Haley and I have been hiking Squaw a lot lately… as in five of the past six days. I’m planning on climbing Kings Peak next weekend, and I need to get my ass in gear. Squaw is a stroll through the park compared to Kings (ten times less distance and five times less elevation gain), but it’s right here in town, and I try to spice it up a little each time by taking steeper and more direct routes.
I’ve hiked Squaw many times, but only on Friday did I see the baby arch up on the cliffside for the first time. It’s so little that there is only a small window of opportunity to see the sky through it on the hike. For this reason, unless you happen to be looking up at that cliff during that minute-long window, it’s easy to miss.
Haley and I journeyed to the arch on Sunday, and to other equally excellent overlooks all the other times. You can look south over town, or north over the Grand Staircase, or east or west to more towering red rock cliffs. Squaw is nice. I dig it. Haley likes it too.
One of my cats died today. Sad, yes, but unexpected, no. Misty, one of the cats that came with my house, was old, going through renal failure, and weighed less than five pounds. The meds I gave her everyday were the only thing keeping her alive. So last week, when she stopped eating, began stumbling, and her skin turned leather-like and glued to the bone, I knew her time to die was fast approaching and that no more meds would fix her. I brought her to work on Friday thinking she needed to be put down. She pepped up a bit at the clinic though, devoured food and began snuggling. We decided that though it was time for her to die, it didn’t seem like quite the right day. We’d take her off the meds (which she hates more than anything), I’d take her home and spoil her rotten, and she’d die on her own a few days later. It took her three days. The first one was a good day, the second not so much, and the third (yesterday) was awful. I swore to her last night that if she wasn’t dead by morning, I’d take her in to be put down. She just laid around for hours with her eyes wide open in a blank stare. It was hard to watch. I guess when they are that near death (in her case a few hours), they zone out completely and their mind goes somewhere else. Regardless, I wish I had just put her down. Friday was a good day for her though, so I’m glad she at least had that. And now it’s over. She’s not suffering anymore.
I signed Haley’s adoption papers this morning. It’s funny how things work out. The same day Misty dies, Haley officially becomes a member of the household. It reminds me of a cat I had growing up (who we had since before I was born and who made it until a month shy of my 18th birthday). A few weeks before he died, we took in another cat, and she ended up being exactly like the one who died in so many ways. And though they were never particularly close, she stayed with him and snuggled him the night he died. I hope one of the other cats did that to Misty last night. When I found her dead in her cat bed this morning, she was covered by a poster that had fallen off the wall. At first I was mortified and felt horrible that it had fallen on her, but then I began to see it as the world’s way of covering her up. Like she spent her last few hours, she died with her eyes open. And I’m kind of glad that poster, which had never fallen before, decided to fall last night and blanket her in her death.
Last night, Molly and I took Haley and her new best friend Jeffrey for a hike in Angel Canyon. Jeffrey is a big, lovable mutt who doesn’t get in Haley’s face, and she loves that. They were a match made in heaven. She loves her kitty friends here at home, but you can tell she prefers quality dog time with laid-back dogs, especially if it’s during a hike. In fact, when Jeffrey had to go home, Haley whined from the car! But she will have plenty more doggy dates in the future, so she need not worry.
Molly brought along her camera, so all the following photos are by her (except the one of her, which I obviously took). And no, I don’t usually hike in dresses and flip-flops (though it has happened before), but we just came from an artist’s reception.
Sixteen feral cats from SLC were relocated down here to southern Utah this week and I tagged along to photograph. The caretaker of their colony up there died, and local animal rescue workers brought them down here, where a kind farmer named Larry agreed to watch over them. He has a farm deep in the heart of Johnson Canyon, an hour removed from any sort of traffic. For the time being, we moved them into an enclosure where they will spend the next two or three weeks, acclimating to their new home. Then they will be released where they will have the run of the place. Since they’ll have spent so much time in their enclosure, the hope is that they won’t roam too far. The borders of Larry’s gardens are fenced in a way that the cats can get through, but coyotes can’t. So if they do wander out into dangerous territory, they can get back in. It’s a very different life out here from their former alley cat existence, but it’s a better one, and I’m sure they’ll love it. No more dodging cars, no more cold cement, just great views of the backside of Bryce Canyon and endless fields of green to romp through (with a mouse to catch every now and again). Yes, it’s a good life in the country.
