Posts Tagged → Blind cats

Every hose has its corn

A Court of Thorns and Roses is almost finished. I suspect that the “Rose” is the main character, Feyre, and the “Thorns” are the boundaries she’s had to put up that prevent her from forming long-term relationships until being whisked away to a magical world allows her find the courage to open up and experience true love, which, so far, seems to consist of people doing tonsil inspections and ripping off each other’s underwear.

Perhaps I’m wrong, though.

(There is a literal court and there are some literal thorns and literal roses in the book, so maybe the title is referring to them instead of being metaphorical.)

I’m also soooooo close to finishing Twelve Months that I stayed in bed this morning just a little longer so I could listen to more of it. The plot lacks the urgency of previous books in The Dresden Files. Whereas the Hero, Harry, used to pretty consistently work against a ticking clock, a lot of chapters in this book start with transitions like, “Three weeks later I was at the gym again when X happened,” or, “My next date with the succubus wasn’t until February…”

It gives the book not quite a cozy vibe, but something like it. Plus, I think it is doing a fantastic job of representing trauma. It’s not easy to capture a such a laborious recovery process in a book that still holds your attention, but it all goes with the slower-paced plot.

It’s February now and I am tired of this weather. It’s not even bad where we are — the southeastern U.S. is apparently getting hit by some hefty winter storms while we’re just sort of vaguely chilly.

Sarah and I went to Costco today and discovered that the world needs another plague. Either that or a better system than crowding people into aisles to wrestle with big boxes and huge shopping carts and telling them, “Have at it!”

There are only a handful of times that we are able to get to Costco during off-peak hours, but it makes a huge difference. If you go, say, early Tuesday morning, it’s easier to get around and you can get out of there a lot faster.

It’s one of the up-sides of summer vacation when you’re a teacher — the ability to go to stores whenever you want. (The down-side, in case you were wondering, is the slow, inescapable descent into madness.)

Jolene, our cat, just got spooked by the sound of my PC turning on, tried to run, bumped into my cup of tea, and then fell off the desk. Poor blind kitty!

Quiet Cats & Whispering Cooks

I’m teaching my cat how to whisper.

I don’t know a lot about training cats (I seem to recall something about outrageous facial hair and a guitar case full of feathered toys), but what I do remember is that positive reinforcement works the best.

My cat’s name is Jolene and she is blind as a bat. She’s a bengal, and besides being blind, she also loves being around people and is extremely vocal. If you’re in the bathroom, she wants in the bathroom. If you’re in the garage, she wants in the garage. If you’re sitting on the couch, she wants to be sitting on you on the couch. If she’s unable to do any of these things, she’ll meow at you until she can.

She’s a great cat and I love her to death, but she can be annoying. Especially when we’re trying to cook.

Jolene loves all the smells and the sounds of the kitchen — but she also realizes that the kitchen is a dangerous place full of fire and strange liquids that might splash in your face. Since she can’t see anything, whenever we’re cooking, she’s torn between her desire to get in there and see what’s going on and her fear of burning her lil whiskies.

She’s struck a balance by standing on a nearby empty counter and meowing incessantly at whoever happens to be slicing or dicing or what-have-you.

So, what I started doing was giving her a lot of attention. Positive attention. Whenever I was cooking and Jolene jumped up on the counter, I’d go over and pet her the way she likes, scratch her head, get her purring, and then I’d lean in real close to her ear and whisper, “meow,” in the tiniest voice I could muster.

It took a couple of weeks, but Jolene finally caught on. “Oh, I get it,” she thought. “We’re being sneaky!”

She might not have understood why we were being quiet, but pretty soon I’d lean in and whisper, “meow,” and she’d rub her nose against me and meep out the quiettest little, “meep,” right back at me. It’s become a bit of a routine.

On the nights when I cook dinner, I make sure to go over to the counter and pet the kitty and give her a little whispery meep. Putting ice in a glass? Meep. Unpacking groceries? Meep.

She hasn’t really taken this habit to the rest of the house, but now, when I’m flipping eggs or whatever, there’ll be a surprising little whisper from nearby, and that means it’s time to take a minute to go pet the cat.

“Who is training who,” you whisper with a smile.

I whisper back, “Whom.”