How 'The Status Quo Calico' Got Its Name

After I had committed myself to writing a blog, I knew one of most important aspects would be the title. The title is how readers will find the blog, and what the blog will be referred to as in the future. It had to be succinct, but also meaningful, providing an introduction to the topic of my blog.

I was going to call it The Cat Whisperer--that's what dad jokingly calls me. He seems to believe I have a special insight into the feline mind, or something. But it didn't take long to discover that 'The Cat Whisperer' is already a registered trademark. So, it would have to be something far less obvious, something unique to me.

Now, here's something unique about me: I love cats, but another one of my passions is Barbies. This is a secret, so don't tell anyone. I consider myself a collector. I have something in the neighborhood of 400 Barbie dolls, as well as Barbie books and movies and such. Probably the best Barbie movie to date (in my opinion) is Barbie as The Princess and the Pauper. It's a musical spin on the classic tale The Prince and the Pauper, by Mark Twain. In the movie, Princess Anneliese and Pauper Erika each have a cat.

Barbie as Princess Anneliese with her white cat Serafina, and Barbie again as Pauper Erika with her calico cat Wolfie.

One of the musical numbers in the movie is about Erika's cat, Wolfie. Wolfie is a male calico, which is weird. He behaves like a dog and barks like a dog, which is also weird. Anyway, the song is called "The Cat's Meow." Erika sings it to Wolfie when he tries to act more like a cat and hide his true nature. My favorite line is: "You're no status quo calico, so why keep trying to be?" Basically, the theme of the song is to be yourself, even if you're a huge weirdo, and the ones who really love you will love you still. As you now know, I'm a pretty big weirdo, so that, for me, is an important message. I also have the movie's soundtrack on my iPod, and I have always enjoyed singing that particular song to my cats. (Or, rather, in the vicinity of my cats - I doubt they listen.)

The words 'status quo calico' have a nice ring to them, don't you think? I thought so. And I like calicoes. Callie, the inspiration for this blog, was a calico (and for the record she was definitely not a 'status quo' calico, either). Everything just seemed to click once I latched onto that phrase, and thus 'The Status Quo Calico' was born. I hope you like it as much as I do.

How 'The Status Quo Calico' Came To Be

Blogging always seemed to me like a very 'stay-at-home' mom kind of thing to do (not that there's anything wrong with that). I didn't take blogging seriously for a long while, thinking it was likely one of those cyber trends that would eventually fade. But apparently blogs are here to stay, and thanks to the inter-connectivity of social networks such as Pintrest, blogs are growing more prominent than ever. Still, I never had any interest in being a blogger, until very recently.

Six months ago, my calico cat named Callie was diagnosed with effusive FIP. Feline Infectious Peritonitis is a feline-specific autoimmune disease, the complications of which are fatal. I'll spare you the medical explanation for now because, frankly, I still don't understand it perfectly myself. Sadly, Callie did succumb to the disease and I had to put her down, but I'll tell you that story another time. I only mention it now because it was when she was first diagnosed and I turned to the internet for answers that I realized the importance of blogs.

Callie Mae and her 'princess pillow'

To learn the facts about FIP, I consulted Wikipedia and more distinguished sites such as the website of Cornell University's College of Veterinary Medicine. But it was the bloggers who mostly prepared me for the road my family and I would travel - people who had experience with FIP and blogged about it, relating not only what their cat went through but also what they (the cat owners) were feeling. One blogger stated quite aptly that FIP is 'a devastating disease', and that phrase has stuck with me ever since I first read it.

As often as I turn to the internet with any questions regarding my cats, it can be a great comfort to find people who have gone through similar situations and can guide someone out the other side, or at the very least are able to commiserate with you, even if they're people you've never met or even spoken to in person.

For example, a story popped up in my Facebook news feed one day of a stray cat that someone had found and taken to the vet, who told this person that the cat had FIP and should be put down. This seemed suspicious to me, since FIP is definitely not one of the first things a vet will test for right off the bat; and in fact there is no test that definitively says 'Yes, this is FIP', or 'No, this is not FIP, guess again'. I decided to comment on the story to offer what I had learned about FIP from my experience with Callie. I was not the only one to comment, of course; and I began to suspect that FIP is actually not as rare as I had been led to believe. But I enjoyed reading the comments, learning from the experience of the others. It felt good to come together with these people to offer support and advice to this woman we had never even met. As we each joined the conversation, it began to feel a little bit like an AA meeting: "Hello, my name is Emily, and my cat died from FIP..." "Hello, my name is Becky, and my cat also had FIP..." etc.

It has been a pattern in my life to search for ways to contribute something of value to the world, and suddenly I arrived at the realization that perhaps THIS is what I have to offer. Since I've always had cats, I've already been in a lot of unique (and not-so-unique) situations with those cats, and I've learned a lot of stuff along the way. I've also discovered that I really enjoy writing about my cats, but what's the point of writing if you're not going to share it with someone? Surely there is someone out there who would enjoy and maybe even benefit from my insight. What better way to reach the cat-lovers of the world than to blog?

