Friday Follies - Autumn Leaves

I was driving to work this morning thinking about how beautiful spring is with the green grass and blooming flowers.  The fragrance wafting across our yard at the moment is wonderful - frangipanis, star jasmine, mock orange, other things that I don't know what they are called (I'm good with animals, not plants).  Then it hit me.  Its not spring, its autumn, you goose.  Autumn.  You live in the southern hemisphere now.

Frangipanis in our yard.

It seems that large parts of my brain are still Canadian-centric even though I've been here for almost 17 years.  Sometimes I forget that it is now fall and that winter isn't too far away.

My mind has trouble comprehending green grass and new growth (although this has a lot to do with  all of the rain that we've been having too) as we start slipping into the winter months.  I love that no matter what time of year it is, something is always flowering here.  I still don't take it for granted.  I definitely don't take the absence of -30C temperatures for granted!

Jasmine or mock orange...whatever

I do miss the North American autumn though.  The orange, rust and red hues mixed with the greens of the conifers and pine trees makes for a beautiful vista.  Until a big wind comes and then its stark bare branches against a grey sky.

Autumn in Edmonton - except it's Spring there right now.

Even after the leaves drop, they still create a colourful carpet, crunching underfoot.  There is a special 'autumn aroma'.  I do miss that.  I miss the crispness of the air with the warm fall days, with just a hint of a promise of snow on the horizon.  The days start getting shorter and thoughts of fireplaces and cosy warm blankets start to creep in.

And then there were no leaves.

Enough reminiscing - the season that follows autumn is winter, and I much prefer my winter here.  Even the winter here doesn't feel like the fall in Canada.  The only time that I have smelled snow in the air was in Tasmania - that was in the fall - and it did snow.  Thankfully I don't live there either, I like the heat.  Just as an aside, visit Tasmania.  It's beautiful and diverse, with lots of great Aussie history.

Grevillea - one of my favourites
because the lorikeets love them.

Autumn in Queensland can be blistering hot, or cool and/or wet.  Sometimes one day after the other in quick succession as it has been lately.  It's a mixed bag, and you never know what you'll get.  Last week it was 33C and the next day it was 21C and wet.  My dogs don't know if they need to be panting their faces off looking for shade or curled up into a ball, trying to make a nest of their beds.

Unlike the dry and brown yards that we normally see at this time of year, green is everywhere, in every shade.  Flowers are blooming and there is new growth on the trees.  The birds are having the best time, even the cockatoos that were bombing me by knocking pine cones off the trees this morning.  The brats almost got me too.   You can't trust a cockatoo.

This is not the autumn that I'm used to - I don't think I'll ever think of fall as a time when flowers bloom.  It messes with my head. 

And no thanks, it's still not enough to make me want to move back to a cold climate!  I'm sure I'll get my seasons sorted out eventually.  Or the dementia will hit.  One or the other...

Some purple flowering ground cover plant

 

Very cool flowers on this one.

 

Flowers on the tree.

If You Don't Ask, You Won't Receive - Cat-itude

Last week I wrote about how our dogs tell us what they want and have learned to communicate their needs and intentions (and vice versa).  These week the cats get their turn.  The cats have whispered to me that they should have gone first because, well, the are cats, but sometimes it's good to keep them humble.

Anyone with a cat knows that they have a great and varied system of communication.  The problem is that this system is often cryptic, and you can consider yourself quite clever and lucky if you manage to figure some of it out.  Some of it is ridiculously obvious, like crapping on your bed after a trip to the vets.  Okay, I get it, you didn't enjoy having a thermometer shoved up your butt.  Can you just scratch me instead please?

Clawde is a lovely, people (and dog!) oriented cat.  While he may not always be stuck to your side, he does like to be near the action and just know that you're around.  Since his adoption day, he and I have learned to communicate with each other, and to be honest, I think we do quite well.  He probably did most of the training, but that's beside the point.

