Global Reflections

Cleo--the cat who can't decide if she's a cat, a human, a dog, a monkey, or what--recently happened upon me as I was taking care of the laundry. My jeans were still warm. As I folded them, I stacked them on the sofa. As you can see, she jumped onto them and promptly went to sleep. I just kept stacking them. After I was done, I left them there until she decided on her own to move. She stayed snuggled up in her warm little bed for a good 15 minutes before she came looking for me ... at which point, I petted her for a couple of minutes, then gathered up the jeans and put them away.

Sometimes I'm in awe of my cats. They need so little to be content. A warm place to lie down. A small, enclosed area to feel safe--they love their airline crates. Fresh water to drink. Nutritious food twice a day (although they really would prefer that it be available all the time). Occasional petting and brushing. A small ball, bottle cap, or cable tie to chase. A clean litter box. Each other. That's all they need.

So what do I need to be content? It's hard to say ... I know the difference between a need and a want. I know the things I need in a physical sense. But the things I need psychologically ... that's where it becomes a little more complicated, more difficult to determine with certainty what is a need and what is a want. I know I need my relationship with God--that's fundamental. Could I be content without anything else, just me and God? The Sunday school answer is yes. But I also know that isn't how God created us; there's a reason why He said it wasn't good for Adam to be alone, even though God Himself was there. We're made to need human companionship. So I need interaction with other people--my husband in particular, but also my extended family and my friends. That's what I need relationally. How about physically? I'm pretty sure I could give up my creature comforts. I could be content with a lot less stuff than I have now. But then I think ... if I really gave up my creature comforts, to the extent that I lived like the zabbaleen (the Egyptian garbage collectors, who live surrounded by the garbage they collect, sort, and sell for recycling) or like many villagers (not surrounded by trash, but in extreme poverty, like in my last post)--if I really gave up my creature comforts, could I be content? Probably so, I think, but only after God had used the circumstance to stretch and grow my faith well beyond its current limits.

The sisters at Mother Teresa's chose to have their faith stretched and grown in just that way. They willingly gave up creature comforts to live in Muqattam and pour out their lives to help the children of the zabbaleen. And they aren't alone. There are people all over the world who sacrifice immensely for a cause greater than themselves. From what I've seen of the sisters, they are content--more than content--with the life they've chosen. They don't seem to see its deprivations, only its joys. They are content because they trust God absolutely, welcome all that they have as a gift from Him, and view the things they do not have as opportunities for their faith to grow--either by seeing how God will carry them through without it, or by seeing how God will provide it.

Now that's a worldview worthy of emulation.

I watch the woman as she goes into the forbidden room. The room where adventure awaits--so many options of things to do! If only I could get in there without her knowledge, I could gnaw to my heart's content on the bristles of the broom. I could explore behind the two large machines where she puts her clothes--one making them wet and the other making them dry. I could climb to the tip top of the wooden ladder, then jump over to the shiny silver tube that connects the loud, dirty machine on the wall to the hole in the opposite wall. That's the machine that the two men looked at earlier today. They said it was broken and they'd replace it tomorrow. I wish they'd never replace it--ever since it's been broken, the living room has been so nice and comfy and hot, not all cold like the bedrooms are. Apparently the similar machine in the room off the hall still works. Drat it, I wish it would break too! Then the whole apartment could be toasty warm and I wouldn't have to freeze if I follow her, no matter where she goes.

But the other machine still works. And she won't let me into the forbidden room. Even now, as she comes out with her arms full of clothes, she nudges me away from the door with her foot before she closes it. She walks off down the hall to the room where she sleeps. I follow her. I am haunted by the thought that if I let her out of my sight, she'll disappear forever. So is my sister, Isis, who trails along with me. I sigh as I pass through the invisible boundary where the functional machine takes over for the broken one, making the air chilly.

The woman dumps the clothes on her bed and starts to fold them one at a time. I jump onto the bed and walk over to sniff the clothes; I want to know exactly what those machines in the forbidden room do to them. But what is this? They're warm! This could be the solution to my problem. I lie down on the warm clothes and snuggle down into them. Oh, perfect, heavenly bliss! I'm warm, the surface underneath me is soft, and I can see her as she laughs down at me. I also see my sister, crouching by the door to another forbidden room--the one filled with shelves, shoes, and dangling pieces of fabric that are oh-so-fun to climb! She's hoping to get in when the woman opens that door, as she always opens it after bringing in clothes from the forbidden room down the hall. But I'm not tempted to join her; she won't get in; she never does, and meanwhile, I'm warm!

The woman continues to pluck clothes from the bed and fold them. She jostles me as she takes some clothing from underneath me. She seems to be picking up the big pieces first. It won't be long now--yes, there she goes. She's picked up a stack of folded shirts and is heading toward the forbidden door where my sister waits. She opens the door--Isis darts in--but the woman is too quick again. She grabs Isis with one hand, still holding the clothes in the other, and Isis is put back outside the forbidden room. I watch as the woman uses wooden hangers to make the clothes dangle temptingly toward the floor, keeping one eye on Isis the whole time. She comes back out of the forbidden room, closes the door, and pets Isis apologetically. Then she repeats the whole process with another stack of clothes and the door to the other forbidden room.

