Stanley the Comfort Cat

Something’s happened to Winston – our very old and very stupid lab. He is over 100 in people years and has never been accused of being brilliant during any one of those years. In his early days, we were forced to move his food bowl because he developed a phobia of heat returns that wouldn’t allow him to get near them. That bowl has been in the same place for a decade, but about once a month our genius forgets its location and has to go on a quest for discovery – like we’re hiding it from him.

Change is hard for Winston. We started getting cats a few years ago and he still doesn’t know if we have one or thirteen. He notices when a cat comes into his line of view. But if there are two of them in the room at the same time, he looks back and forth between them with as much of a bewildered expression as a dog can muster – as if wondering how the cat keeps moving so quickly from one side of the room to the other.

This is the beautiful mind we’re dealing with. In his old age, his fragile mental state has gotten considerably worse.

This mental downfall accelerated when we had to put down his cohort, Misty. It was sad for everyone, but that event pushed Winston over the rugged cliffs of sanity. Losing a pal he partnered with for thirteen years was a lot to handle. Predictably, he couldn’t. He began to wander around the house searching for her. When found, he would look up confused as to how he arrived. We truly suspect doggy dementia – which we discovered is a real thing called Canine Cognitive Dysfunction.

Along with the wandering, he began going outside more frequently. But half the time he never goes off the porch. He either seems to realize he just went out or have no clue as to what to do. There are times when he insists on going out 10 times in 5 minutes. That’s fun.

And everything is worse at night. His sleeping pattern has been reversed like a colicky infant.

Winston has become a team effort and one new member surprised us. Suddenly, our fat cat, Stanley decided to enter the Winston fray. It has truly become a sweet relationship. Stanley sits with him, talks to him, and guides him. That’s the funniest part. When Winston wanders down the hall, Stanley will follow him and nudge him back to the rug in the den. All the while he meows loudly as if comforting him. They lay together often and Winston even licks Stanley’s head from time to time.

Stanley is Winston’s Comfort Animal.

This is a shift in purpose for him. We got Stanley during Kylie’s cancer treatment because she wanted a fat cat to lay with her after chemo. He was the smaller of two massive cats at the shelter and she was afraid she couldn’t even lift the other one. So Stanley came home with us and became her Chemo Cat. He served that purpose well and now has another.

IMG_0597

From Chemo Cat to Comfort Cat… animals are pretty amazing, sometimes.

Beyond This Door

“There is a door that leads to beauty and light wrapped in great mystery,” the prophet said as she stood in front of the yellow door. “Follow me. I can take you there.”

A small crowd gathered around the soothsayer, listening intently to her words.

“Beyond this door there is freedom,” she promised. “There are worlds yet unclaimed.”

“Have you been there?” a doubter from the crowd asked.

“Yes. I have seen what lies beyond and it is sweet. Together we can see this place. Together we can leave this mundane existence and experience a better life.”

IMG_8792

This may sound like the beginnings of a freakshow you’d see on Netflix or something you’d witness any night in Time’s Square, but it actually happened in my basement. As we built out the large room that holds my pool table and JB’s dance floor, I got a set of bi-fold doors for our storage room which allowed me to leave the opening five feet wide. Lately, this opening has been the source of family controversy.

I always know when JB has been down there because she leaves the fan on. A few weeks ago, I went downstairs and found the fan blade turning as well as one of the storage room doors open.

“JB, you left the storage room door open!” I hollered.

“I didn’t go in the storage room,” she replied.

Round and round the blame game went and as usually happens, no one emerged victorious. The blame game has no winners besides anger, spite, and sometimes bitterness.It’s really a game left to professionals – amateurs only wound leave marks.

A few days later my lovely wife left the door open and I chided the whole family for their negligence.

“The cats could get lost or hurt in there,” I reminded them. “The walls aren’t finished so they could get to the water heater or into my workshop and who knows what could happen!”

The next time we found it open I was the only potential culprit and innocent though I was, I heard a great deal of murmuring. Rightfully so…

The mystery grew until we postulated that our curious cat had figured out that she could put her paw under the bi-fold door and pull it open. I scoffed until one day I found her sitting contentedly on my workbench with sawdust stuck in her whiskers.

I held the doorknobs together with a rubber band, but the little criminal beat that one out too. She could pull it enough to get in, but the doors closed behind her and she couldn’t get out.

IMG_8450Now we have a child-lock on the doors. We often find her perched staring at the doors and more than a few times, her curious feline minions are watching. Sometimes we hear banging as she tries to bulldoze her way into the promised land, but she hasn’t figured out the system yet. The lock seems to be working, but after the past few weeks, I’m not betting against the prophet.