Clawde loves his family and loves a bit of attention.  If he doesn't want a cuddle, he can quite happily ignore you as you carry on with your day.  But if he wants a cuddle....well, he has a good repertoire of communication tools.  The most subtle, and I think the cutest one, is that he half turns onto his back, squints his eyes and pushes his whiskers forward while propping his front legs into what I call 'rabbit'.   Clawde has also reached professional status with the 'slow blink'.  A slow blink in cat language means that he loves and trusts you, and he wants attention.  Sometimes the rabbit pose is accompanied by a silent meow as well as the slow blink.

Rabbit pose - works every time.

 

Clawde?

Clawde has never been a loud meow-er (the vet begs to differ as they have actually had to move him to a back kennel on one of his many stays there. He is so loud that they can't hear their clients in the consultation room).  He either does a silent meow, or his vocalisations are quiet and kitten-like.  Nothing tugs at the heart-strings like a quiet kitten meow.

I must admit that this strategy works for Clawde about 99.99999% of the time.  If my bladder is about to burst and I'm desperate to get to the toilet, other priorities take over.  But it does work most of the time.

At other times, if I'm racing around the house trying to get chores done or getting ready to leave, I will suddenly find a supine cat blocking my passage, in rabbit pose of course.  And if I dare to step over and ignore Mr Adorable, I get a smack on my ankle.  Fortunately he's a pretty nice cat and keeps the claws in, unlike other cats I've had.

Clawde is communication two things here.

Can you guess what they are?

Clawde's intentions are also made obvious when I'm preparing food.  If I happen to be cutting up meat, his first attempt to have a morsel tossed his way is to sit behind or beside me, purring loudly (slow blink thrown in for good measure).  Daring to ignore His Highness results in him getting between me and the counter, and reaching up his full length, claws out, and stabbing me in the thighs and/or other unmentionable areas.  Wearing loose clothing then becomes a detriment as his claws lock in and he drags his front paws back down to the floor.  There go my pants.  This behaviour continues until I either pick him up and throw him outside (too much effort and involves leaving food unattended on the counter - and I do have another cat who leaps at such opportunities) or throwing down a piece of food.  So once again I am reinforcing bad behaviour.  Is this how serial killers start out?

I'm a tree!

As mentioned before, the cats have a cat door that is open almost all the time.  If the cat-slaves are home (the humans), it is deemed an unnecessary means of egressing the house, and all doors must be used.  Clawde's desire to go outside (or inside) is communicated by him walking front of me, stopping to turn his head to look at my feet to see if I'm following, and then leading me to a door.  Being a cat, he then makes sure that his intentions are not all that clear, as he stands at the door trying to make me guess if he really wanted out or not.  That usually gets him a helpful nudge to his derriere with my foot, as I make my intentions clear to him.

Another communication tool that Clawde uses (unfortunately quite effectively, I might add) also has to do with going in or out (often within half an hour of each other).  He will sit at the screen door and do a yoga stretch up to the heavens (upward cat?), latching onto the screen with those sharp needles on the ends of his toes.  Then, slowly, slowly, each claw is removed from the screen, making the most awful sound.  In case we are unsure if this is a purposeful act, a slow and deliberate glance over his shoulder at us is employed just to make sure that we are paying attention to his needs.  Yes, Clawde, we notice you.

We love a slow blink.

Clawde likes to escalate this behaviour at night.  We have a full-size patio screen door in our bedroom.  Clawde doesn't sit and do yoga in the middle of the night at this one - he jumps up and uses all four of his God-given feet to climb up and down, excruciatingly placing and removing each paw up the door, and then down the door.  This is when he also uses a louder yowl for emphasis.  Because apparently the sounds of claws ripping in and out of bug screen isn't annoying enough.

Now I am very aware that every time I get up to let him in or out, I reinforce this behaviour and embed it more deeply in his psyche, but I challenge anyone to ignore it.  Just to keep my illusion of power and dominance in check, if I can wake myself enough, I will grab him, walk to the cat door and push him through it (sometimes with more force than is probably necessary...).  I'm not sure he gets my point.  Or cares.