I get bored watching this process. I start to groom myself lazily. She comes back and starts folding the smaller clothes. As she pulls the clothes from around me, I get cold. I see one of the long, narrow tube-clothes that the man uses to keep his feet warm. Maybe it will work for me, too. I grab it with my mouth and place it against my neck and head. Aah, that's better. Nice and warm again--wait, what's she doing? That blasted woman just took that carefully placed piece of fabric away! She can't do that; that's mine! In anger, I bite her hand. Not hard--I don't leave marks or draw blood. It can't really even hurt her; it's just enough to let her know that I'm displeased with her.

But now she's displeased with me. She isn't laughing as she grabs the skin at the back of my neck and pulls me out of what's left of my warm, soft nest. She tosses me unceremoniously to the floor. "No biting!" She sounds angry. I know better than to try to reclaim my nest. She's now folding the clothes that I was lying on. I sit on the floor and watch her balefully as she puts the rest of the clothes in drawers--drawers that she always hauls me out of if I manage to climb in. She's no fair. I'm not allowed to go anywhere exciting or do anything fun.

But I still can't let her out of my sight. Maybe she'll at least--yes, she is! She's going back down the hall, back to the cozily warm part of the apartment. She sits down at the desk and opens the lid to her typing-machine-with-a-screen. Oh, yes, I recognize that! She calls that screen "Blogger." Whenever she makes the machine show that, I know she'll be there for a while. Here we go ... I curl up in my basket, pleasantly situated where the warm rays of the sun would hit it if the woman hadn't stopped opening the curtains when the cold-making machine broke. But I don't need to be in the sun right now; it's warm enough, with that stupid machine broken. Oh, yes, so pleasant! I think I might (*yawn*) just take a little ... zzzz ... zzzz ...

Today is a special day in our home.

Exactly one year ago, we brought home our two kittens, Cleo and Isis, from the S.P.A.R.E. shelter. They were approximately six weeks old at the time. Weren't they adorable? (Cleo is all gray; Isis has a white belly and paws.)




























We had decided back in the States that we wanted a cat, but we decided to wait until we arrived here to get one. Our rented townhouse had punitive fees for pet ownership, and we didn't want to try to move a pet with us on our first international move, so we decided that the wise thing to do would be to wait. But I really wanted a cat, so as soon as our internet service was hooked up, I started looking for shelters.

Of course, it wasn't long before I realized that it really would be better for everyone involved if we were to adopt two cats, not just one. That way, they wouldn't be lonely when both Jeff and I were gone for the day--not to mention over our 3-week R&Rs. And because we wanted kittens, I knew that they'd be high-energy, and it would be helpful if they could entertain each other. Am I glad that we made that decision!

Cleo and Isis are sisters, littermates, so they've spent their whole lives together. They clung to each other during their traumatic ride to our apartment and for many days afterward. They play with each other and fight with each other. Although they usually prefer to sleep separately now, they still curl up together sometimes, especially when they're stressed.

Life with kittens has been an adventure. They had their vaccinations and preventive worm medication--although they didn't get a full dose of that, because we couldn't get them to take the liquid, and the vet almost lost a finger forcing them to take one pill each. They went into heat at the age of 4 months, a full 2 months earlier than the vet had wanted to spay them. He spayed them anyway, but they both pulled their stitches out too early. Cleo got an infection and almost died. Both of them have "pouches" or large folds of skin that hang down from their bellies--we think it's from where they pulled their stitches out, but we aren't sure. They don't seem bothered by their pouches, so we don't worry about them.

After their surgeries and Cleo's recovery from her infection, they turned back into rambunctious kittens. Cleo developed a fondness for video games. She also developed a fondness for water that the pet fountain did not totally eradicate, although the Scat Mat and Ssscat compressed air cans have kept her mostly away from the sink for a while. Then she locked herself into our bedroom and made a bit of a mess, but not until after either she or Isis had kidnapped the baby Jesus from our nativity set. I told you back in February that they both were still getting into trouble.

It hasn't really let up. We tried to put two wall hangings up ... Cleo thought it'd be fun to get the tassles that dangle from them, so they spend most of their time on top of the china cabinet. Jeff says that she has "mad hops"--she can jump as high as his shoulder if we hold up a toy or something that she wants. Isis has put a semi-permanent dent in the top of the cushion that goes on the back of an armchair--it's one of her favorite spots. Both kittens regularly open the lower cabinets in the kitchen, particularly the one that holds their food, but also the ones that hold the pots and pans, the pyrex, and a bag of napkins--the bag that used to close using a drawstring, until it somehow got ripped off. They also regularly open the pantry and climb in there, either to sit on top of the water boxes or to make a mess of the toilet paper and paper towels.

About a week ago, I took their food out of the cabinet and put it on top of the freezer. This was after I walked into the kitchen one morning to find the cabinet open, a hole in one bag of cat food, and food scattered on the floor. Later that day, Cleo was desperately scratching at something in the back of that cabinet. When I pulled her out and investigated, I found a bag of Pupperoni that lives in the drawer above the cabinet. Cleo had reached up behind the drawer and was in the process of pulling the Pupperoni out of the drawer and into the cabinet, where she undoubtedly would have torn a hole in the bag and gorged herself on Pupperoni, sharing with Isis, of course. She had the bag halfway down. (Yes, I know that Pupperoni is for dogs, but we can't find any cat treats that they like anywhere near as much, at least not with the limited selection we have here, so dog treats it is.)

