Journal of a Sabbatical

October 25, 1999

visiting

Today's Reading: Thirty Years by John Marquand, Born Naked by Farley Mowat

Midgee's fascination with plastic bags has gotten out of hand. While I was waiting for Martha to finish up in the ringworm room so we could go out to lunch before bringing cats to the nursing home, I caught Midgee under the sink sucking on a plastic bag containing dirty litter boxes and dishes from the quarantine room. I shooed her away and she went after it again. I mentioned to Kendra that we're going to have to find another way to stash the quarantine stuff that's awaiting washing.

Arnold, Darcy, and Jaguar - yes Jaguar - got to be therapy pets today. I drove 'cause I've got the new car. Martha sat in the back seat with all three cats - Arnold's carrier on her lap - and pretended I was her chauffeur.

Jaguar is most definitely not deaf. In the first room I took him to, one woman dropped a book on her "I've fallen and I can't get up" alarm. It set off this high-pitched, exquisitely unpleasant whine. Jaguar jumped off her bedside table scattering her stack of Guidepost magazines all over the floor. I had to crawl under the bed, not to retrieve Jaguar but to pick up her Guideposts. Jaguar growled and stood by the door with one paw raised in that "let me out or I'll shred you" posture. The woman whose alarm it was couldn't hear it at all. So much for the legend that Jaguar is deaf.

Jaggie and I fared better in the other rooms on the second floor. One woman who doesn't talk and is barely intelligible when she does, started to tell Jaguar a long story about a white cat she used to have for 9 years, who ran away one night and never came back. That much of it I could understand. I am always amazed that people who won't talk to people will talk to cats. Several times today people lit up and became animated when I brought Jaguar to their rooms. Even the staff and the cleaning people relaxed and smiled when they saw the cats.

I met up with Martha and Betsy on the first floor, who told me that Arnold was burned out already and they'd left him with Mrs. Littlefield in her room. They continued on the rounds of the first floor while I carried Jaguar to Mrs. L's room for a rest. She had Arnold's carrier door open but he would not come out. If a cat won't come out for Mrs. L, you can be sure he's burned out on people. She opened Jaguar's carrier door and he emerged slowly. He sniffed his way around the room, checking everything out and then returned to the foot of Mrs. L's chair. He was just about to jump up onto her lap, when Arnold noticed him and let out a wail. Jaguar wailed right back and ran behind the chair, where we left him until Martha and Betsy came back.

We lasted a little more than an hour. That's better than I thought we'd do given Jaguar's disposition and the fact that Arnold had just gotten over being sick. When I told Nancy that I'd taken Jaguar to the nursing home she asked whether I'd taken leave of my senses or Jaguar had had a major breakthrough. A little of both I guess. He did growl some but didn't scratch or bite. When he went to set limits with one lady, he just put his paw up and tapped her - with the claws in. I guess that is a major breakthrough. Anyway, Nancy likened my decision to use Jaguar for pet therapy today to Jimy Williams decision to start Kent Mercker in Game 1 of the ALCS. There's nobody else available and he's not that bad. Mercker can pitch, Jaguar can purr.