More rabbit

Purrkins is also a creature of great communication skills.  For one, he has the most expressive face and he cracks me up all the time.  That cat makes me laugh out loud at least once a day, and that's a slow day.  Purrkins is not a quiet meower.  He has a gruff, throaty voice which he uses constantly, from the great grunt that he makes jumping up or down off things (this may have to do with the weight of his belly and gravity?) to the constant chatter as he enters a room.  I love his vocalisations and sometimes we have great conversations, although I am stumped as to what my part is, but I play along.

Purrkins during a quiet moment....but
still communicating!

We have a saying in our house - if Purrkins wants a cuddle, he gets a cuddle.  You can't ignore a Purrkins when it wants a cuddle.  He will get on your lap with his squeaky loud purr and possibly with a bit of drool, madly making bread (usually on your semi-full bladder) and then flops down, all sweet and full of love.  And that's it, you are cuddling before you know it.

Purrkins soon after adoption letting his dad know
that he likes to hang out.

Purrkins has also conveyed his great disappointment with my off-key singing abilities by sitting up, staring at me and putting a paw on my mouth.  I mean really, where's the subtlety in that?

Purrkins is also my cling-on cat, my special Velcro cat, because he is always with me, and one of his favourite times to hang out is when I'm doing housework.  Weird, I know, but that's Purrkins.  Heaven forbid that I start cleaning toilets if he's outside.  He'll come out of a deep slumber when he hears me cleaning, and then decides that it's play time.  I know this because he starts running at full speed around the house, and skidding around corners on our floors.  If I don't come and chase him, he starts trilling and making high pitched sounds until I find what room he is in, waiting with great anticipation.  Then it's on and we start chasing each other around the house.  I always have to factor this into my housework.  I'll be honest, it's way better than scrubbing a toilet.

Purrkins using more of his communication skills.

Purrkins loves food more than Clawde does, and the sound of the fridge door opening or a plate being taken from the cupboard will bring him running from anywhere.  He doesn't need silly little pant-pulling antics like Clawde, he just tells me with his loud voice and a stare at the pantry or fridge door. Purrkins is all about using his voice.

I know it is painfully obvious that I love communicating with my cats.  I love the subtleties and enjoy the challenge of trying to figure out what they want or need.  When you get it right, it's a beautiful thing and just enriches the relationship even more.

Friday Follies - Is He Your Spectre-tacular Soulmate?

Imagine my surprise (maybe you won't have to because you will be surprised too!) when I heard that there is an Irish woman who has married a 300 year old ghost!  Yes, a ghost.  Not just any ghost either - a pirate ghost.  That's rrrrrright - a pirate.  It would be a feather in any woman's cap to say that she is married to a pirate (only if it's a sexy Johnny Depp pirate, mind you), but being married to a ghost is an ethereal feather that I have never considered putting into my own cap.

Mmmm, pirate...

Fortunately this lady was experienced with communicating with the dead, so she wasn't surprised or freaked out when he contacted her.  After years of chatting and late night discussions, they developed feelings for each other (I'm not making this up, you can google it or read about it here.  A marriage soon followed (conducted on international waters and apparently legal) and they live on in marital bliss.

It's a nice day, for a ghost wedding.

Much to my surprise (again!), there are references to ghost marriages in many countries, including Sudan and China, and it is actually legal in France (to be specific, it's legal to marry a dead person, but a ghost sounds like so much more fun).  Vive la difference!

Swipe right or left?

So what would it be like to be married to a ghost?

Probably a lot quieter....or would it be?  If you can only hear him in your head, you wouldn't be able to block out his incessant pratter about trucks or other such scintillating topics. Okay, let's put a tick on the side of a real life husband - I'd much rather hear him in my ears than my head.

If he was in my head, he'd know my secrets.

Having a husband with access to my head would be a disaster, running amok amongst my innermost thoughts.  Shudder....

