Trains Go By

When I rounded the corner onto TV Highway on my way to work, I sighed  as I saw the traffic backed up for several blocks. The red flashing lights in the distance and the mournful cry of the train horn announced that the road was blocked with no way around.

I turned off the car and sent texts to inform work I would be late. As I watched the lumber laden rail cars, slowly click-clack  across the intersection, I was reminded of a conversation  I had with a good friend whose life was then in turmoil.

"Emotions are like trains, " she said, "they just go by."

Some go by in a flash:  joy of  victory,  fleeting frustration,  anger of being cut off at your exit.

Some go by like a turtle packing bricks (which isn't always bad) :  disappointment of  a failed attempt,  pride of job well done, the fear of being caught.

As you can see, the train has gone by.
Photo taken at a park near Republic, WA, 2010

The worst, the train stopper, has to be grief. When a big loss hits like a 2 X 2 in the jaw, the train just stays on the track, stopping  traffic and blocking the view of what lies ahead.  I have let grief keep a train on the track for months. Sometimes there is nothing to do but keep breathing and wait for the train to move.

What a relief to know that I can't trust emotions to keep me company forever. When emotions run rampant,  I just wait a while and they move on by until the view becomes clear again.

The train goes by and the journey continues.
Peace!
lw

When Cats Go Bananas

As a vet tech I have many stories of cats who have "gone mad" trying to avoid veterinary services. While most pet  cats are certainly amiable enough, many want nothing to do with the vet. Some cats want to claw your face. Some want to latch on to your hand. Some just want to get away.

Recently, when trying to discharge a post surgery cat, the cat decided he would not be  caught or picked up again. To avoid being transferred to his rather posh cat carrier, he instead took a leap toward my head. In sheer reflex action, I ducked. The cat's feet landed square on the top of my head, and he launched himself from my head to the ground in less than a micro second.

My hands flew immediately to the top of my head and I began inching my way through our treatment area chasing the cat and calling out that a cat was loose. The cat made a safe landing to the tile floor and was recaptured quickly by our staff.   Fortunately, he was a light and agile cat and the damage to my skull was minimal.

My favorite cat escape story occurred when I had my first part time job in a GP clinic.I had been on the job about 3 days and the  regular technician called in sick. I hadn't  a clue how to anesthetize a cat for surgery. I had watched the more experienced technician wrap the pet in a towel, inject induction drugs, and mask the cat with gas anesthetic. (Not something that would ever be done in the place I work now.)

As I was holding this kitty burrito, the vet decided to check the oxygen tank. The hiss from the tank spooked this mildly drugged cat and sent him  straight to "crazy town". To avoid being bitten, I did the only intelligent thing.  I let go. The cat shot out of the towel, off the surgery table and into the clinic lobby.

The vet and I chased the cat into the lobby where  he lingered at the base of a decorative banana tree.

We crept along, trying not to scare him again. But alas, he would have none of it and he climbed the tree to the very top. Unfortunately,  the tree touched the ceiling tiles and those tiles were movable. The cat was headed into the ceiling. 

Now the doctor was starting to panic. Long strings of profanity poured forth. Seriously hateful looks were cast my way. He sent me for the big fishing net.

Before I had returned with the net, the doctor decided to chance it. He jumped up on the lobby seating, and launched  himself up the tree. He grabbed the cat's rear leg. When the kitty turned to hiss and bite the doctor, he lost his balance and fell from the tree. He dropped to the floor like a stunned fly.I put the net over him and waited for the swearing doctor to come down off the seats to assist me.

He didn't . He walked away, leaving me there with the stunned cat. I waited what seemed like forever for the cat to lift its head. His eye were dilated with fear but he was still alive. I had no clue how to get the cat into the net. So I finally just took it off. He perked up and looked around. Once he realized he was free, he gave a half-hearted sprint. I was able to herd him into a large ground floor cage in the surgery area where he avoided a procedure that day.

