The Cat is Rescued

A post script to the saga of Gilbert, the Treed Cat a few days ago. On Friday afternoon, a friend with a truck and several long ladders came to our rescue, and brought the cat down. Gilbert is on house arrest until better weather, when only starvation will face him if he trees himself again. His choice, which we will honor. Or, he might have learned after two such experiences. Sure.

Snow and the Treed Cat

We’ve had some unusually cold weather in Chattanooga lately. Yesterday the NWS scored an equally unusually accurate snow forecast, albeit we only got an inch or less. Combined with the cold temperatures, overnight slight thawing from the day combined with 15° f. to make roads in our woodsy, hilly neighborhood more exciting than we like. An hour after the sun came up, I ventured out to drive my good wife to her work.

On my return, I resumed efforts begun yesterday to convince one of our cats

This is YOUR fault.

that perching thirty feet up in a tree and meowing piteously was not in his best interest. The days when I was physically able to climb thirty feet up in a tree are long gone. I have no extension ladder of any kind, much less a thirty footer, and probably am not able to handle one anyway.

I just took a bowl of food to the foot of the tree, even heated the wet food for the smell, hoping that hunger added to cold and fatigue will prompt the silly cat to come down. This morning I briefly contemplated using a shotgun loaded with bird shot to reason with the cat, but was overruled. Good thing, I expect.

I like animals, but…..

Amos’s Ashes

Our cat who died a couple of weeks ago, Amos, came home last Friday. The vet had sent his remains off to a pet crematory, where several of his forbearers had gone for final disposition, now residing in Barbara’s china cabinet. We picked up Amos at the vet’s, on our way to a friend’s party. Feeling sentimental, Barbara carried the container holding Amos’s earthly remains to the party, to show to friends.

Several hours later, we returned home. The next morning, the paperwork for the crematory and the small envelope containing a clipping of Amos’s fur were on the table next to the front door, but the white plastic container holding his ashes was nowhere to be found. Eventually, after exhausting all other possibilities, we found that Amos had remained behind at the party. He probably enjoyed it. Tomorrow we go back to our friend’s and reclaim Amos.

Tomorrow night, Amos will join his departed comrades, Tucker, Sam and Stella on the top shelf of the china cabinet, among various china, crystal and curio pieces, as well as a large collection of Nun dolls, statues, toys and other objects collected by Barbara over the years. This cabinet is a sort of memory bank for Barbara, holding so many things to keep her good times in mind.

Welcome home, Amos.

More Cats

The departure of two of our three cats a couple of weeks ago threw Babs into a depressed state, for she does love her animals. Amos died of a stubborn infection, and Chelsea fled from the Vet’s parking lot on the way to be vaccinated. Going from three cats to one was a wrenching blow. So, after discussion, this past Thursday afternoon three cats arrived from the McKamey Animal Center. A year old formerly male gray tabby, and two kittens, one calico and one male gray tabby. Babs is happy, I am busy as a, well, cat herder, and the grandchildren’s delight knows no bounds. The grandchildren named the two kittens, Georgia is the calico’s name and the little tabby is Jackson. The big Tabby retains his shelter name, Carter. Good, sturdy Southern names, all of them.

Introducing, Jackson, with Carter:

Buddies

And, Miss Georgia:

The color-coordinated cat.