Oh, yes, and food has become an issue for them. Cleo is a skin-and-bones kind of cat. She weighs 4 kilos, or not quite 9 lb. Isis is ... how do I put this delicately ... okay, I don't ... she's fat. Very fat. She weighs 6.3 kilos, or almost 14 lb. We've started feeding them different foods. Isis eats a low-fat food, and Cleo is back to kitten food for a little while, until she gets fattened up sufficiently. So they're no longer allowed to share food bowls like they used to, and they must be supervised while they eat. Isis will eat all the food she can reach, and Cleo will give her food to Isis willingly. Isis lets me know she's hungry by following me into the kitchen and meowing pitifully while looking to the top of the refrigerator, where the food bowls live. I ignore this cue; it loses its effectiveness when it happens each and every time I approach the kitchen. Cleo lets me know she's hungry by rising up on her hind legs, reaching as high as she can with her front paws, and digging her claws into the backs of my thighs. This behavior gets a reaction, but it isn't always the reaction she wants. If she stops before she hits skin, she gets fed. If she hits skin, my reaction is not always polite. But she gets fed anyway.

So for those of you who have been wondering about the kittens, they're doing well. They survived our 3-week absence with the help of our cat-sitter. She came over to feed them, clean their litter box, and provide a little human companionship every day. She also brought the young daughter of our neighbor (her full-time job was as their maid and nanny) over to play with the kittens, at our invitation. We had made certain to let both the girl and her parents know that she was welcome to play with them at any time while we were gone. Apparently the invitation had its desired effect--our neighbor and our cat-sitter both told us that she pestered them constantly to come play with the kittens.

At this point, I'm not sure what I would do without the kittens. I'm so glad that they came home with us. They provide companionship and stress relief to both Jeff and me. Sometimes when he's a little stressed from a long day at work, he just picks up Cleo--Isis won't let us pick her up--and cuddles her. A soft, warm, purring cat is a great relaxant! Isis climbs into my lap most afternoons if I sit down, Cleo occasionally curls up beside me, and both of them are calming influences ... whenever they aren't digging their claws into me, which they still do, since we're not all that great about trimming their claws regularly. Of course, it should be obvious as well that they provide lots of laughter and exasperation along with the companionship and stress relief.

Happy homecoming anniversary, Isis and Cleo! We're very happy to have you as a part of our family!



P.S. Cleo currently is pawing at the leather recliner like a scratching post ... at least she isn't actually scratching it (this time).

*Sigh*

My cats . . . let me just show you.












They're not allowed on the entertainment system. They know this; they have been squirted with water, pulled down, cajoled down . . . except, of course, for this time, when I let them stay where they were while I got the camera. The only reason the Scat Mat hasn't been placed there to really deter them is that it can't be used on metal objects. But of course, Cleo just loves getting way up high and peering over the top of the TV, and Isis enjoys sneaking around the lower part. We haven't found a good way to deter them.













And then there's the whole issue with electrical cords. Every time they're seen biting one, or even playing with it, they get squirted with water, pulled away from it, scolded . . . but Isis developed an obsession with the power cord to our emergency radio. I guess 18V isn't enough to hurt a cat. Jeff is going to see about getting a replacement today. But we still have to figure out how to keep Isis away from it. Those stinky sprays, designed as animal deterrents, last for about 30 seconds flat with these two. Jeff's vote is for putting the Scat Mat down on the floor to keep them out of the whole area where we keep the radio. Of course, the table on which it sits could be reached easily by a kitten leaping from the bed, with no need to hit the floor . . . until of course, the not-so-sturdy table falls over because of their shifting weight, if not from the impact of their landing. I don't think we can risk the radio itself hitting the Scat Mat on the way down, either.

Speaking of the Scat Mat . . . we used it to teach the kittens not to get on the kitchen counters. But of course, the point is that you leave it there for a while so they learn, and then you can remove the Scat Mat and use your counters again. The cats did great at first. Two jumps onto the counter each, and they avoided that section of counter like the plague. They continued avoiding it when we moved the mat--both the previously protected section and the currently protected section. For about a month now they've avoided countertops that have ever had the mat on it, as we gradually moved the mat around to all of our counters. Until earlier today. I heard a thump that I recognize as a cat landing on a counter. But all of the kitchen counters should be safe now, as just this morning I moved the Scat Mat over to the last area. But no. There was Isis, standing innocently on the counter, on the very first section that got the mat. Aargh!

Any suggestions?




P.S. While I was reading over this prior to publishing it, I heard a funny noise from the area where their pet fountain is. Take a look at what I found:










Yes, that thing sticking up from the water is the lid to the filter well. The one that snaps into place and therefore can't be removed by pets.