About a week later, I saw our receptionist loading that banana tree into her convertible. The doctor gave her the tree and forbid any further plant life in the lobby. As she drove away with the leaves flapping in the wind, it occurred to me that when cats "go bananas" nobody wins, least of all the cat.
lw

Winston: Feline Chessmaster
He did not escape, but he is super cute. 

Of Mice and Mom (and Dad)

My childhood friend Andy loved animals, but his mother would not allow pets.  To convince his mom that he should have a pet, we decided that he should start out small. We biked to a discount store and Andy selected two mice, one white with red eyes and one black and white, which he toted home in a cardboard carrier. Of course as kids do, he gave no thought as to how to house them once he got them home.

The doorbell rang  that evening and there stood Andy holding out a paper sack with the mouse carrier inside. The mice scratched at the cardboard furiously. He explained that his mother went totally whacko at the sight of the rodents.  She threatened to take a broom to them and Andy  thought their best bet for survival lay somewhere besides his house. He thrust the sack into my hands and insisted that I take it. I closed the sack up and shut the door.

I scurried off  into my sister’s room and showed her the mice. I dramatically recounted the tale of Andy’s mouse killing mom.  Sis agreed not to tell our parents. We would take care of them ourselves. 

We made a nest for them in a cigar box and hid the box on a high shelf in the closet. We used jar lids for water bowls and fed them cat food. When funds were available,  I rode my bike to the store and bought rodent food. Once or twice a day when mom was preoccupied  we took them out and played with them.   They would sit on our shoulders while we walked around.  Sometimes Andy came over and played with them too.

These mice had the life. They milled about on the shelf leaving poo all over. They chewed up my sister’s doll clothes. As far as we knew they never left the shelf unless we took them off of it. We explained to the mice that we had cats and that it would be wise not to leave the shelf. We were sure they understood us because the cats never found them.

We had shut the door to the room to clean the nest and feed the mice.   Mom threw open the door to tell us dinner was ready.  Alas, we were caught mouse-handed. She froze, stared for a moment, and then began a vigorous rant to rival all rants.  

I was devastated as I imagined my angry mother flattening them with a broom.  

Mom marched us into the living room and stood us in front of our father. My sister clutched the cigar box tightly as the mice tried to poke their noses out.  Mom continued her yelling until my father held up his hand and asked her to stop. 

“Can I speak to the kids?,” he asked as he continued to give mom the hand.  She continued to look very angry but she had stopped yelling. 

“Well,” said Dad, “where did these critters come from?”

I explained in dramatic detail how we saved them from a cruel death at the hand of Andy’s mom, that we had to take them, and  that we hid them because we knew Mom might be inclined to whack them just like Andy’s mom.

“Hmmpf,” groaned Dad, “how long have you been ‘saving’ these critters from doom?”

 I confessed that we had been keeping them for about a month.

“A month?” he questioned. He was smiling and I was not sure how to take it. The smile grew wider and he started to laugh. He let out a hoot and dropped back into his easy chair. I was relieved and quite confused by his display.

My mother was floored. She was strangely silent.

“Oh now,” Dad went on, “they have taken care of them for a month and we have not even noticed. No reason to turn them loose now. We should get them a better house though.”

The next day Mom took us to get a proper mouse cage. She told us that they must stay in the cage and never be let out. Of course, we still let them out when she wasn't around.

About 9 months later, the cat knocked the cage off the table and broke it open. The mice became cat food.  While I am sure that Mom was not sad about the rodent’s demise, she did actually care that we were  so sad about their death. We moped about for weeks holding a dangerous grudge against the evil feline.

In an effort to help us through our loss, Mom allowed us to pick out  a hamster to replace the expired mice. She never touched it, looked at it, or cared for it.  She didn't complain about it either and she even paid for his food .

My sister and I were relieved that our mom was not like Andy’s and that, while she did not care for rodents, she finally accepted our need to have them.  I also  found myself being thankful that my often disinterested father had found humor in the situation and had come to our defense. He understood our innocent need to show compassion to outcasts even if they were just mice. While my parents certainly had different reactions to the situation, in the end, they both came around to teaching us an unforgettable lesson. True compassion is never wasted and always its own reward.