I think being married to a ghost husband would also put a new spin onto the phrase 'silent but deadly', but I'm not sure how the whole Dutch Oven thing would work any more.  That may need more thought.  I don't think you can escape the flatulence and self-congratulatory titters that accompany with them if you have a husband of any type.

Excuse me?

No dirty clothes dumped on the floor or on top of the dirty clothes hamper would be a tick of approval for the ghost husband, but how often would you sit on him by accident while he was watching a superhero movie on a Sunday afternoon.  I think a pirate ghost would definitely like superhero movies - I can't see him being into chick flicks at all.

A distinct advantage to a ghost husband would be companionship.  On the premise that most people that are married actually like and love each other, companionship is for life.  If you have a ghost spouse, you get the bonus of companionship in the after-life.  But then it goes without saying that if you don't like your spouse, this becomes a huge minus.

Fights would be interesting, the yelling would be one-sided and you would sound like an absolute maniac to your neighbours.  Throwing things at his head would be terribly unsatisfying, but at least he couldn't slam the door as he storms out of the house.  Storming out?  Sorry buddy, more like a gentle breeze.  That's not how to make a point.

I think you would get a bit resentful over time though, because he wouldn't be able to do his share of the house work and yard work, and no one likes to feel like a slave, not even a pirate's wench..uh...wife.  After all, marriage is about the sharing of burdens and responsibilities.

Another plus, no in-laws to deal with.  Unless they are ghosts too.  I can think of no advantages to having a ghost mother-in-law at all, hanging around in your business all the time.

I was going to say that spooning in bed on a cold winter's morning would not be pleasant with a ghost, but this lady is adamant that they have a pretty fantastic physical relationship.  I find that mildly disturbing, so I won't address the spooning.

Yes, I said 'physical relationship' with a ghost....

After very little consideration, I think I'll stick with my real-life hubby.  He's pretty great (don't tell him that please).   If he wants to hang out with me when we pass to the other side, I'd probably be okay with that too.

Obligatory cute cat picture while staying with the pirate theme.

If You Don't Ask, You Won't Receive - Dogged Determination

Anyone that has pets knows that they soon train you to understand what they want.  Some ways are subtle, some not so much.  Some you understand right away, some take some 'training' on the part of your pet. (Please note, this blog is rife with anthropomorphism, as usual.)

I would like to say that Manu, my sensitive soul, is usually easy to understand, but sometimes I cannot interpret his looks.  Things like standing or sitting and staring at the door with great concentration are very obvious, and clearly he wants out.  Although sometimes if one of us is out for the evening or away for a few days, he spends a lot of time looking wistfully out the door, wondering when the member of his beloved family will return....and why, oh why, do they always leave him.  After all these years we are still trying to get through his thick head that we always come back and that we would never, ever abandon him.  One day he might actually believe it.

Manu is also very obvious about his needs when it is close to his dinner time.  It usually starts at least one hour before his usual dinner time, and involves staring at us with tail wagging in hope.  If we tell him to go away as it is clearly too early, the dejection is obvious as he finds a place to lay down while staring sadly with those big brown eyes.  Any body movement on our part is a signal that this may, indeed, be the actual dinner time.  When we do head in the right direction, there is much dancing on big fat mastiff paws, tail wagging and sometimes some enthusiastic howling.  I like the howling the best - his pursed and wrinkled muzzle and extended neck (flopping extra skin and all) - is pretty cute.

At other times, Manu just looks at us with a worried look on his face - nothing is obviously wrong, but who knows what goes on his brain.  Maybe he feels he's not close enough to us and wants to get in our skin, just like Buffalo Bill from Silence of the Lambs....

Manu = Buffalo Bill (a bit obsessed)

That's pretty much Manu's repertoire - as long as he is with us and/or touching us, he wants for nothing.   If you are ignoring him a bit, you get hit with that hammer of a paw.

Does this mean Chamois is technically a lap dog?