When Jeff and I got married, we bought a brand new queen-sized bed. Of course, neither of us used a queen-size bed before we married, so we had to buy new sheets--which we would have done anyway, but it meant that our old sheets couldn't be used as spares. We decided to splurge on the new sheets; we used gift certificates and cash gifts from our wedding to buy some super-luxurious, 1000-thread-count, wonderfully soft and smooth sheets. But they were ridiculously expensive, so we only bought one set.

We planned to buy another set of sheets, but we kept finding other uses for our hard-earned money, such as getting out of debt. And we didn't have a spare bedroom in our old place, so ours was the only bed in the house. I seriously dislike trying to fold fitted sheets, so I didn't like the idea of pulling out spares to put on the bed when I washed the sheets anyway, because I wanted to wash the fitted sheet, then put it back on the bed, thereby avoiding the need to ever fold it. So there was no need for spares.

When we found out that we were moving to Egypt, we also discovered that we were going to have a spare bedroom. We figured we'd need it, since both of us have family members who intend to come visit us. We realized that the time had come to buy some spare sheets. So we did. We bought a super-soft but inexpensive set and left them nicely folded in their tiny little space-saving packages until our shipment arrived in Egypt. Then we took them out and washed them prior to folding them up and hiding them away in the guest room to await their usefulness. One slight problem: the flat sheet disintegrated in the washer. It was very annoying, but we couldn't exactly head back to the store and return them, so we threw away the flat sheet, kept the fitted sheet and the pillow cases, and decided to buy more. But we never got around to it.

Oh, what a mistake that was!!

Yesterday afternoon, Jeff asked where Cleo was. I didn't know, but I didn't get up to look; she likes to nap on the bed or hide behind the refrigerator, and she always comes out eventually. Jeff agreed with this reasoning; he went back to surfing the internet, and I went back to reading my book on the sofa. A couple of hours later, Jeff mentioned that Cleo still hadn't come out . . . and I went looking for her. I knew we hadn't closed her in anywhere, but she does sometimes manage to close herself into our bedroom while messing around near the door, trying to get toys that she's thrown back behind it. Sure enough, the bedroom door was closed. I opened it, and Cleo came trotting out. I didn't go in; I just let her out and returned to my book.

Fast forward to 11:30 last night, when I've finally finished my book and realized how tired I am. (Jeff is still on the computer.) I go to the bedroom and start getting ready for bed. As I empty my pockets onto the nightstand, I glance over at the bed and--hold up, wait a minute, what is that? That brownish stuff on my green duvet? Oh, no, surely not . . . but yes. It was. While Cleo was locked in our bedroom, she had no access to the litter box, and apparently, she had to go.

In the process of cleaning it up, Jeff and I realized that Cleo had tried to be a good little kitty and bury her mess . . . thereby getting her poo on the duvet, the flat sheet, the fitted sheet, and two pillowcases. Oh, and the stuff that was on the duvet soaked through onto the down-alternative comforter as well. Great.

While I pre-treated everything and put the sheets in the washer to soak overnight, Jeff went scrounging for sheets and blankets. We ended up with our spare fitted sheet and two matching pillow cases, but no flat sheet. Instead of the comforter and duvet, we had two light blankets and two light throws. It was plenty to keep us warm, especially since we knew we could actually turn the heat on if we needed it. We put the softest blanket on bottom, but it was still pretty scratchy, especially considering that we're used to the 1000tc sheets. It's a sign of how spoiled I am that I tossed and turned until 4am, when I got up and put on some super-soft long pajamas so that the blanket didn't touch as much of my skin . . . after that, I slept fine.

We got up this morning and I let the washer finish the cycle. We were lucky--the poo all came out of the sheets. They're back on the bed now, with nothing to indicate how gross they were yesterday. The duvet still has a stain; it's in the washer for its second cycle now. I've been thinking about replacing it anyway, as it's no longer the nice hunter green that it used to be--it's faded quite a bit in the last two years. The comforter is in the dryer . . . it still has a little bit of a stain, but we won't put it in for another washer cycle since the first one left it with a couple of holes, since the washer apparently wasn't quite big enough. Oh, well, it'll be hidden inside a duvet or under a bedspread anyway.

The moral of this story? Simply this: if you want to sleep well while your poo-stained sheets are soaking in the wash, you should have a complete spare set of sheets, not just the fitted sheet and a couple of pillow cases. Oh, and if you ever notice that your cat is missing . . . go make sure she isn't closed up in your bedroom. Your bed is the thing in there that most resembles a litter box.

Notice anything wrong with this picture?




I'll give you a hint: compare it to this picture.




Do you see it now? Yep, that's right . . . my nativity set is missing the baby Jesus. He was there when I left the house this afternoon, in His manger where He belongs. But He isn't there now.

I can't prove it, but I suspect Cleo. I found her playing with Joseph's lantern in the middle of the floor earlier today. Joseph now holds nothing in his hand; the lantern is in a drawer for safekeeping. It's way smaller than the baby Jesus. It didn't occur to me that He might be in danger, too.

I haven't found baby Jesus yet. I admit, I only searched for a couple of minutes because I just had to write about my heathen kitties . . . anyway, here's hoping we find the missing Savior.

You know, I thought Jesus was supposed to go missing for a little while at Easter, not at Christmas . . .

*Sigh*


I guess the fountain doesn't fix everything . . .

