Cat hair? Don’t care! by Linda Brendle
Published in the Rains County Leader on November 26,2019.
Sunday morning while I was drying my hair, David came into the bathroom with Kitty trailing not far behind. They were carrying on an animated conversation – at least he was. She wore her usual bored expression.
“Kitty, have you looked at the carpet? Why do you leave clumps of hair all over the place?” he asked.
She must have known it was a rhetorical question, because she yawned and lay down on the bedroom carpet where I’m sure she deposited more hair. If she had answered, she would probably have said something like, “Cat hair? Don’t care!”
When we chose carpet for the house, we would have chosen a color other than light beige if we had known that we would one day own a black and white semi-long-haired cat. Of course, the white hair would have been just as obvious on a darker color. The same dilemma applies to clothing – the black hair shows on light-colored clothes and the white hair shows on dark things. The only solution for owners of black and white cats is to go naked, but that presents an entirely different set of problems.
I don’t really understand Kitty’s shedding cycle. When the weather was hot, I expected 
her to lose half her body weight through hair loss, but she just seemed to get furrier. Then, when it began to cool off, she began to leave clumps of hair like Hansel and Gretel’s bread crumbs. I went online to see what is “normal” when it comes to shedding, and this is what I found:
Cats who are allowed to go in and out or who live outside will shed seasonally. Indoor cats may also respond to the calendar, but typically they shed all year, although this may vary by breed. In general, it’s fair to say that cats shed some degree of “winter” coat in the spring and summer.
I’m grateful that she doesn’t shed all year, but I’m not surprised. It says the typical indoor cat sheds all year, and Kitty’s anything but typical. She’s just ornery.
Last week I posted a picture of Kitty on my Facebook page. One of my friends sent this reply along with a photo of her black and white cat:
Mrs. Linda, tell Kitty that Jinx would like to meet her.
This was my response:
I’m not sure how Kitty would feel about that. She’s not generally very sociable, but she might surprise me! On the other hand, she might be jealous of Jinx’ beautiful, smooth coat. Kitty sometimes looks shiny and pretty, but sometimes she looks like a hairball waiting to happen!
Obviously, my response was written. If Kitty heard me say something like that, I’d probably end up with a giant hairball on my pillow.
Blessings,
Linda
Since Kitty came to live with us over four years ago, her interest in all things green and leafy has caused me to limit our indoor plants to those that have been given to us for one reason or another. We have two peace lilies – one was a sympathy gift when Mom passed away, and one was a Christmas gift. I also have two Christmas cacti and an African violet that were give to me for one reason or another.
what to do with the other plants. My previous experience with hibiscus plants was with two that were planted in my yard. My green-thumbed neighbor advised me to mow them down to the ground in the fall and expect them to pop back up in the spring. That worked, but I didn’t think my two would react the same way. In each of the pots, several plants had been intertwined and trimmed to form a tree shape, and I didn’t think I would get the same result if I whacked them off at the dirt.
David has earned a reputation as the tech guru at the Senior Center because of his knowledge of all things electronic – computers, phones, tablets, and even high-tech watches. Many of our friends have asked him questions about how to fix or operate their devices, and when they didn’t understand the answer, they brought the contrary gadget to him for help. Problems range from a phone that won’t ring because the sound is turned off to a new computer that needs a complete setup.
machines that have become such a necessity to modern life. The answer is simple – he reads – a lot. He is the only person I know who reads the owner’s manuals of everything he owns. He also reads blogs, articles, and updates from the major communication companies. And although he may not remember what he had for breakfast, or if he had breakfast, he seems to remember most of what he reads.