For anyone needing a basic feral cat rundown, here is what I can offer. Feral cats are cats that want nothing to do with humans. Not all stray cats are feral cats, but many are. Ferals are the ones you can’t touch, who will scratch you to death if you try to, who will run at the sight of you. They are wild, pure and simple. They have grown up without human contact, and they would like to keep it that way. There is a huge overpopulation problem with feral cats though, and because of this, they tend to get a bad rap. TNR is how we address this. Trap-Neuter-Return. You trap all the feral cats in a colony, get them fixed, and then let them go back. This way, they can’t breed, but they live out their lives. If you just kill them, new unfixed cats will move into their colony and the problems start all over again. Also, providing them with food and water will keep them from digging in garbage and causing a ruckus in neighborhoods.
If you’ve noticed that I haven’t posted any hiking photos in over a month, it’s because I haven’t hiked in over a month - not since the epic 50-mile Paria adventure. There are many reasons for that, though primarily that that hike destroyed my best hiking shoes, and I’ve been too busy moving and settling into life as a cat lady. Of course, flat-out laziness does plays a role too. Well, no more! I needed to get away this weekend, bad. I took yesterday off to make up for a long work day last Saturday and planned to go somewhere, anywhere. Somewhere with a mountain to hike would be ideal. While I was doing so well with my hike mileage, I had yet to climb a mountain this year (and remember, I said I’d do at least five in five ranges). While going over my options, I settled on hiking Delano Peak. It seemed like an appropriate hike for both the dog and my lazy haven’t-hiked-in-a-month ass.
Delano Peak is the highest point in the Tushar Mountains, which is the third highest mountain range in Utah behind the Uintas and La Sal (take that Wasatch!). Delano, while not a rocky peak, reaches 12,173 feet. There is no trail up the mountain, which made it a little interesting, but it was pretty straight-forward. You could see a false summit just in front of it, so it was easy to tell where I was going. It was very steep though, and with no trail (and therefore no switchbacks), I was huffing and puffing. I had to resort to making my own switchbacks and stopping often to make it even remotely bearable. Altitude may have played a role in this. I haven’t hiked this high in I don’t even know when, and I was ridiculously sluggish from the very get-go… more so than not hiking in a month should make me. The dog kept me going though, and although it was quite miserable for me, it was well worth it when we finally reached the top. It was rather windy up there, which made it a little cool, but with temps around 100 in the valleys below, it was still pleasant. We didn’t stay on top for too long. I was looking forward to the hike down, because the hike up was so miserable, but as I should have known, going down will always be just as bad if not worse. And indeed it was. Oh well. We survived.
I met Haley at work last week. I have never fallen for a dog, or even a cat here (at least not in the sense that I must bring them home), but something was different with Haley, from the moment I met her. When I left, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Her caregiver, Mileen, told me I should come back and walk her whenever I want. Even if I couldn’t adopt her, all the socializing would be good for her. I knew I would take her up on this offer.
I didn’t think I could consider taking her home though, because well, I have so many cats now and they’d never get along. While talking to one of our trainers today about my love of Haley, she told me Haley is great with cats. We wandered over to Haley’s area for a little visit, which turned into a little walk, which turned into a trip to my house. I had to pick up the bloody puke cat and bring it home at lunch, so I did… and Haley came with. We walked in, and as stated, she is great with cats. She knows her boundaries and won’t bother them. She looks away if she knows they’re uncomfortable. She’s met all of them and already made friends with a few. We went back up to work, and a few hours later, I picked her up again to come spend the night. It’s just a sleepover, but it’s a sleepover that may turn into me fostering her, which could possibly turn into adoption. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
When Mileen found out today that Haley visited my house over lunch and was coming back tonight, she said she wasn’t surprised at all. She told me she knew the minute she introduced us last week that I’d be taking her home. I guess deep down, I kind of knew too. I had all sorts of reasons why I shouldn’t get a dog, but it’s funny how they become non-issues when the right dog comes along.
Haley is perfect. She’s the perfect size, not too big, not too small. She’s great with cats… and other dogs, and horses, and everything except maybe squirrels. She’s great off-lead (a necessity for a hiker such as myself). When on-lead, she doesn’t tug. She’s very mellow, except when under the influence of hyperactive dogs, and even then it’s not over the top. She sits before any door is opened. Her kisses aren’t sloppy. She’s perfect! So she is sleeping over. And we will see how it goes.
It’s incredible how wonderful and well-adjusted she is, considering her background. Haley has a heart-breaking story that will shock you just as much as it shocked me. Haley is from Ethiopia. I knew the situation must have been bad to warrant such a long-distance rescue, but I had no idea it was as bad as it was. Haley, and her buddy Hana (also at Best Friends, and also great), were two of four surviving dogs found in a pit in Addis Ababa - a pit containing an estimated 6,000 dead dogs. This pit is where people threw unwanted dogs… a pit they couldn’t get out of. No one knows how long she was in there, but what we do know is that she is out now, and sleeping comfortably on my arm as I type this.
