Alone Again (Naturally)

June 27, 2016 / Erica Herd / 11 Comments

As some of you know, Bernie is the newest member of our “pride.” He’s been part of the family since April 23. For the first four weeks or so, he stayed upstairs and developed what seemed to be a strong bond with Karl (above). Karl lost his best kitty friend five years ago, so Lorin and I were very happy when we saw the closeness unfolding between Karl and Bernie. Karl is very timid and spends most of his time upstairs in the guest bedroom.

Karl and Bernie

After four or five weeks, Bernie started coming downstairs. I think he realized that’s where the food and “action” is. He began playing with Samson and Quincy and sleeping on the sofa or one of the dining room chairs. Now he rarely, if ever, goes upstairs.

This has not been easy for Karl. Over the weekend, Karl tried to woo Bernie back through various vocalizations (some mournful and heartbreaking) and by sitting or lying near him or on his new scratch mat in the dining room. It seems this only frightened Bernie and made him feel cornered.

Karl can be extremely pushy and aggressive during play or when he wants affection.

This morning I was awoken at 4:45 a.m. to the sound of shrieking, growling (Bernie) and woeful crying (Karl). I headed downstairs and shuttled Karl upstairs and locked him in the bedroom with me. He was intermittently crying and panting, and when I got him to sit on the bed with me, I saw a tuft of white fur in his claw–Bernie’s. It took at least a half hour for Karl to calm down from what seemed like a panic attack. Lorin brought a dish of food and water upstairs, which he devoured.

Karl seemed much calmer after that.

I feel sad for him: it seems his heart has been broken a second time. I hope Bernie and Karl can settle their “differences” and become buddies again.

Mom’s Roommate Is Dead

May 22, 2016May 22, 2016 / Erica Herd / 16 Comments

The mattress was gone and all her belongings except for a Town and Country magazine laying across the metal rungs of the bed frame. Mom and Florence* had been roommates since Mom moved into the Actors Home in September 2014. I met one of Florence’s daughters and her son. Her daughter said she had had a stroke which had affected her speech and motor ability. She was a thin African-American with close-cropped salt and pepper hair; when she spoke, her voice wavered, but she had very expressive eyes.

Mom said she died two Saturdays ago, the last time I visited, when we watched The Hustler on TCM. It was also the day Mom told me she had been proposed to.

“We were watching The Day the Earth Stood Still and All About Eve. I was laughing at something, but I didn’t know she was dead,” Mom said. “I feel bad. I miss her.”

She went on, “I saw her mouth open and she looked like she was having trouble breathing. I didn’t know she had died.”

“She was young,” I said.

“Yes, she was.”

“Her daughter told me she had a stroke,” I said.

“Oh, I didn’t know that. She had arthritis, like me,” Mom said.

Mom said, “The two guys came to my room and we talked and had a good time, Florence too.”

“Was one of the guys the one who proposed to you?” I said.

“Yes,” she said, giggling like a love-stricken teenager.

It sounded like quite the party.

“Do the guys live here?” I said.

“No, they work here.”

“Oh, are they cleaners or nurses?”

“I don’t think so. They help us out here.”

“So they’re aides?” I said.

“They might be.”

“Maybe it was a blessing,” Mom said.

“Yes, maybe,” I said.

“We were watching The Day the Earth Stood Still and All About Eve. It was a good night.”

“I know, Mom. I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Mom said. “She was with me all the time.”

“I know.”

“Then they did something at the window with the thing. They couldn’t get the window open. And she was dead.”

“Did they tell you that night?”

“Yes, the nurse came in and told me,” she said.

“That must have been hard.”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to go for a spin?” I said.

“Yes, let’s go.”

In memory of Florence:

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;

For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow

Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,

Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,

And soonest our best men with thee do go,

Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery.

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,

And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well

And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then?

One short sleep past, we wake eternally

And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

–John Donne

*Pseudonym.