Cleo has discovered the joys of running water.

She loves to hop up on the counter by the sink, get in the sink, play with the running water in the sink . . . I can't stop her. For a while, I squirted her with the water bottle every time she got on the counter or in the sink. Sometimes she'd jump down, sometimes she'd hide behind the microwave oven, and sometimes she'd attack the water bottle. Okay, if she wants escalation . . . I started turning the water on while she was in the sink, often when she was directly under the faucet. She'd hop out, groom herself for about 30 seconds, and hop back in. She also likes to stand on the ledge in between me and the bathroom sink when I brush my teeth. There have been times I've had to pick her up out of the sink so I could spit without getting toothpaste on her.

Cleo taught Isis about the joys of running water. Of course, Isis isn't quite so sure about water of any kind. If I shake the water bottle at her, she jumps down and runs into the living room. I turned the water on once while both Isis and Cleo were in the sink. Isis hasn't come near the sink since. But, still, Cleo is a problem.

So we ordered a Drinkwell pet fountain. It arrived yesterday (thanks for forwarding it, Mom). The cats were enthralled before we even set it up. Cleo was soaking wet from getting on the table where I was unpacking it--the water bottle strikes there, too, not that it much matters to her. She'll hop up on the table, counter, or wherever she wants to be, even if she's already dripping. When I put the fountain on the floor, Isis got in on it. I put it in its spot and filled it with water using a cup. Isis sniffed around the bowl, backing off when I approached with water--apparently you never know what I'm going to do with water--but quickly returning once it was clear that the water was going in the bowl and wasn't splashing back up. Cleo followed me to and from the kitchen. When I filled the cup, she stood on the counter by the sink, stretched out over it, with one paw exerting pressure on the cup. I'm not sure if she was trying to pull it to her or tip it over. When I left the sink, she hopped down and followed me to the fountain.

You should have seen them when we turned the fountain on! Isis ran away at first, before coming to sit about a foot away and watch. Cleo stuck her paw in the water stream, then yanked it back out, shook it, and looked at it as if to say "Why is it wet?" Then she did it again. Yep, Cleo, water is still wet. She drank some, splashed some, had a good ole time. Isis eventually approached. First she drank out of the bowl. Then she stuck her paw in the stream. Then she drank some.

I didn't get my camera out soon enough. I wish I'd had it out when we first turned the fountain on; there would have been some really fun video. However, you'll have to be content with the pictures I got once they had settled down enough for me to stop laughing and think of the camera. I got one video of Cleo playing some with the water, but she kept stopping to look at the camera. I turned it off when she walked away from the fountain and started rubbing against my ankles. Anyway, here's the video I got:




I haven't caught Cleo in the sink since we plugged the fountain in . . .

The room was pitch black except for the light from the television. On the screen, a small figure in white robes ran to and fro, collecting flags and assassinating people in accordance with the needs of the Assassins Guild. Suddenly, out of the darkness, there arose a huge black figure, determined to catch and eat the assassin . . . the Cleo! (dun dun duun)

In the darkness, the Cleo swiped uselessly at the bright white figure, desperate for food. The figure dodged adroitly, all the while continuing his mission. Eventually the dejected Cleo gave up and turned her attention to . . . the Cat Dancer! (dun dun duun)

So you see the fun we have with kitties :-) For anyone who gets this blog by email and can't see the embedded video, you can see it by clicking here. If the video won't play (I seem to be having issues with that), click here and then click on "slideshow."

Oh, and Jeff wanted me to be sure to say: The Cleo's attempts to kill the assassin (from the XBox 360 game Assassin's Creed) did not result in any damage to the TV screen. No assassins or kittens were harmed during the events described in this blog.

I just wanted to do a quick update on the kittens. Isis recovered normally, no problems. Cleo appeared to recover normally at first, but then she regressed. On Thursday, she refused to eat, drink, move, or defend herself when Isis attacked her (real attacks, not just playing; the vet said it was because Cleo didn't smell like Cleo when she was sick). A friend was staying at our apartment to use our internet connection while Jeff and I both were at the embassy, and she reported when I got home that Cleo at one point couldn't even support her own head. She was wide awake, but her head suddenly flopped over onto its side. I called the vet. He said to bring both kittens in for more antibiotics. I called Jeff and asked him to come home. With Isis still attacking Cleo, I couldn't put them in the same carrier, so I needed an extra pair of hands. Plus, my kitten was sick, I was worried, and I wanted my husband. Also, Cleo most definitely has decided that she's Jeff's kitten, just like Isis has decided that she's mine. (The lap preferences are incredibly consistent.) It seemed entirely possible that Cleo was dying, and I wanted Jeff to be with her if that happened.

So Jeff came home. We borrowed an extra cat carrier from a neighbor, and we went off to the vet. Isis got her shot normally, loud protests and all. Cleo had her temperature taken--a very invasive procedure; think about it--and didn't protest at all. She just sat there for her shot. Of course this behavior didn't soothe our concerns. We arranged with the vet for his assistant to come by our apartment the next day to give Cleo another shot, since the vet is closed on Fridays.