So while I can’t tell you the outcome of her story yet, whether I will adopt her or not, or even foster her, I will tell you that for now at least, there is another roommate in this animal house. Her name is Haley, and she’s perfect.
Just call me the Queen of Puke. It’s very fitting. I clean up so much puke, it is ridiculous. Sometimes I wonder if all these cats are really worth the cheap rent (but then I remember how much richer I get every week). Last Saturday, I cleaned up at least ten piles of puke within a few hours. This morning, aside from finding more bloody puke (I say “more” because I already cleaned up bloody puke on my kitchen chair and floor last night), another cat puked on my lamp cord while I was brushing my teeth a few feet away. Luckily, this entire house is tiled, and so cleaning it up is as easy as a swipe of a paper towel and a Clorox wet wipe. Hallelujah for tiled floors and Clorox wet wipes!
If you’re wondering why there is so much puke, most of it is hairball puke. My two cats have never had a hairball in their life, so this is all very new to me. And if you’re worried about why one cat is puking blood, that is also probably hairball-related, and he is in the kitty hospital up at work right now.
And then of course, there’s the cat hair that’s not in the form of puke. I feel I have this aspect fairly well managed though. I have a Furminator (hallelujah!) and use it often (hopefully often enough to cause a cessation in hairballing all together). I sweep a lot, and pick up random furballs, so the only hair is that on my bed and futon. I keep both covered with an extra blanket now.
And what cat lady would be complete without potty problems? Aside from the occasional randomly placed turd, one cat has decided they prefer cat beds to litter boxes when it comes to doing number one. And sometimes rugs. Hallelujah for my own personal washer and dryer! And again, for tiled floors. AMEN. You’d think six litter boxes would be enough, but I guess it’s not good enough for them. And if I don’t clean the litter ten times a day, I tend to get overwhelmed with piss and crap, in and out of the litter box.
My brain is dead. I just sat (and sat some more) at this here computer, re-computerizing the photos section of this site, and henceforth killing my brain cells as one coding problem plagued me after another. But now it is over (the coding part at least), and I am quite happy with the results.
However, if I have learned anything during this experience (aside from retarded amounts of coma-inducing XML), it is this: always embed your captions into your file info. I didn’t have captions on my previous photo section because their placement looked awkward. Now, with the new system, I have more control, and I wanted them back. But well, it was pretty impossible to find a lot of my newspaper captions… because I am dumb and did not embed them into the file info. At my last job, I simply had to write the captions down on paper and hand them to whoever types them into the computer (and yes, a mess if they lost the piece of paper). And that is all I did. I thought I saved hard copies of editions that had photos I liked, but when I searched my storage shed in the backyard, I found that I didn’t save too many copies at all (that may be because the printing press at that paper made every edition worth throwing away). And so, without the captions, I try to remember as much as I can, which is enough in most cases. Some photos I’m at a complete loss for. I had to take out some photos. The internet helps in some cases, but not many. I looked up some old sports brackets, rosters, etc. I dug up info for photos I had no knowledge of before. And thank god, there was one very important photo that I was smart enough to email the names to myself when I quit my job. Of course, I didn’t remember that until like half an hour after I began my epic quest to find the names in a stack of papers. I have all my notepads, every single one of them, from forever, but I’d rather shoot myself before I try to dig through 20,000 names, a thousand of which probably have the note “blue shirt” next to them.
So anyway, if you check out the humans and sports sections and are wondering why there are some captions with a missing name, or a whole missing caption, this is why. It’s not that I’m a bad journalist who forgot to get them, it’s that I’m a bad journalist that didn’t archive her photos properly.
Nowadays, all my critter photos are renamed to the animal’s names within a few hours of taking them, so that’s all the info I really need to know. Most of my old work photos (except the last job of course) have the file info embedded, but are buried on totally unorganized CDs that I will try to get to when my brain isn’t so fried. And I will probably do more internet research later in the week to get the remaining sports captions. There are a few photos that I remember where I took them and can email someone there, and I just may do that a year or two later. You non-photographers are probably wondering what the big deal is, but other photographers will understand. I’m not even sure why I care so much (I don’t even work at newspapers anymore), but well, I just do… and I must have the captions. The end.
Moral of the story: photographers, be not stupid like me. Always embed your captions! ALWAYS!
It’s official. I’m a cat lady. I’m far too young for this, but as of yesterday afternoon, I have nine cats. Yes, nine. Stella, Baby, Jack, Tabasco, Sammy Sumo, Kizzy, Beauregard, Sonoyi, and Misty.