Bernie Might Love Karl

May 8, 2016May 8, 2016 / Erica Herd / 11 Comments

Karl (left) & Bernie (right)

Good news! Karl and Bernie are . . . playing together. Last night I heard scampering upstairs and thought it might be Karl playing with the new ultra-furry gray mouse toy I gave him. This afternoon I caught Bernie chasing Karl, and not hissing or growling. And a few minutes ago, Karl situated himself on the guest room bed with Bernie. Karl was playing with Bernie’s fish toy, and Bernie didn’t seem to mind it. They seem to be quite relaxed with each other as you can gather from the photograph above.

I will keep you posted on their unfolding friendship.

And Happy Mother’s Day to all mothers, including women who mother and care for others but may not have children of their own.

Unrequited Kitty Love

May 6, 2016May 6, 2016 / Erica Herd / 8 Comments

This is Karl, my beloved almost-eight-year-old cat. He has been part of our family since the age of 4 months, when he was a very shy, runty fellow. We adopted him from a lovely Russian lady who was fostering him.

Karl as a kitten

As I mentioned in a prior post, “Karl Loves Bernie,” Karl’s best friend was Magnus, who died at a very young age; he was also mothered by my late cat Panther. Both she and Magnus died in 2011. Since then. he hasn’t had that strong a bond with another cat. Until Bernie. Only that Bernie doesn’t seem to share in this love.

We adopted Bernie almost two weeks ago. Apparently, his owner died and he ended up at a pound in Paterson, New Jersey, then was moved to PetSmart by a rescue organization and resided there for almost two months.

Bernie is extremely timid, but Karl took a real shine to him. They even sniffed noses one morning and no hissing or growling transpired. My husband Lorin feeds them in our bedroom upstairs: they are locked in together so the other cats don’t steal their food. We started feeding Karl separately when it was apparent the other cats were bullying him out of his meals.

At around 5:15 this morning, I heard growling (Bernie) and plaintive sounds (Karl) from the guest room, where Bernie has been spending most of his time. Both of them were under the bed, Karl pleading with him to come out. If he were human, it might go like this, “Please, please, I love you. Why don’t you love me back?”

Bernie: “Leave me alone. I’m scared. I don’t trust you. Why did those damn humans bring me here?”

Lorin fed Karl in our room, and Bernie, in the guest room, but Karl barely touched his bowl. Lorin surmises that Karl is trying to win Bernie’s love with food and saves it for him. I don’t doubt it. Karl has lost a little weight over the last few days.

What to do?

Lorin is doing some research on the matter and hopefully things will work themselves out.

In the meantime, please keep your fingers and paws crossed for us!

Karl ♡ Bernie

April 30, 2016April 30, 2016 / Erica Herd / 11 Comments

Bernie has been with us for a week now, and Karl has grown quite fond of him.

Bernie

Karl

Karl’s best friend Magnus died of a heart attack in 2011–he was only 18 months old–and he has never really bonded with another cat since. Magnus was a fearless feline who helped build his confidence. Karl was the runt of the litter abandoned by his young mother and fostered by a very loving woman until we adopted him in November 2008, the day after Obama became president. Karl is timid and sweet and spends most of his time upstairs under the bed. We started feeding Karl separately in our bedroom when we realized the extent of food-bullying by the other cats. Bernie is the first cat to enter our home who is shyer than he.

Bernie is still holed up in the guest room, although he came out a couple times in search of more food. Last night I spotted him at the top of the stairs and tried to lure him down with kibble. Unfortunately Quincy nibbled the kibble before Bernie made his way down.

Karl visits Bernie frequently throughout the day. I’ve also caught him eating out of his food dish, even though Bernie gets a special weight management food, drinking from his water bowl and using his litter box. We are planning to bring the litter box downstairs later today.

A couple nights ago, Lorin fed Karl and Bernie in our bedroom and later found both of them under our bed. Karl likes to sniff him in the face and talk to him in his “cooing” voice. Bernie swatted him once, but it seemed out of fear, not anger.