By the time the assistant got here on Friday, it was clear that Cleo was recovering. She still was subdued, but she was eating and drinking normally--actually, more than normal, since she was making up for going without for a couple of days. Isis no longer was attacking her and instead was cuddling with her. But of course she got her shot anyway. She protested vehemently this time; as the one who was trying to hold her, I have the bright red dot on my finger to prove it. She improved throughout the weekend. Now she's acting normally, at least as normal as our crazy kittens ever act. She's even managed to pull out a stitch. The vet already had prescribed an antibiotic ointment for both kittens because they started trying to pull them out the day after they were put in. Originally, yesterday was the last day for the ointment treatment, but when the vet heard how much better Cleo was doing, he told us to continue with the ointment. He didn't say how long, but with these two, I think we'll keep using it until it runs out.

It has been a couple of rough days. We had the kittens spayed yesterday. So on Sunday night, we had to take away their food and water. Sunday night I didn't sleep well; I couldn't stop thinking about (1) how I was going to get the kittens safely and comfortably to and from the vet, since Jeff had to work, and (2) if things would go well, since I really have no idea about the standards here for cleanliness, etc., for animal surgeries. So I was exhausted--and therefore a bit more emotional than usual--all day.

It turned out to be easier than anticipated to get a taxi and make the driver understand what I wanted him to do. Even though the driver didn't speak English, I've learned enough Arabic that I was able to make him understand that I wanted him to take me to Maadi Degla, then wait for me for 5 or 10 minutes, then bring me back to where he'd picked me up. My grammar wasn't quite right, but he understood me, and he agreed. So I dropped the kittens off at the vet around 11AM and then came home.

I spent the day trying not to worry. For some reason, I think of Cleo as fragile (probably because she's skinnier and more loving than Isis), so I was particularly concerned about how she'd do with the surgery. I've always been a worrier, and I know that betrays a lack of trust in God and therefore is a sin, so I try really hard not to worry. So I tried to distract myself with a mountain of ironing. When our HHE arrived, I washed all the clothes that had been in boxes for 10 weeks, which meant that I had piles of ironing to do. (I still have piles of ironing, but smaller piles than before.) Then I boiled some chicken to tempt the kittens' appetite. The vet had told me that although they probably wouldn't eat anything, it would be okay to offer them food and water when they came home.

I was able to get a taxi to take me back to the vet to pick up the kittens. I think this driver spoke English, but he humored me and let me tell him what I needed in Arabic. He repeated some words in English to make sure he understood, but I really appreciated that he let me practice.

The kittens were moving in their case when I got to the vet. Cleo was standing, but she was very wobbly, and I'm thinking she shouldn't have been trying to stand at all. Isis was wobbling while lying down, if that's possible. But their eyes were open--although there was no indication that they knew who I was, where they were, or what was going on around them. The vet assured me that the surgeries had gone well and that their behaviors were normal for cats coming out from under the anesthesia. I asked about medicine for them, and he grimaced. He remembered all too well how we brought them to him to give him their worm medication because we couldn't get them to accept it, and that he himself could only get about half of it down them. He asked if I could bring them in for daily shots for a while instead. I agreed, thankful that I wouldn't have to try to force medicine down their throats.

On the way home, one of the kittens started crying. I assumed it was Isis, who always vocalizes during car rides. But when we got home, Isis was asleep. I opened the carrier, and Cleo stumbled out. She was trying to walk, but she couldn't even stand up all the way. She was doing this combination of crawling and dragging herself. She kept falling onto her side. She wanted to get away from Isis (as the vet had said they should, so their wobbling didn't disturb each other and so they didn't mess with each other's stitches), but she was looking for a dark, enclosed space. She kept bumping her head trying to crawl under the buffet. So I took the one remaining box from our HHE, dumped all the contents on the floor, put a towel in there, and let her hide there for a while. She still wasn't content, though. I think it wasn't dark enough. So I set up two separate areas in the hall storage room, one for each kitten. That's where they spent the night.

Isis pretty well slept until at least 8:30. Cleo, though . . . it was heartbreaking. She sat there and cried all evening. I'm not sure if it was because of pain, fear, confusion, or some combination of all three. I petted her when she'd let me, but I couldn't hold her because the vet had said not to, due to the stitches. She wouldn't eat or drink. She'd try to get out of her enclosure, then retreat to a back corner where I couldn't reach her, crying all the while. It was even more heartbreaking because Cleo never cries or vocalizes as a signal for fear or pain (unless it's acute, i.e., we step on her). I sat there and petted her with one hand while wiping my own tears with the other.

But all things pass, and they both were much better this morning. Cleo ate and drank some, although Isis didn't. The vet had said they could be let out this morning, so we set up their favorite basket in their favorite sun-drenched section of floor and created some steps up to the couch, since they can't jump that high right now. We both had to go into the embassy today, but we left them as comfortable as possible, with food and drink available. When I got home late this morning, Isis was asleep in the basket and Cleo was asleep on the couch. Both have eaten some chicken and drunk some water since I've been home. Now they're both asleep again in their favorite spots. I still won't pick them up for fear of hurting them, but whenever they want to crawl onto my lap, they're welcome. I'm hoping I'll be able to get them into their carrier for the trip to the vet this afternoon without having to pick them up. Sometimes they'll go in on their own.

