You are a good cat mom, Katie.
You know, many years ago when our former neighborhood was a sleeepy cul-du-sac on the rural edge of suburbia, surrounded by pastures and woods, the cats went in and out as a matter of course. With four, there were always tributes, and the kids were quickly taught, "Make 'em look up at you before you open the door to let them in. A "mrrrph" in answer to your query won't do. Make them look up so you can tell if there's something in their mouth before you let them in the house!"
Of course they were always praised for their hunting and providing skills--except for birds. Cats don't get shame, or scolding. It's all attention, reaction to their presentation, so we just didn't react to dead birds. No expression, no comment, just back away and shut the door. Such a contrast to lavish praise and being let in for petting and a bit of milk for a rat or a vole, they all very soon learned not to bring us birds. I know they still caught them, we'd find feathers in the yard. But they didn't bring them to us to brag.
We once had a cat that we allowed to roam - she never left our yard. Once - in her 15-year life - she caught a baby bird. Brought it in, set it down on the floor and looked at it ... while the bird glared up at her and chirped angrily. Her instincts only took her so far. After that, she gave up hunting and settled for sitting in the kitchen looking like she was starving until she was fed.
Yay hunting kitties. The last thing mom's cst cat brought in the house was a bat.
There hasn't been an opportunity for Scrappy or Duchess to kill something. Or penny when she was here. But she is at mom's again. Scrappy was bullying her, turns out he was super jealous
So, in the perpetual drama that my life has become. (Cue Roseanne Roseannadanna: It's always something.)
I've been diagnosed with Chronic Inflammatory Demyelilnating Polyneuropathy -- or it's easier to call it CIDP. Short version -- my immune system is attacking the peripheral nerves in my feet (mostly) and my hands.
I walk with a cane now. Without treatment, there's a good chance I'd end up in a wheelchair. Luckily, there's treatment -- consisting of IV injections, 5 days a month, lasting several hours each time. So, hey, more teleworking, less commuting. My goal is to improve enough to join a bowling league this fall. The neurologist says it's feasible.
Bonus irony: I've probably had it for quite a while. So last year's back surgery was probably not necessary.
Oh dear, Fred. I'm glad you have a diagnosis and treatment plan. It's always something is right.
Oh, Fred, those sound like pretty unpleasant symptoms. I'm glad you know what it is and have a plan!
Hope the bowling will be very feasible for you.
I cheer for the feasibility and the treatment.
Oh wow, Fred. Very happy you got the diagnosis and treatment plan and bowling feasibility, but ouch, the way. Much, much ~ma to you.