However, there is an old adage that says the doctor’s children are the last to be treated, the cobbler’s children have worn out shoes, and so forth. This past weekend I wondered if the same principal applied to the wives of tech gurus. I’m working on a new book and am trying to do the design and setup myself. In order to format the cover to suit the publisher, I had to download a new program to my laptop. In the process, my computer froze up, and all I had was a black screen with the silhouettes of a few ghostly boxes. I’ve learned enough from David to know what to try first. I hit the Escape key several times with no effect, and I tried to open the Task Manager with the same result. Finally, crossing my fingers that I wouldn’t lose anything vital, I rebooted. The same screen came up.
Autumn arrived on the calendar several weeks ago, but the actual season is just now making its appearance in Texas. We’ve had a few cool nights that called for a blanket, and one night I woke up to find Kitty snuggled up against me. And a few mornings have called for a lightweight jacket, but we still have some days – like today – when the high temperature is near 90 degrees. Still, fall is definitely in the air, and here are a few ways to tell that Summer is on its way out.
something in the road ahead. It was an animal of some kind, but it was in the shadows, so I couldn’t tell what it was. It was a small buck, but he didn’t seem to be moving, so I slowed down to give him time to get out of the way. I stopped a few feet away from him before he finally tore his eyes away from whatever was holding his attention, turned around and ran back across the street in front of me, and disappeared into the woods. If you’re a city girl like me and don’t know what could have made him so careless of his own safety, go ask you mother about the facts of life. Apparently, in the Fall a young buck’s fancy turns to thoughts of love.
Neighbors are now coming outside to finish up projects that were set aside when the thermometer neared triple digits in an effort to complete their work before the first frost. Charles who lives across the street is painting his porch, Connie is working on her greenhouse, and David and I put a final coat of paint on the railing around our front porch. We still need to put one more coat on the floor and do some cover-up work on some spots of algae or mold that are bleeding through on some of the rafters before we call it done – unless David decides to add a heat source so we can continue to sit out when the blue northers come.
David had an endoscopic examination of his upper GI tract last week. The doctor was concerned because of some recent weight fluctuations. She ordered the test in spite of our explanations that he had stepped on the scale wearing a jacket with a cell phone, wallet, and other weighty items in the pockets during one visit and a T-shirt the next time. So, Friday morning we left the house in the driving rain and made the trek to the VA in Dallas. The traffic was backed up, the parking lot was full except in the very back, and the day surgery was the building where we weren’t, but we made it within minutes of our scheduled arrival time.
Knowing a writer can be dangerous. You never know when you’ll see yourself in print. I learned that when my son Christian wrote his first novel at 16 years old. I recognized myself in the over-protective mother who woke her son each morning with a cheerful Good morning, sunshine. Over the years I’ve seen my politics and religion displayed to the world. I’ve cringed as my failed marriage was discussed, and I’ve cried when he thanked me in one of his first published books for showing him what it means to be a person of faith. There’s always payback though. He showed up a lot in my memoir and even more often in my blog. Maybe that’s why I started to write. As the saying goes, don’t get mad, get even.
mortified to know that I wrote about his hygiene issues, and Mom would have been embarrassed for people to know that she sometimes put four socks on one foot and two on the other. But that was part of the truth about caregiving, and I told my stories in hopes that other caregivers would be encouraged to know they’re not alone, inspired to continue living in spite of hardships, and maybe even be amused by some of the ridiculous situations that dementia causes. Based on the responses I’ve received, those hopes have been realized.
I’ve continued to write about what I know and who I know. And to my dear RV friend, here you are once again – and no, I’m not ashamed. I’ll make you a promise. If you decide to become a writer, feel free to write about me as long as you speak the truth in love. I promise not to get mad – but I might get even. And one more word of warning – since I’ve expanded my repertoire to include fiction, I have other weapons in my arsenal. If you make me mad, I’ll write you into one of my books as the main villain, and I’ll kill you off!
Every Friday night for the past several years, David and I have attended a home Bible study with several friends from our church. As the name implies, we meet at the home of someone in the group where we share a meal, praises and prayer requests, and Bible study. On Mondays, I send out a group email that includes the prayer list and a link to the food sign-up sheet for the next Friday.
