Hi! Mr. Monte here!
To my 23,417 feline followers, especially my many cat cousins residing in Virginia and Ohio, the following is “FOR YOUR EYES ONLY.”
In an effort to broaden your horizons and expand your capabilities, I am documenting one week of virtuous service to my poor overstressed big cats, Ol’ Fuzz Face and Blondie. Please read this closely and consider how you might use some of the techniques I use to establish and increase your bonds with your big cats. – Remember, there are many treats and snacks in store for felines who master these techniques.
It all started nearly two weeks ago. Fuzzy was in obvious physical decline. He was fatigued and somewhat irritable. When asked, he told Blondie that he was okay and just a little tired. – Friends, I know Fuzzy’s voice all too well, and I know when he is being less than honest. That was when my Maine Coon Medic sense began to alarm!! – it was apparent that Fuzzy was going to attempt to “man-out” whatever was afflicting him. Knowing that things were not right with Fuzzy, I decided to open a clandestine effort to learn Fuzzy’s real health status.
Now I am the one-and-only Maine Coon Medic. I have learned how to detect various physical and behavioral symptoms in my humans. Quite often, they suffer from stress and often that stress either leads to sickness or accompanies sickness. In Fuzzy’s case, it was necessary for me to use every skill at my command. Rather than just relying on my senses alone, I realized that I needed to access accurate medical information to aid my diagnosis and development of a plan to rescue Fuzzy from his own manly pride and ignorance.
Dear Feline Followers, only you know my secret identity – “White-hat Hacker Cat” (白帽黑客猫). Recently, I have advanced my hacking techniques to a much higher level. And one of my newly acquired skills is the ability to read medical/health status data from Fuzzy’s new fitness watch. It was last Saturday when I made my way to the data. Immediately, I could see that Fuzzy was sick, fatigued, and overstressed. As soon as Fuzzy got up that morning, I stayed close to him and did my best to indicate by nudging him that it was time to head to the urgent care clinic. When Blondie awoke, Fuzzy explained that he should have someone see him. Unfortunately for all of us, the attending nurse practitioner at the clinic said that there was no sign of infection, but she would send off a sample for a culture. – That left Fuzzy with nothing to do except wait for 2-3 days for the culture. Meanwhile all his symptoms and his stress level continued to intensify.
Monday was really bad. Blondie and I urged Fuzzy to call the clinic. Fuzzy did so and proceeded to explain his problem. He was told a prescription for antibiotics would be sent to his pharmacy. Later, he and Blondie drove the 27+ miles to the pharmacy, only to be told there was no prescription. He then went to the clinic and, after over an hour of waiting, talked to the same nurse practitioner. That was not a happy encounter. Fuzzy and Blondie left the clinic without a prescription or anything to relieve Fuzzy’s symptoms. You can see below that Fuzzy’s Body Battery was low and his stress levels were high. In fact, his fitness watch stated: “Your Body Battery was nearly depleted. Get more rest after days like this and pace yourself to avoid fatigue.”
Tuesday wasn’t much better than Monday and, in some ways, it was worse. Fuzzy, had to take Son-in-Law #1 to the UVA Medical Center for an operation, a trip of about 100 miles. Soon after they departed SIL#1’s home, I listened as Blondie called Fuzzy to tell him that his culture was positive for the suspected infection – where should the clinic send the prescription. Blondie relayed that Fuzzy would call them soon with the answer. – – And that’s where the situation made an abrupt turn towards idiocy.
After much pre-op time, Fuzzy watched as SIL#1 was wheeled toward the operating room. He had called the clinic earlier and told them which Charlottesville Walgreen should get the prescription. Now that he was free to leave the hospital for a short time, Fuzzy made his way to the pharmacy. With a smile on his face, he politely asked for his medication. – There was no prescription for him. Despite his request, the clinic sent the prescription directly to the pharmacy he had said should not receive it.
This is where I, the Maine Coon Medic, need to interpret the following chart. Just after 12 PM, Fuzzy’s stress levels shot up to 90%. Fortunately, the very nice pharmacist was able to come up with a work-around and by 12:36 PM, Fuzzy had his medication in hand. Unfortunately, Fuzzy’s body battery was depleted and Fuzzy’s stress level hit 100%. As you can see below, the remainder of the day was not a pleasant experience for Ol’ Fuzz Face. – There was nothing I could do from Serendipity Farmhouse, so I did my best to soothe Blondie’s poor nerves – she was at least as upset as Fuzzy was.
After a long day in the hospital with poor Son-in-Law #1 who was having and equally bad day, Fuzzy did the right thing. He went to the hotel, took a shower, said his prayers, and crashed.
The next day was better for Fuzzy, I could see on my computer that his watch indicated that his body battery had recharged. The time he spent sitting with and praying for SIL#1 kept his stress levels low. Finally, at about 10:30 PM the hospital released SIL#1, and Fuzzy returned a very sore, very tired, very stressed SIL#1 to Daughter #1.
It must be said that SIL#1 has had several post-op complications and is not feeling well at all. I know we felines don’t have to pray, but we can certainly nudge our humans and urge them to pray for the poor guy and Daughter #1.
The following chart show’s Fuzzy’s Wednesday. At the end of the chart, you can see the stress induced from driving at night on dark country roads with deer hiding at every turn.
Now my Job as official Maine Coon Medic at SFH, is to ensure peace and tranquility for all who reside here. Seeing that Blondie and Fuzzy continued at high stress levels for the remainder of the week, I had to devise a plan to get their minds off their bad experiences. – This is how I did it. When my two big cats were discussing all their frustrations, their anger, and their concern, I walked over to Fuzzy and nudged him. He thought I wanted a snack, but I indicated that’s not what I wanted. And that’s when I pointed to the store-bought garlic on the counter. I nudged him again. – Suddenly, he loudly declared to Blondie that the new SFH garlic crop in the shed had dried enough and was ready to bring in.
Blondie nearly jumped from her chair. She said, “I want help this time, I’ve never been there when you prepared it before.” In a flash, the two were out the door and on their way to the woodshed where the garlic was. Later that day, I heard Blondie say, “I never thought that preparing garlic would be so much fun. It might be a small dirty job, but the result is a store of garlic for the rest of the season.
Blondie was happy. Fuzzy was happy. I, the world’s only Maine Coon Medic, was happy.
Please pray for Son-in-Law #1 and his entire family!
Blondie!! – – We need to talk!!
“About sixteen years ago, I had a blonde moment. I decided to have my naturally blonde hair dyed red. And I loved it. But… The upkeep is unreal. Hubby had no problem with the color, but the cost was beyond his patience level (his inner cheap). Now, the pandemic has forced Hubby into his blonde moment – he’s growing a ponytail. – – One blonde moment deserves another. There’s a real chance this blonde is going red again. – – Help me out, Anna!!!!”
Look at my picture. I am a mackerel Maine Coon cat. I was the enchanting mackerel Maine Coon kitten you brought home. How would you feel if suddenly you found that I had, through a foolish, emotional act, turned myself into an orange Maine Coon. How would you react? – Of course! I wouldn’t be your adorable Mr. Monte.
Watch out! – Here it comes!
And so it was when my clever wife encountered the new-found pastime of her beloved grandsons. She was inspired by them. So inspired, in fact, that she immediately set out to develop the once primitive form of “walnut whacking” into a great family sport that someday might even surpass the ever-popular “cornhole.” And, at the same time, the magnificent grounds of SFH would be cleansed of the offensive rotting walnuts.