Blogs are the internet's version of a diary - they can be used to offer first-person insight, to inject feeling and emotion in the otherwise sterile, factual world of online information, for better or for worse. If just one person stumbles upon  my blog and maybe learns something new or realizes they're not alone in their situation, then it was well worth the effort to write.

Houdini's Story, Chapter 3

The conclusion of the fish hook saga

Previously: Last Wednesday, the elusive Houdini was found to have a fish hook stuck in his bottom lip, along with a length of fishing line and a sinker.

I spent all of Wednesday evening trying to catch Houdini with the only humane trap I had on hand. The most I got was a baleful glance. I honestly hadn't expected him to fall for it anyway, so, frozen to the bone, tired, and hungry, I admitted defeat. ...For now. I decided to try the drop trap again, since that was how I caught him before. Maybe lightning does strike the same place twice.

By Thursday afternoon, I was hoping Houdini would still be around. As I've said, he's not one of the regulars. But he was there, and the sinker was still dangling from his mouth, so my brother and I quickly set up the drop trap not far from where Houdini was sunbathing on the lumber. I baited it with half-frozen sardines (it was, once again, very cold out). Houdini was a little interested; he stuck his head under the trap but shied away. I was afraid the sardines weren't very tempting, so I added some gravy-rich canned cat food. That WAS tempting...unfortunately, it was irresistible only to Bowser, who was 'starving' as usual. I watched Houdini watch Bowser mow down all the food in the trap. At one point, Bowser bumped into the prop and the box fell down over him - he didn't like that much at all.

We persevered, refreshing the bait, even moving the trap to a new location after awhile, but Houdini didn't even come close. So the only cat we caught that night was Bowser.

The following day, I was determined. It was our last chance to get Houdini to the vet before the weekend. I'm not taking no for an answer today, I told myself. Immediately after work, I put into motion my new and improved battle plans: I had decided to put the trap right on top of the wagon where the cats normally eat. I thought that if my helper (my brother Jason) held the rope while standing at a distance, and I acted like I was feeding the cats as usual, maybe we could trick Houdini into jumping onto the wagon and under the trap. We set up the trap, and then, just as I was opening the can of tuna to bait the trap, something caught my eye: lying right next to the cats' food dish was a fishing hook, a line, and a sinker.

"Jason!" I exclaimed. "Look what I found!" Apparently the fish hook had been torn out or just fell out on its own.

The fish hook that started all the drama. I still have it - might get it framed. ;)

Needless to say, I was ecstatic. This was good news for so many reasons. One, now we wouldn't have to stress out about trying to catch Houdini in the first place. Two, I wouldn't have to deplete the emergency fund by having the vet remove the hook, which may have required pricey anesthesia. And three, I would no longer be losing sleep at night wondering if Houdini was in pain or worrying the sinker might get caught somewhere. This was truly an answer to my prayers.

"See?" I told the cats as I fed them the tuna for a celebratory supper, "God really does care about you guys as much as I do!"

Houdini seemed okay - there was no bleeding or obvious inflammation, and he was eating just fine. I decided to just keep an eye on him to watch for infection or other signs of illness, but to otherwise leave him be.

Houdini on Friday night, enjoying a celebratory supper with all his buddies. The hook had been caught on his lower lip on his right side - so your left. Ta-da! No more hook! Houdini magicked his way out yet again.

This was one of those times I wished cats could talk. It sure would be interesting to know how Houdini had found himself in that predicament. Some would speculate that it was done maliciously, maybe by some bored neighborhood kids baiting cats with bits of meat, just for something to do. I acknowledge that that is a possibility, but it seems more likely to me that he somehow picked it up on the Erie Canal, which is not too far from the lumberyard.

The famous Erie Canal, right here in scenic Gasport. Every winter, the water is drained low to prevent damage from freezing, providing a glimpse of the Erie Canal's not-so-famous dirty underbelly. There's actually a lot of junk down there, as Houdini found out.

This time of year, the water in the canal is drained down low, exposing several feet of rocky banks. I know for a fact that fishermen constantly snag hooks and break their lines while fishing the canal, so it's really not that far-fetched to surmise that perhaps Houdini hooked himself while snacking on an old dead fish. But I guess only God and Houdini will ever know the whole story.

Houdini's Story, Chapter 2

In which Houdini is finally caught

Previously: Houdini the feral lumberyard kitty escaped from a traditional humane trap, forcing me to think of another way to catch him

There is another kind of trap known as a drop trap, which is often used to catch the more stubborn and wily feral cats. It's basically a large wooden box held up by a prop attached to a string - you bait the trap with something yummy, and when your quarry slips under the box, you pull the string and the box falls over the cat. I'm sure you've seen this done with a cardboard box, a twig, and a string in the classic cartoons. Happily, the group who coordinated the TNVR of the lumberyard cats had a drop trap available. 

