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.

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

Nocturnal Agression

In nature, some of the most amazing things happen at night. While the moon pulls most humans into their nesting routine, a great many animals are foraging, hunting, fighting, and competing for survival. And some don’t make it until morning. It’s an epic struggle to overcome the forces of the dark. Be alert little gazelle.

If I use a dry British accent, does that sound ominous enough?

I love nature documentaries and remember being entranced by one that pits a pride of lions against a clan of hyenas. Talk about an epic struggle! The lions took down a zebra or gazelle or something (sucks to be a grass-eater in Africa) and the hyenas wanted in. They didn’t want to share though. They started nipping that the rumps of the lions. The lions kept them at bay until their nasty cackles attracted their entire clan. Then there were seemingly millions of them laughing and biting. More huge lions came and the fight went on. 

The lions looks like me when I had toddlers at TGI Fridays.

“Why can’t we ever just enjoy our meal?”

There is similar nocturnal aggression going on in my home and likely across the civilized world. It’s an ancient conflict that pits husband against wife and can be as savage as lion vs. hyena: The Blanket War.

A few nights ago, I was happily asleep, swaddled in my cocoon when I was viciously pulled from my dreams by a tug. Then another. The tug persisted and even got stronger until I roused to realize the blanket was gone. Not the whole blanket, just the nested layers I had made this cold night.

“What are you doing,” I roared.

“You don’t get all the blanket,” she replied calmly.

“You can’t just rip it off me!”

“You don’t get 2/3’s of it.”

“But I’m 2/3’s of the people in the bed.”

            I must break the thrilling dialog here to explain that while this might appear to be fuzzy math, the concept was quite sound. What I was attempting to elucidate in a sleepy haze is that I am 2/3’s of the human girth in our relationship, thus 2/3’s of the poundage in the bed and deserving of 2/3’s of the blanket.

“It doesn’t matter, I get half.”

It was then that I woke up enough to realize that I did, in fact, have nearly all of the blanket pinned under my immovable 2/3’s girth. That’s why she was tugging. She was right.

But I doubt the cackling hyena ever admits he was wrong to poach the lions hard-earned meal and I wasn’t about to admit I was hogging the blanket. 

So I did what any husband would do; I grumbled and rolled until she could get under the blanket with what I assume was a contented, smug smile. Even though I wasn’t quite as warm, I started to drift back to sleep until the answer to this nocturnal aggression hit me – double king-size blankets. They would unfold like a happy burrito shell and both partners could sleep merrily under their own 2/3’s of a blanket – making it a total of 4/3… 

While this math definitely doesn’t line up, my invention could possibly shift the balance of nature, allowing lions and hyenas to live blissfully together.

Wouldn’t the zebras be happy then.