allergic) but it seemed to have disappeared.

I told him, yes, indeed, we were well aware of said cat, that she was apparently a double-dipping mooch for dining at his place since she had been living in and out of our lanai for a month already where she was fed at least twice a day but if he was interested he could come in and see the kittens whereupon he immediately called his daughters to come over. Which they did.

Little Gray Mama was very tolerant of everyone handling and picking up her babies (but, then, she is already quite familiar with everyone present, having already put the touch on both households) and the girls began the process of wearing dad down to allow them to have the kittens as soon as they are available. Neighbor Dan didn't put up much resistance but Mrs. Neighbor Dan will be the wild card in this negotiation and is still, to my knowledge, unaware of the proceedings.

Neighbor Dan also said he knew someone associated in some way with county animal control who might be willing and able to perform the necessary sexing/desexing of all involved (including Bartleby. Guilt-by-association.) for a nominal fee which would be a good thing since six operations is beyond the scope of our budget.

Speaking of Bartleby, she and Little Gray Mama have been around each other a little more recently. I was petting her in the driveway after coming home one day (and trying to park around her because why should she move?) when LGM popped up from around the car and they came nose-to-nose for a moment. And then, yesterday morning, they were both in the back yard at the same time. They seem to be tolerating each other although Bartleby will still go sulk in my brother's room if LGM comes into the house while she's eating.

Progress, I suppose.

Shades of Gray, Little Pussy Division*

There's a reason why I'm not a veterinarian. Consider:

• The little gray cat is a voracious eater, hoovering up his entire plateful of food every time we put something out for him.

• The little gray cat has been putting on weight--noticeably--so my brother and I decided to be more careful how much we were feeding him since we both have a tendency to put food out, often when the other isn't around, and we found we were feeding him maybe four/five times a day between us.

• The little gray cat has suddenly lost a lot of weight. Way too much weight, way too fast.

Conclusion: The little gray cat is not a "he." He is, in fact, a "she." Of course, we came to this conclusion only after finding the kittens. Good thing I didn't name "him," yet.

My brother found four kittens yesterday outside under a stand of bamboo in a corner where the house and garage intersect. They seem way too big and fluffy to have fit in the little gray but she was still "fat" just two days ago so they can't be any older than that. They are all variations on mom ranging from charcoal briquette to cold ash. The ash one is the strangest; it's head is dark gray (looks purple in the right light). Two of them have mom's socks on their front feet. A couple of them have ringed tails which they must have gotten from the father.

My brother transferred them all to a box with a blanket in it which he put on a couch in the lanai and half covered with a cushion. Little gray seems to be a good mom. She's in the box with them on a regular basis. And, of course, we're feeding her as much as she can eat, now.

So not only are we running a feline hobo house, we're also operating a home for wayward kitties.

And we're now outnumbered six to two. (although my brother has been showing pics of the kittens to his friends and claims we will be able to give them all away as soon as they are able to go.)

When I informed Bartleby she is now an aunt, she hissed at me.

*What, exactly, did you think this was going to be about?

De Gustibus Non Est

How is it a cat that doesn't like hot dogs, shows no interest in chicken or sausage and won't drink a saucer of milk loves marinara sauce?

Bartleby found a plate my brother left in an accessible location with remnants of his pasta dinner on it. She licked up most, but not all, of the sauce and then proceeded to sit on the plate after which she became offended when I would not let her park her tomatoey butt in my lap. She spent the rest of the evening pointedly sitting with her back to me.

Meanwhile, we've had to be careful about the amount and timing of the food we put out for the little gray cat. With the recent spell of cold weather (for here, mildly cool by most other definitions) a wandering oppossum has once again discovered the lanai. I still have my official 'possum stick from last winter and have chased it away twice but leaving food out at night is just too much temptation to expect any critter to resist. So the little guy now eats during daylight hours only.

And Tasty, Too (Once You Get Past All the Poison Sticker Thingies)

So, with all the publicity around tegu (maybe a few dozen sightings over the years) and hyperventilating about Burmese pythons (a grand total of fifty killed over 30 days by 1500 "hunters" during the Great Python Hunt) apparently we've been ignoring a much greater threat just because it's not something the average person could even imagine bumping into during their normal routine.

Behold the lionfish.

(Noticeably less than life-size)

Native to southeast Asia a concern on the Atlantic coast for over a decade, voracious omnivores and destroyers of reefs, with no natural predators in this part of the world, they have now rounded Key West and are working their way up the Gulf coast and across the Caribbean. They have short gestation periods and spawn year round.Their quills contain a toxin. As a result, Goliath groupers have been found with lionfish in their stomachs but it's not something they will eat on a regular basis.

People, fortunately, will eat just about anything. 

If the lionfish eat everything else in the water, they may be the only seafood we have left to eat.