So for those of you who've been asking about the kittens: They're not great right now, but they're getting better.

Okay, so it's been this weird combination of not much happening and lots of stuff happening, so this is a random miscellaneous kind of post, to let you know about all the small stuff that's been going on in our lives lately.

Our UAB is here!! The UAB (unaccompanied air baggage) is a small portion of our stuff from the States that gets shipped here by air; we were limited to . . . I think 450 lb. But it's here! It got here last week. So now I have almost half of our dishes (I wanted all of them, but there was that weight restriction thing), two of our bath towels, one of our hand towels, one of our washcloths, all of our kitchen knives, our pots and pans, one piece of bakeware, our very own sheets (oh so soft and luxurious compared to the adequate-but-nothing-special ones in our welcome kit!) . . . oh, yeah, and a Roomba! I'm so excited about the Roomba. For those who may not know, it's a robotic vacuum. I hate to vacuum, but Roomba does it for me while I do whatever else I want. I've missed my Roomba. (The kittens are terrified of Roomba when he's vacuuming, but they make themselves feel better by pouncing him and walking on him when he's on his base/charger.) Oh, and Jeff's XBox 360 is here. I'll have to let him be all excited about that one. We also were able to fit in some DVDs and decorative items . . . although I forgot to add in a bath mat, silverware, or any trash cans. So we've done a little shopping to replace some of the welcome kit items that we gave back. Overall, though, it's been a great trade.

Our Ford Explorer arrived yesterday! This is a mixed blessing. Theoretically, I now have more freedom and the opportunity to do something that I kind of enjoyed back in the States--driving. On the other hand, I now have no excuse not to brave the Cairo--or at least the Maadi--traffic. But I'm going to do it. I'm driving to the commissary tomorrow. Depending on how stressful the drive is for both me and Jeff, he may be driving back. We'll see. It shouldn't be too bad tomorrow; the streets are usually deserted on Fridays, but if we pick the wrong time, we'll be dealing with all the mosque-goers' cars blocking the road. I'm going to be optimistic. I'll do fine.

We've started taking classes in Egyptian Colloquial Arabic. This basically is a dialect of formal, or Modern Standard, Arabic, just like the particular version of English that we speak in the South is a dialect of the Queen's English. So I've been up to my eyeballs in the difference between "minfadlik" and "minfadlak," the fact that "enta" means "you" and "emta" means . . . "when," I think. Not to mention the decision as to whether or not I'll follow the Egyptian custom of adding "al ham du lee la" whenever I say that I'm fine. It means "Praise/thanks be to God/Allah." The decision part comes in because if it's a general "thanks be to God," I'm okay with that; I am not, however, okay with thanking the specific Muslim god Allah for anything. I don't think Muslims see any difference between God and Allah, though, so even getting an answer to the question of precisely what the phrase means may be difficult. One of my friends from church says "Al ham du Jesus." That certainly avoids any confusion.

The kittens have started their vaccinations. They did NOT enjoy their first visit to the vet, nor are they likely to enjoy their second. Poor little Isis meowed pitifully the whole way (thankfully it was a short drive), so apparently her reaction on the drive home from the shelter wasn't totally due to the water bowl on her head--I made sure there was no water in the bowl this time, although I had bottled water I could use if they needed it. Even the vet looked a little chagrined while he was examining her because he and his assistant couldn't calm her down either. Just for the record, Isis does not like being examined, she does not like having her claws trimmed, and she *absolutely* does not like getting a shot. Cleo was more stoic. During her examination and claw-trimming, she stood quietly in the grip of the assistant, looking daggers at Jeff and me for putting her through this indignity. But she totally rebelled when the needle came out. You would have thought the vet was sticking that needle through her heart instead of through a fold of her skin. Isis, whom I was holding and comforting at the time, couldn't decide between trying to bolt for the window (it was closed), trying to get to Cleo (I had her turned so she couldn't see what was happening), or just huddling in a little shaking ball of terror (my preferred reaction, as it made her easier to hold). Cleo refused to be held and comforted by us (I think she was mad), so we put them both back in their travel case, where they cuddled up with each other and eventually calmed each other down. The meowing started up again as soon as we picked up the case; there's something about a moving "room" that the kittens don't seem to like. The vet prescribed some deworming medicine for them (they don't have worms; it's a precaution), but we haven't been able to get them to take it. We traumatize them when we try. I think we're going to let the vet give it to them when we take them back for their second round of shots next weekend. We also need to talk to the vet about having them microchipped and spayed. They may never forgive us for those.

If you want to see some pictures of the kittens with Jeff, click here.

So that's about it for us . . . I'll let you know as stuff happens :-)

Introducing the two newest members of our family: Isis and Cleo (short for Cleopatra)! Cleo is the one who's all gray; Isis has the white paws and belly.



They're named after two figures in ancient Egyptian history: Isis the the mother of all pharoahs, and Cleopatra the last pharoah. The best estimate we have for Cleo's and Isis's age is around 6 weeks. They're littermates, two little sisters.