So what gives… how do I go from having two cats to having nine? Well, it’s my house. My house came with seven cats. If you’re wondering how on Earth a house comes with seven cats, it’s because a lady died and left her house to Best Friends on the condition that her cats get to stay there. And I’m the lucky one who gets to take care of them. Lucky to be a cat lady? Yes, lucky. And for $200/month rent, you would feel lucky too. With any other place costing at least $800/month, $200 rent is worth having nine cats… especially when all cat expenses are paid for. I just have to scoop poop, and give them food, meds, and love.
I moved in about two weeks ago (with my two cats), but just got the other seven this week (two on Monday and the other five Friday), because I was waiting until the construction was done (this house was recently gutted and redone). Here in Kanab though, things never work out on schedule (did I mention i was supposed to move in mid-May?), and the house still isn’t completely finished. Finished enough though and the cats can deal with it.
I’ve definitely been a little nervous about introducing seven new cats to mine, but now that they are all in here, there is plenty of room for everyone. It’s a big house. We’ve had a few scary moments, but even at just a day in, things are looking promising.
And so, without further ado, let me introduce you to the crew…
This is Jack. Jack is my favorite. He is one of the most laid-back, awesomest kitties I have ever met. Words can’t even describe how awesome he is.
Sammy Sumo, affectionately referred to as Thammy Thumo, is the FATTEST cat I think I have ever met (and I have met a lot of fat cats). This photo doesn’t really show it, but you’re gonna have to trust me that he is the width of at least two or three normal cats, and has Arnold Schwartzenegger’s shoulders.
Tabasco, also known as Asshole Kitty, scares me. He is the tyrant of the house and rules with a heavy fist. He picks on the other cats and even attacked my leg to the point that my jeans now have bloodstains. He is an uber-sweetheart when the other cats aren’t around (snuggles me like crazy), but if he sees a cat playing on the other side of the house, he may just go investigate and attack. He gets locked in the bathroom when he does this, and spends the night in there by himself to ensure no catfights occur while I’m trying to get my beauty sleep.
Kizzy is very sweet, and very soft. She likes to hide under the bathroom and kitchen cupboards. I wish she wouldn’t hide so much, but in time I’m sure she’ll show her face more.
Beauregard has cancer. I’m told he’s the lover of the bunch, but I haven’t really seen that yet. He’s not too happy with the current situation and likes to hide like Kizzy. In time…
Misty is a bag of bones. She is old and in renal failure. I have to give her subcutaneous fluids everyday, an additional injection through the fluids IV drip, and medication twice a day.
Sonoyi. Sonoyi was my mortal enemy when I first got him on Monday. He didn’t like me and I didn’t like him when he yowled all night long. I got no sleep. I bought ear plugs the next day and can only sleep if he is locked in the cat room on the other side of the house. He has since stopped yowling as much, and has taken a liking to me. He has a huge jaw that reminds me of Scar from the Lion King. He needs fluids every other day and medication twice a day.
And of course, there are my pumpkins Baby and Stella. They are doing really great throughout all this. I was amazed at how well they did at first when I got Misty and Sonoyi on Monday. Key words being “at first.” I guess as long as Misty and Sonoyi stayed out of the bedroom, all was well. But when Misty tried to walk in, Baby flipped out and all the cats started to hate each other. But after a few more days, things settled down. When the other five arrived yesterday, Baby alternately hissed and rubbed up against Sammy Sumo. This is what she does to dogs, hiss and rub. I suspect she simply thought Sammy was a dog. He is that fat. This morning, Baby relinquished the dominance throne to Tabasco, and the whole house is much more harmonious because of it, but he’s still an asshole and can strike without warning. We aren’t in the clear just yet. And until we are, my darling two get me and my master bedroom all to themselves at night.
I’ve just returned from Paria Canyon, one of the world’s “premiere” backpacks. Only a few people are allowed into the canyon each day from any direction, and we had to book our permits over three months in advance (and even then we just barely got in). I’d been waiting day after day for the past three months to go by, and it was well-worth every day I waited. I knew it would be great, but it was so magnificent, so utterly breath-taking, and so much better than I ever imagined it would be.
There were critters everywhere, everything from tiny tadpoles to bighorn sheep. Out of sight, mountain lions lurked, and down below, enormous caterpillars crawled alongside our feet. The canyon walls towered so high above, some areas never even see sun. We spent our days walking in the water and our nights sleeping on sand under the stars. We winded through Buckskin Gulch, the longest slot canyon in the world, and ventured to one of the most remote and largest natural arches in the world too. We climbed over beaver dams and combed through reeds as thick as the South American jungle. And an epic ending to an epic hike, we came out of the canyon just as the Paria River collided with the mighty Colorado at the Grand Canyon. To call it great is an understatement. To call it amazing is too. It was so much more.
