Sunday, June 22, 2008, 19:20
Duke: Rest in Peace, My Friend
My big tom kitty cat Duke died Sunday morning at 8 a.m.
He was 17 years old on May 15.
I cannot believe how quickly he went downhill. Only a week ago, he was getting up on the table in my office by himself to eat dry kitty food and was meowing to be brushed in the evening and jumping into the bathtub to lick it out after Randy or I took a shower.
He was doing so well.
And then, all of sudden, he wasn't.
When I took him to the vet on Tuesday, he was extremely anemic. As I think about it now, I wonder if he had some internal bleeding. The vet thought he looked "full in the belly." And if that was the case, it would explain why he went downhill so fast after he was doing so well on the Procrit.
Randy and I buried him next to his sisters, Guinevere and Winifred, and his brother, Tiger Paw Thompson.
Duke was the last of my "big gray kitties." The ones that were half Maine Coon cat who came to live with me when they were two weeks old.
As I always told Duke, "Even when you were a little kitten, you were a big kitten." He was the largest of the litter, and in his prime, he weighed 20 pounds.
We placed a large rock over his grave. Randy turned the rock up in the oats field when he was working the field. We figured a big rock was appropriate for a big kitty.
I feel really washed out right now. I lost Guinevere in January, Winifred in May and now Duke in June. Three of my big gray kitties in five months. It was a month ago Saturday, on the 21st, that Winifred died.
Little Mr. Puff Ball, at least I think it's a "Mr" -- it's hard to tell because of the matted fur around his rear end -- is still not in very good shape. He might be doing a little better than he was, but he is still one very sick little kitty. He does not want to eat, and I have been giving him kitten formula, kitten formula mixed with Nutracal and canned kitty food (the AD stuff from the vet) by syringe. We are still having to run subcutaneous fluid, too, which he hates. Me, too, for that matter.
The kitten spent all day yesterday and the night before curled up in the rocking chair with Duke. The little guy was really comforted to have a big kitty to sleep with. After Duke died Sunday morning, while we were getting ready to bury Duke, the little guy kept going over and snuggling up with him.
It broke my heart to see the kitten snuggling with his dead friend.
Or I should say, it broke my heart more than it already was . . .
LeAnn R. Ralph
Saturday, June 21, 2008, 19:50
Our Shrinking World
Quite a while back, I noticed -- as I'm sure most people have -- that a five-pound bag of sugar had mysteriously turned into a four-pound bag. For the same price, or more, than the five-pound bag. In fact, lately, sugar has gotten very expensive. I've paid as much as a little over $6 for a bag of sugar.
And then, just this week, I discovered that a 40 pound bag of dog food had turned into a 35 pound bag. I also discovered that a 20-pound bag of cat food had turned into a 16-pound bag. And both were more expensive than they were a year ago. I used to get the kitty food for about $9 and now it's $13. The dog food was $26, and now it's $32.
Of course, there is no such thing as a three-pound can of coffee anymore, either. That went by the wayside a long time ago, though.
Just the other day, my brother was telling me that an 8-foot by 10-foot tarp he purchased turned out to be seven feet by nine feet. The reason he knew this to be true is that he really needed that tarp to be 8x10, and when it didn't fit over the thing he needed it to fit over, he measured it and discovered that it was missing a foot all the way around.
I'm sure there are many other things that I have not yet noticed that are smaller than they used to be.
On the other hand, some things are bigger. Serving sizes, for instance. And soft drink sizes -- big plastic bottles that are much larger than they used to be. You can get some pretty big soft drinks at the fast food places, too.
But whether items are bigger or smaller, they all have one thing in common: separating the consumer from his or her hard-earned money in quickest, easiest way possible.
Someday, though -- and I don't think it's going to be too far off -- the consumer is not going to have money to buy much of any of it. Our money will all be going into our gas tanks so we can get to work. And that's about all we will be able to afford to do. We won't be going to the grocery store because we won't be able to afford to buy groceries.
If I listen carefully, I think I can hear the far-off rumble of the crash on its way.
But here's what I predict: the economic crash will affect the bottom 3/4 of the economic scale. And the farther down people are on the scale, the worse it will be. The wealthiest will still be able to afford food and medicine and gasoline and to pay their other bills. But when they are out shopping, they will wonder why the stores and streets are so very empty. . .
(If you have noticed other items that are much smaller than they used to be but are the same price or are more expensive, send me an e-mail and I will include them in the next Rural Route 2 News on July 5-- bigpines [at] ruralroute2.com.)
Mr. Puffball and Duke
Neither Mr. Puffball, the little long-haired black kitty from the barn, or Duke are doing particularly well. I ended up taking the kitten back to the vet on Friday. He had a fever of 103 degrees and was very dehydrated. The vet switched antibiotics and gave me another antibiotic to inject, too, for four more days.
Goody. The little guy just loves getting poked. I have had one heck of a time injecting fluid subcutaneously. He is so small. And he has so much hair. It's hard to tell where his skin is. He yells and hollers and acts like I am killing him, and I am very much afraid that I am hurting him. He is is not eating, either, and I have to try to get a few drops of kitten formula down him as often as I can. I also have to keep trying to get as much subcutaneous fluid into him as I can.
As for Duke, he is weaker yet than he was a few days ago. I got some high calorie canned cat food at the vet clinic that I can mix water with and make a slurry and draw it up into a syringe and feed him by mouth that way. He mostly just lays in his rocking chair and sleeps. I suppose I would, too, if only had 8.5 percent of the red blood cells that I am supposed to have.
Friday night, poor little Mr. Puffball was restless. He can't hardly walk around because he is so weak, but he kept trying to go up to the other kitties, specifically Snowflake and Sophie, who didn't want a thing to do with him. I'm sure the poor little thing misses his mother and siblings. In fact, I *know* he does because I took him down to the barn Friday night, hoping that he would nurse his mother for a little while. He didn't, of course, but he was SO happy to see his momma and brothers and sisters. They were happy to see him, too.
When I brought him back from the barn, I put the kitten up in the rocking chair with Duke. My big tom kitty cat Duke was able to raise his head enough to look at the kitten and sniff him. The kitten curled up right next to Duke, and Duke buried his nose in the kitten's fur.
I'm glad they have each other for comfort.
I am hoping that I do not end up burying both of them together. I would prefer not to have to bury either one of them. . .
LeAnn R. Ralph