An "Alley Cat Allies" collapsible drop trap. Note the PVC prop with plenty of cord on a spool.

One side of the trap features a sliding door. I really just like this picture for its artistic value. Nothing like shooting right into the sun for dramatic flair. ;)

After giving Houdini plenty of time to forget (or forgive) our previous encounter, I borrowed the equipment and watched a video of a drop trap in use. As usual, there was not a lot of guidance; these types of things are best learnt by doing. I wasn't worried, though I was anxious to get the job done. Finally, on a cold night in early December, I set the trap up on a level surface near the feeding station and baited it with tuna. I sat on a flight of stairs about five feet away, where I could watch the trap through the railing.

Houdini showed up at around five o'clock, right on schedule. Intrigued by the strange device, he approached it with his usual caution, getting closer and closer, sniffing all around it. He tip-toed beneath the box to check out the tuna, probably thinking to himself, "There's something fishy going on here." (Ha ha!) I almost pulled the string, but hesitated. He hadn't settled down to eat, and he wasn't 100% under the box. When he quickly exited just a few seconds later, I mentally kicked myself, feeling I would not get another chance. But though he was skittish, he was HUNGRY, so he circled back around. That tuna did smell good, too good to pass up... While he was making up his mind, I was wishing he would hurry up so I could go home and eat my own dinner. The cold had penetrated all the way to my bones, and it was getting dark. But my long-suffering was rewarded when finally, finally Houdini settled down at the plate, squarely under the box. With not an ounce of hesitation this time, I yanked the string.

The box fell.

Houdini freaked out. He jumped and thrashed, trying to throw the cage off. I dashed over to hold it down and struggled to cover the trap with a sheet. Drop trapping is definitely a job for two people, I realized, as I finally got the trap covered but had no one to hold it down while I transferred him. Fortunately, the cover had done its job of soothing Houdini, so I was able to take a moment to settle myself. I decided to make do with what was at hand, and simply pulled a couple deck boards from the nearest lumber bin and laid them over the top. Their weight was sufficient to secure the trap. After that, transferring him to a standard trap was a piece of cake: just line up the openings, slide open the doors, and he dashed right in, thinking he was getting away when in fact he was getting into a smaller trap.

I was grinning like a buffoon the whole time I worked, overwhelmingly proud of myself, and just plain relieved to have finally caught the elusive Houdini. I couldn't wait to share the good news with the people who were supporting my efforts.

Within days, Houdini was neutered, vaccinated, and ear-tipped, along with two other males that had joined the colony in the preceding months. When it was time to return Houdini, he of course raced out of the trap, fearful and frantic, probably ecstatic to be alive. But just a few yards away from me, he came to a dead halt, turned back toward me and sniffed the air, reassuring himself that he was indeed home. Then, with all the majesty of a king, he sat right down and tucked his tail around himself as if to say, "See? Told you I wasn't going anywhere."

A happy Houdini soaking up some winter sun. Photo taken February 25, 2015, exactly one week before the fish hook incident.

Houdini's Story, Chapter 1

In which Houdini pulls off the Great Escape

I had an unpleasant interruption in my routine yesterday afternoon when I was feeding the cats in the lumberyard--one of the cats, I noticed, had what looked like a string hanging out of its mouth. It was fishing line, about six inches long, and at the end of it, swinging around and clacking against things, was a sinker. I was horrified to discover that the line and sinker were dangling from a fishing hook that was embedded in the cat's lower lip.

For a moment, my mind raced in panic. How could I help this cat? There was simply no way I could grab him to get him into a carrier. Even trapping him would be difficult, since the cat in question was none other than the elusive Houdini. A few of the cats in the lumberyard I can hold, others I can at least touch, and I would rate my chances of catching one of them much higher than catching Houdini. How do you think he got his name, after all?

Let me tell you. In the spring of 2014, we noticed an untipped cat hanging out around the feeding stations (meaning the tip of his left ear wasn't cut off, which is how we identify the cats we have already trapped, neutered, and vaccinated). This cat wasn't totally feral - it didn't flee immediately upon sighting a human. In fact, it seemed familiar with the idea of people, but it had a definite wariness in its eyes. I was able to determine it was a male. He was a skinny tom, grey with black marbled tabby markings, a white chin and belly, and white all around the eyes like eyeliner. He was beautiful, and stood out from the muddy-brown, wall-eyed tigers more common in our colony.

Houdini before he was trapped and neutered. Notice his ears are both nice and pointy. Good-lookin' cat, and he knows it too.