Chamois is a different kettle of fish (or dog...bad analogy but I couldn't think of a good dog one).  She does all of the usual things like asking to go out, but she adds other ways of communicating into the mix.  Sometimes to make sure she has your attention, she will quietly put her head on you, and then press down forcefully.  She does this to me in the middle of the night when she wants to go out, and I am either deeply asleep or refusing to let her out because I know she's going to bark at something.  She presses harder and harder, usually on my arm or sometimes on my neck if I'm turned away from her.  Which is what I usually do as I get a blast of doggy breath panted enthusiastically, full-force into my face.  If I continue to ignore her, she starts muttering and making all of these groaning, whinging sounds.  It's so annoying that I just want her to go away and end up doing her bidding.

Chamois has studied this technique.

The other times when Chamois wants something - you can tell that her thick Bull Arab brain is figuring out how to manipulate the system - is when she wants up on the bed.  The dogs aren't allowed on the furniture.  This works for Manu as physically he can't get himself up there.  This doesn't work for Chamois as she is stubborn, wilful and manages to get what she wants, ignoring any disciplinary measures that we may take.  Female dogs are called bitches for a reason, folks.

Chamois will walk into the bedroom with a very specific gait - I can't describe it, but I know it.  The tail wags at half measure, telegraphing her intent, while the little sides of her mouth turn up slightly, wrinkling at the corners.  There is a distinct twinkle in her eye - I think she knows that she'll get her way once again.  Damn her!  She looks at the bed, she looks in your eyes, she looks at the bed, she looks in her eyes, and then one paw gently rests on the bed, and the tail picks up its tempo, ever so slightly.  Before the word 'yes' can escape your lips, the happy pant / smile takes over her face and she hauls her big old butt up onto the bed and flops down with a triumphant grunt.  And Chamois wins  yet again.

Is there a storm coming?

Chamois also uses her growl / groan / whinge talk when she really, really needs to come back into the house.  This is often her pre-warning system of a storm coming (she normally alerts us at least an hour before the storm hits), fireworks or gunshots in the neighbourhood, or just because she really, really wants in.  Really.  And.....we haul ourselves off the couch to let her in.  Suckers! 

Upside down Manu

 

Upside down Chamois

Cuddles and belly rubs can be elicited by laying upside down, staring and slowly wagging the tail.  Ignoring these signals can cause her to growl at you.  You're never sure if that was a growl you heard at the edge of your hearing, because she doesn't move at all, just looks at you.  Continued ignoring of this growling causes it to increase in volume and ending with a higher pitched yip.  Too cute, I'm afraid, and it usually ends up with one of us laying on the floor with her for what we call a 'puppy pile-up'.  All dogs then come over and flop down for cuddles, kisses and some general loving.

Every dog we've ever had has found ways to get what they want.  I'm never sure who trains who, or if you just grow into a mutual understanding over time.  It's probably like marriage - eventually you figure out what the other one wants.

Hmmmm?

Friday Follies - Isn't it Iron-ic?

Haemochromatosis.  Do you have it?  Chances are you do, or someone that you know does.  It's a genetic disorder that is prevalent in those with an English, Scottish or Irish background, which means that Canada and Australia have a high incidence of people with iron overload.

I've known for years that I have this disorder because I was tested after Mum was diagnosed with it.  We absorb too much iron from our diets instead of absorbing the right amount like 'normal' people do.  No one ever accused my family of being normal, that's for sure!

It's really no big deal as you navigate through your life - it doesn't really affect too much.  But after years of extra iron, it accumulates in your organs and joints, and can eventually cause death.  Yikes, death is not a good side effect, if you ask me. The other side effects aren't that great either - liver damage or cancer, heart disease, diabetes, endocrine and sexual dysfunction and arthritis.  The effects are broad, and can look like other problems, so it is essential that you are genetically tested for this disorder, especially if someone in your family has it.

Just some of the problems you can get.

