Saturday, December 08, 2007, 18:59
Eating. . .again
My friend Guinevere has not eaten anything for two weeks. Not since Thanksgiving Day. By Sunday, November 25, I would have bet money she would not make it through the night. My old silver tabby was weak and lethargic, barely able to stand on her own.
I told her that night that if she wanted to go to the Rainbow Bridge to be with her brother, Tiger Paw Thompson, I would understand. I would miss her forever. But I would understand.
The following morning, Guinevere was still with us. Weak. But still with us. And still able to go to the water dish for a drink.
All that week, every night I fully expected she would not make it through the night. But each morning, she was still with us. By the end of the week, I couldn't figure out how Guinevere was managing to hang on. She wasn't eating, although she was still drinking water.
At that point, I decided if Guinevere's will to live was that strong and she was still that strong, I ought to try to do something to help her. I started her on the antibiotics again for her sinuses and the swelling in her face. And Randy and I administered subcutaneous fluids. I could tell the fluids were helping her rest better because she was not getting up as often to go to the water dish for a drink.
I also decided I ought to start giving her some kitten formula. I've got plenty of it on hand all of the time for Katerina, Henry and Dora the Explorer. Every time, multiple times a day, I would squirt 2cc of formula into her mouth. She wasn't really crazy about the idea, but she didn't seem to mind it all that much, either.
And every day for the past two weeks, I have been putting out plates of canned kitty food for Guinevere. I mix a little water in with it so she can lick it up more easily. But of course, Guinevere has not been one bit interested in eating.
So, once again Saturday morning, I put a plate of kitty food under the table for Guinevere. She is spending most of her time sleeping on a heating pad by the heat vent. I started up the laptop and checked my e-mail. I read through a few messages, then I glanced under the table. . .
. . .and very nearly fell off my chair.
Guinevere was eating.
After two weeks of not eating a single bit of canned food, she was eating.
Randy glanced under the table and saw Guinevere was eating, too. All we could do was stare at each other in disbelief. Not daring to breathe, hardly. Not daring to move.
My old silver tabby friend finished the small plate of food. Finished it, mind you. Then she got up and went to the water dish for a drink. When she returned to her heating pad, I fixed another plate of food and put it down for her.
And once again, she started eating.
Guinevere slowly and carefully licked up all of the food from the plate. Then she got up once again and went to the water dish for a drink.
When she returned to her heating pad, yet again, I fixed another plate of food for her. And she finished that one, too.
By the time Guinevere had licked up three small saucers of canned kitty food, I figured she had better rest for a while. She hasn't eaten in two weeks, and I didn't want the food to be too much of a shock for her system.
Right now, at 1 p.m. Saturday, she is curled up on her heating pad sound asleep. When she wakes up later, I will see if she wants more canned kitty food.
All I can say is that Guinevere must be one tough kitty cat. And apparently she is not quite ready to leave just yet. So I will do what I can to help her. For as long as she wants to be here with us, I will do all that I can to help her.
LeAnn R. Ralph
Friday, December 07, 2007, 21:22
Down to the Nitty Gritty
After the five inches of snow we received on Tuesday, I got the snowblower out Wednesday morning to clear the driveways.
Our old 460 Farmall tractor needs hydraulic fluid. The loader screeches and groans when Randy lifts a bucket of snow. He says he thinks that the old disk he got from a friend was hard on the hydraulic fluid when he disked the hayfield earlier this fall. Our hayfield is going to be a Foods Resource Bank project next year, so Randy and his friend have already started working up the sod a tiny bit.
Anyway, the tractor was somewhat out of commission, so I got out the snowblower.
By the way, do you have any idea of how expensive hydraulic fluid is? The total was $27 for two gallons of the stuff. Jeepers! The tractor cannot be used without the hydraulic fluid, so it's essential to have it, no matter what it costs.
I didn't mind getting out the snowblower. Another friend of Randy's (a co-worker, actually) fixed the snowblower earlier this fall. Before this, the snowblower did not want to start very well, and it ran poorly. I dreaded getting out the snowblower the first time every season because it would take 20 or 30 or 40 or 50 pulls to get it started -- if it would start at all. Once it did start, then it would not run very well.
The snowblower now usually starts on the first pull, but if not the first, then on the second pull. It has never run this well. Not even when it was brand new!
Unfortunately, because it started to snow before the driveway was frozen solid, I am now finding that the snowblower kicks up dirt from the gravel driveway along with the snow. Even though it rained quite a bit earlier in the fall, the driveway must have dried out again because it is apparently very easy for the snowblower to pick up dirt and gravel. The wind was blowing Wednesday too. Not terrifically windy, but the snow was so light and fluffy it did not take much to blow it back against me as I walked along with the snowblower. I tried turning the chute in slightly different directions and finally figured out that if I walked east with snowblower, instead of blowing snow back the other way walking west, less snow blew back on me.
Before long, because of the dirt in the snow, I became aware that my face and lips were beginning to feel downright gritty. My sunglasses, which I needed because it was so bright and sunny (clip-ons over my regular glasses) were becoming gritty too. My coat was gritty. Gloves were gritty. Hat was gritty. Boots were gritty. Pants were gritty.
The weather forecast said it was supposed to snow again on Thursday, but we only received a few flurries. I was hoping we would get an inch or two. As I told Randy, if it only snows a couple of inches the next time around, we are going to leave the driveway and just pack it down driving in and out. That way, the dirt will have a chance to freeze down and I won't end up being so gritty by the time I'm done with the driveways when I use the snowblower.
Clearing the driveways takes a couple of hours walking behind the snowblower. Randy can clear the driveway in 30 minutes with the tractor. But while the snowblower takes longer, it also uses less gasoline. And using less gasoline is a way to be "green." If everyone could reduce gasoline consumption by even just a little bit, think how much that would add up. And if we could get ourselves in gear as a country and really work toward developing alternative fuels that would be even better.
Just think of how far we would be in the direction of alternative fuel if we were not spending billions in Iraq every month.
Ironic, isn't it. We are spending billions in Iraq to supposedly help them become democracy when the United States is longer a democracy itself.
But of course, the truth of the matter is, we are spending billions in Iraq to protect our oil interests. And that is also ironic. If we had spent money before to develop alternative fuels. we wouldn't need to protect oil interests.
Anyway, I'm just hoping it snows a couple of inches next time around so the driveway can freeze over. Considering the dry and open winters we have had the last four years, this is truly a delightful problem to encounter.
Now, if only I could convince my right wrist that it shouldn't ache so much from holding down the lever for the snowblower auger, life would be even better. My wrist can't really be blamed for acting up, though. It hasn't had much practice with the snowblower for four years. I fell on my wrist 15 years ago when I slipped on some ice. X-rays showed that it was not broken, but since then under certain circumstances, it is not a very happy wrist . . .
LeAnn R. Ralph