We don’t know a lot about Bernie except that he came from a pound in Paterson, New Jersey, had matted hair on his back that had to be shaved off and his owner may have died. We also know he was at PetSmart since March 3 before we took him home. He was very popular, and liked to sit in a chair inside his enclosed area and watch the world go by. He’s a very observant cat. The lady at PetSmart told us that people keep asking about him, but his weight made them reluctant to adopt him.

It will be a while before his settles in with the rest of the boys, but we think it’s worth it. Especially if it means Karl will have a new friend. Every creature–human or non-human–deserves a second chance.

Raymond

June 29, 2015June 29, 2015 / Erica Herd / 5 Comments

photo by Martin Brigden

He walks alongside us up and down the halls. His belt is tightly cinched around his narrow waist, his flannel shirt tucked in.

Raymond says, “Where are we going?”

“This way,” I say, pointing down the corridor in the direction of the sun room.

“I forgot my money,” he says.

“Do you need to buy something?” I say.

“Yes.”

“Maybe it’s in your room,” I say.

“Yes.”

We walk in silence for a bit, then he says, “Christ!” He seems exasperated, but only momentarily.

I wheel Mom to the elevator when it’s time for me to leave.

Dottie, the second shift nurse, and Connie, a CNA, and Raymond are gathered around. Dottie swipes her ID card above the elevator button. This is a “locked” unit.

While we wait for the elevator, Dottie says, “Your mom used to stay up late-till around 10 or so—but now she’s usually in bed between 7:30 and 8. Right, Katherine?” Dottie giggles.

“Yes, I get tired,” Mom says.

“Is she eating well?” I ask.

“Yes, for the most part. Sometimes there are things on her tray that she doesn’t like.”

I stroke the back of Mom’s head. She seems to like that.

The elevator door opens, and I kiss her on the forehead.

“You’re leaving now?” she says.

“Yes, Mom. See you next week.”

Raymond moves toward the open elevator.

“I’ve got to go,” he says.

Dottie holds him by his right arm, and Connie, by his left.

“Not now, Raymond,” Dottie says, giggling. Dottie’s a giggler. I think it’s a nervous thing.

“But I have to go,” he says, lurching forward.

I smile at Mom, Dottie and Connie. I don’t know what to tell Raymond as his eyes search my face through his thick glasses, confused.

*Pseudonyms used for residents and staff members at the Actors Home.

Days We Have to Remember

May 5, 2015May 5, 2015 / Erica Herd / 7 Comments

ER (google images)

“Oh no, not her,” Mom said when Jessie was wheeled to the table for dinner.

“What’s wrong, Mom?”

“I can’t stand her,” she said, twisting her face.

Miss D, who was assisting Jessie with her meal, said, “But she likes you, Kathy.”

Jessie smiled at me, then at Mom. We sat a square 4-person table. Jessie and I sat on opposite sides, and Mom to her left.

Jessie, Mom and Gisele have shared a table since Mom moved into the Actors Home in September, 2014. They always seemed to get along. I haven’t seen Gisele in a while—maybe she was moved to another ward or went to another home. Gisele said Mom was her best friend. Mom fawned over Gisele, frail and gentle, and told her, “You have to eat something,” one time at lunch when she was fussing with her food.

Gisele said to me, “Tell me what to do.”

I helped cut her food and spoon it into her mouth, but she spit it out. She did that with everything on her plate. She only ate the chocolate pudding, juice and milk.

She’d eat a few bites, spit them out, and again say, “Tell me what to do.”

Maybe Mom missed Gisele.

Jessie smiled at Mom.

“Oh, you pest! I hate your simpy smile, you simp,” Mom said.

“Mom, don’t look at her.”

“But she won’t stop looking at me.”

“You don’t have to look at her. Look at the wall, or at me.”

Mom made a face like a little kid at Jessie, still smiling at her.

“Mom, enough.”

“Why did you bring me here?” Mom said.

Miss D frowned.

Mom put down her utensils.