The symptoms are pretty vague too - fatigue (I know, you always think you are low in iron if you have no energy, but too much iron has the same effect.  Trust me...), weakness, lethargy, joint pain (that's a wacky one - I get pain in my fingers and toes when my iron and ferritin saturation levels get high), mood swings, impaired memory, irritability and depression (sounds like peri-menopause to me....I am so very lucky to have all of these things to point fingers at).  If left untreated, you can have bronzing of the skin and organ failure.  I just had a venesection and felt like I had the flu before as I had let my levels get too high, and now I feel like a million bucks a few days after.  It does make a difference.  Another few days and my joint pain almost fully go away....until my iron gets high again.

For women, symptoms often don't show until later in life - this is about the only good thing a period is for - getting rid of iron.  And it's a bonus for those of us that weren't going to use our female organs for the traditional reasons.  If only they figured out a way for me to have kittens.....but I digress.

Oh, yes please!

Fortunately it's all very treatable.  I go for regular blood tests to monitor my iron levels with a thorough iron study (iron, serum ferritin, ferritin saturation and transferrin...sometimes my iron levels are normal, but the other levels are high) and then I have venesection (also known as phlebotomy) every 3-5 months. Venesection is just a fancy term  for taking out your blood.  I suppose in the olden days they would use leeches.  Or vampires.

Thank goodness I don't have to do this!

Treatment is easy....so you would think. Unless you have a problem with having your blood taken.

When I first gave blood through Red Cross in Canada, I had an adverse reaction - I fainted and had a small seizure.  I came to with four faces staring down at me, an utter feeling of panic in my chest and the rock solid feeling that I had peed my pants.  I hadn't, but it felt like it.  Everyone else donating was staring too - so much for keeping a low profile.

I was informed at the time that it was probably best if I did not donate blood as my body doesn't handle it very well.  No worries, I can give it a miss if I have to.

Fast forward a few years to my mother's diagnosis of haemochromatosis and the recommendation that I get tested.  And of course I had it.  I take after my mother in SO many ways, this was just one more to add to the list.  At the time my iron levels were normal, so it was recommended that I only monitor my blood and not worry about anything else.

I'm not sure the Customs Officials would have this sense of humour.

Once I moved to Australia, it was then recommended that I start regular maintenance venesection to ensure that no damage could occur.  I won't lie, I wasn't happy and did relate my bad experience to my doctor.  Sadly, this adult had to take her mummy with her to her first venesection to hold her hand.  The doctor that I had was very good and it was decided that I would have a less than standard amount of blood removed.  All good, my body seemed to handle that.

Every drop counts

I always considered it to be a waste that my blood (which is Type O) was not used.  The Red Cross changed their rules over the years to allow those with haemochromatosis to donate.  This was a good move as it is a regular supply of blood from a large population.  However, Red Cross told me that they would only take the standard amount.  I loaded up on fluids and food before I went and seemed to manage for the first couple of times.  Then I almost fainted.  And the next time I did pass out (and had to relive the joy of waking up with faces peering down at me and everyone else staring wide-eyed while I scrambled to check if I had peed my pants....I did not.).  After the staff made several phone calls to the powers that be, I was told that it was best if I did not come back.  Bugger.  So back I go to a pathology lab that does the procedure and my blood gets disposed of.

Or Iron Woman

All jokes aside, it can be debilitating for those that have not been diagnosed, and often frequent venesections (once or more per week) need to be done to get the iron levels back in a normal range.  This can suck all the energy out of your body while the iron stores are dropped to below normal levels. It is much better to be diagnosed early when you can treat it and avoid the damage to your body.  If you are going to get a genetic disorder, this is definitely one of the better ones to have, in my opinion.  Easily treatable and damage can be avoided.  Can't ask for more than that (unless I go back to the kitten thing, but I get told I bring that up much too often...sigh!).

More gratuitous kittens

It's just ironic that something that is supposed make you strong can kill you.  Obviously Popeye did not have haemochromatosis.

Hopefully Popeye didn't have haemochromatosis

Get tested....no one should suffer harm from this disorder.  And if you want more information, please see the very helpful links below.

https://www.toomuchiron.ca/

https://haemochromatosis.org.au/