I had every intention of trapping him and getting him fixed ASAP, as our colony was freshly established, only about six or seven months old, and I wanted to keep it 100% sterile. But the cat vanished,so I assumed he had just been passing through. He did return, however, turning up every once and a while throughout the summer, just to tease me. His appearances were unreliable, and any time I had some traps out, he was nowhere to be found.

Later, in the fall, he started coming more regularly. I chanced to observe that he was coming from the east, walking along the railroad tracks, usually at close to five o'clock, as if he knew that by then I was long gone. Now that I had an idea of his routine, I could use it to my advantage. I secured an appointment for him to get fixed and borrowed three traps, two of which were rusty and old, but I decided to try them anyway.

In the evening, I carefully laid my traps: one along the railroad tracks, one near the lumber, and one right by the cat food. I perched some distance away and waited. Waiting is always the hardest part. Finally, I heard the metallic snap of a trap! Inwardly, I was gleeful, but I made myself approach with care. The cat was in the trap right by the food bowls. But as I drew near, I found that things had not gone well. The door of the old trap had not shut all the way, and the cat, in desperation to get out, had shoved his head through the gap, followed by his front paws and shoulders. And there he stuck.

I hurried to reach him, thinking I could stuff him back into the trap, but my approach just freaked him out more. Frantically, he clawed the graveled ground with his fore paws, dragging the trap along behind him, the spring-loaded door clamped down on the middle of his back. It was a disturbing sight, and my priority switched to just keeping him from being hurt. Before I could get there, though, he suddenly popped free, shook the trap off, and dashed for the safety of the lumber bins. With dread I watched him go, thinking for sure that he must be hurt - a spine injury, or a broken leg...but while he seemed as shaken up as I was, he was still walking and moving about normally. The incident happened in probably less than a minute, but I can still see it all happening in my mind like a movie in slow motion.

A humane trap like this one is typically used for trapping feral cats. They're normally quite harmless, hence the name. My mistake was using a poor-quality trap. Sorry, Houdini.

The loss was disappointing, not just because I didn't catch him, but also because I knew it was very unlikely I would ever trap him again. Cats have excellent memories, and usually if you trap them once, they'll know better than to get into a trap a second time. But now this cat had actually been hurt by a trap - there was no way he'd ever forget that. I guessed traditional trapping was now out of the equation.

I didn't catch any cats that week, and as I told and retold the story of the cat that got away, I found myself saying things like, "He pulled a Houdini," as I described his daring escape. The name seemed fitting for the elusive cat, and it stuck.

Houdini also stuck...around that is. Despite his trauma, he would put in an appearance a few times a week all through the fall, strutting just out of reach. It was clear he wasn't going anywhere, and we were running out of warm weather, so the question remained:  How to catch him?

Find out how I finally caught Houdini in the next post: Houdini's Story, Chapter 2 - Coming soon!

Trouble Is A Friend

Is it possible to have too many cats in your life? Yes, I suppose it is. I myself have had moments where I've had just about enough of cats.

Spike likes to be involved in
everything I do. Here he is
'helping' me with the dishes.

Today, for example, Spike the Terror sneaked up to the table at lunchtime and as soon as I turned my back, he stole a slice of ham right out of my sandwich! Later, when I had just gotten home from work and really just wanted to rest for a while, Spike the Terror struck again! What fun it would be, he thought, to chew on this wire connecting your phone to the wall. Not long after I distracted him from that game, he decided to play 'chew on a plastic bag and see how long it takes human to come stop me from choking to death'. Ultimately, I shut him out of my room so he could be someone else's problem for a while.

Sometimes having cats is not unlike having small children. They need to be fed and cleaned up after, they keep you from your sleep, they sometimes need to be entertained or distracted, and if you aren't consistent with discipline, they turn into real terrors. They also need to be closely watched to ensure they don't stick their little fingers into an electrical socket, or something of that nature. I can't tell you how many times Baby has been caught trying to swallow lengths of ribbon and string. Like an infant, anything he finds on the floor goes right into his mouth. It makes me worry what they get into when I'm not home.

Baby likes to hide in the tunnel and attack unsuspecting passerby.

But I'm pretty sure that when I'm not around, they're innocently sleeping the hours away. Waiting. Conserving their energy for when I get home, at which time they will tear through the house like wild animals, knocking over potted plants and glasses of water, and just in general make nuisances of themselves.

On the other hand, those rare moments when they're being sweet and cuddly and paw-pawing your lap kind-of make up for their unending shenanigans. Sometimes I wonder, why do I have these cats? They're more trouble than their worth! I often threaten to take them back where I found them. (Not that it makes any difference.) But then there are days like yesterday, when I woke up just before noon, and all three cats were tucked up next to me in a row--a rare moment indeed! In moments like that - when you wake up with a smile on your face - you remember why they are worth it.

A picturesque Sunday morning: Baby in the foreground, Ollie in the middle, and Spike at the end.