The Editorial Cat (Edre)

The section was written January 20, 2004:

Sometimes, it helps to have a helping paw at work. Here’s Edre helping Joann with her (Joann’s) editing work. You’d think sitting so close to the screen would ruin her eyes.

And here are our two editors, slaving over a hot computer, holding a confab on the finer points of “‘i’ before ‘e’ except after ‘c’” and just maybe about using the abbreviation of “confabulation” for “chat”! Probably it was about the damn photographer and when was dinner going to be ready.

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The Girls

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"Productivity took a nosedive"

The following text was written September 27, 2001:

These girls were human-nursed as they lost their mum when they were a few hours old. (The cats’ owners let the mother cat out of the house to go to the bathroom after the kittens were born. The mother cat was run over by a car.) The litter was born on July 6, 2001; we got these two kittens on September 25, 2001. We’d been warned by the “surrogate mother” at the Derry Animal Hospital that Circaea has a heart murmur. That condition is fairly common, and sometimes kittens will grow out of that.

Typical kittens, they’re lively—until they finally get tired. I (Larry) am beginning to realize that there are some traits that are universal among living beings. You know how siblings will fight when riding in the back seat of the car? Same with kittens. Bedtime, Circaea and Edre will be hopping around and wrestling on the bed, on the floor, in the fall from the bed to the floor. I might be minding my own business reading while lying prone of the floor; the two “girls” will be hopping and wrestling on my back, between my legs, around my feet. Ah, the energy of youth.

Both kittens have incredibly loud purrs, though Edre seems to purr more than Circaea. Edre also seems to be a little more curious and outgoing (is that the same thing?) than Circaea. Neither kitten seems to mind my bagpipe practice chanter or Joann’s laugh. (I haven’t practiced much—and certainly not with the full highland pipes, yet.)

We kept both kittens away from our old cat, Max, for about 36 hours, hoping he’d get used to their smell once we moved them from my office to the bedroom. Truth be told, we got Circaea and Edre to keep Max company, given that he obviously gets lonely when we leave the house since his sister died nearly a year ago. (Max and Sarah used to sleep snug up to each other. Last winter, Joann noticed that Max was losing weight. She came up with the bright idea of putting out a heating pad, covered by towels, so that Max could sleep on it, get some warmth, which Sarah would otherwise provide, and therefore not lose weight trying to stay warm. That seems to have worked, so much so that until we’d go to bed at night, we were guaranteed to find Max on the heating pad, if not the food bowl.)(Yeah, yeah, I know: Turn up the heat for the cat... and Joann. Naahhhh.)

When finally “introduced,” Max more or less behaved himself. A couple of deep-throated growls, some hissing, and one swat. Otherwise, Max took the “high ground,” literally; he stayed on top of things and just looked down on the kittens. The kittens, mostly exploring and running around on the floor, were in blissful ignorance of what was going above their heads Max looking on—eyes wide, ears slightly cocked, and body poised ever so slightly to jump. (Max hasn’t slept on the bed these past two nights.)