Isis and Cleo were adopted from the shelter run by S.P.A.R.E. (the Society of Protecting Animal Rights in Egypt). They, along with their sister, brother, and mother, were dropped off at the shelter by a man who paid for one night's boarding, left a false name, address, and phone number, and disappeared. This is a common way in which pets are abandoned at the shelter when their owners no longer want them. They were fortunate to have been taken to a shelter; there are countless feral cats all over Cairo, and many more cats are simply put on the street than are taken to shelters. The cats at the shelter are fed, sterilized, vaccinated, and adopted out whenever possible, often to families in the United States or Europe. They have much longer and healthier lives than do the feral cats.

Cleo and Isis did not have a good day yesterday. We picked them up from the shelter with their brand new carrying case, complete with two toys and a travel water bowl. We put a little water in the bowl, enough that they could drink it but not enough that it would slosh out, even on Cairo's bumpy streets. But although the water would have survived the bumps just fine, it did not survive getting in the cab.

The driver "helped" Jeff put the carrier in the backseat a little too exuberantly. The travel bowl of water landed on Isis's head. Isis was a wet and miserable kitty for the 20-minute ride back to Maadi. She mewled pitifully, sticking her paws and nose out of the carrier, begging to be let out and dried off.

I thought Cleo was handling the ride better. She was sitting calmly in the carrier, braced against the swerves, jostles, and bumps. She looked a little tense, scared even, but that was to be expected, so she was doing well enough, I thought. Then I realized why she was sitting so quietly -- she was motion sick. The new little mouse toy ended up in the trash when we got home, along with the soft bathmat we had put in the bottom of the carrier.

Things improved once we got them home. We put them in the storage room off the hall; we had prepared it for them beforehand with a litter box, food and water bowls, a scratching post, a few toys, and a cardboard box with a door cut into it. The kittens came out of the carrier quickly at first, then went back inside just as quickly, even though it was wet in there. This strange new place was not their cage back at the shelter, and they weren't certain that they liked it.

Eventually they both came back out. They found the cardboard box and decided it was a good place for a nap; at least Cleo did. While Cleo slept, Isis sat there awake and staring.

After naptime, they showed their personalities quickly. Cleo is adventurous; she started exploring and playing with the toys quickly. Isis was much more timid. She eventually explored and played some, but even today, she prefers playing with Cleo over playing with the toys. But for a while, they were both actively exploring and playing.

They were doing so well that we let them out of the storage room for a while. Cleo was great with this; she wanted to explore the whole apartment. Isis saw her reflection in the entryway mirror, then hid under the chest in the entry. We eventually pulled her out and put both of them back in the storage room. Even though Cleo is ready to come out, Isis isn't, and Isis also isn't ready to be in the storage room alone unless she's asleep, so Cleo will have to wait.

A little neighbor girl has been excited about the kittens, so she came over to see them last night. She was fine; she was soft-spoken and gentle, understanding that the kittens were scared. Unfortunately, the friend who came with her was not quite so fine. Think squeals and attempts to pet a cat who's frantically clawing her way up my shoulder to get away. Our neighbors reined her in before she went too far, but the kittens definitely were afraid of her. Luckily, Isis missed most of this. She had disappeared sleepily into the box just before the girls got here, so I opened the top of the box to let them see her but didn't take her out. Cleo got to go explore the living room a little bit, with the girls in tow. It was during this time that Cleo started to decide that Jeff and I aren't so bad, and we're pretty good places to go for protection.

After the girls and their chaperons left, Cleo joined Isis in sleep. They slept until around 3:30 this morning, when Jeff and I awoke to mewling. I told him to go back to sleep since he had to go to work today, and I went in there with them. At first, they just wanted me in there periodically. I'd go in, say hi, then go out to the couch and lie down. They'd let me sleep for 15 or 20 minutes while they played before mewling again, when I'd go back.

Then Isis got sleepy again. Apparently Isis has decided that I'm okay; in fact, I'm her substitute mommy (which is what we had hoped for). Apparently Isis also is a lap kitty. This means that when she gets sleepy, she wants to be in my lap. (Cleo also will get on my lap, but only if she's trying to use me as a ladder to get over the table we turned sideways to block the door.) I want to encourage her in this, but I don't want to sit on the floor in the storage room holding her all day while she sleeps. So I tried to bring her with me back out to the couch. Nope. As soon as I got one step from the storage room door, she was mewling loudly, claws out and gripping my arm through my sleeve, straining back toward her "safe room." So I took her back into the storage room and held her for a while. Eventually I couldn't take it anymore; I laid down on the floor and used their blanket as a pillow. At that point, Isis couldn't sit in my lap, and beside me wasn't working for her, so she went back into the box to sleep. So I went back to the couch.

Then Cleo decided that it was time for my training to begin. She'd mewl; I'd come back; she'd stop mewling and look at me until I told her that it was okay, I was here. She didn't want to be held, petted, or touched; her food and water were fine, and her litter box was clean. She proceeded to ignore me. I'd go away. Five to 10 minutes later, the process would repeat. Eventually Cleo went to sleep too, so I was able to check email and get a shower. Then they woke up, and the whole process, including my training, repeated again for a couple of hours. Now they're asleep again.

So I'd say the kittens are adjusting. We're establishing the rules. They call me; I come running. They pounce on my toes; they get sprayed with the water bottle. I think these are rules we can live with.