Tag: cat

  • Phantom Limbs

    As I’ve mentioned before, I share my home with three cats. The oldest, Casper, who turns 14 this year, has always been a grump. As he’s moved into his golden years, he’s become even more of a sour puss. He just does not like to be Messed With.

    On Casper’s list of activities that humans must not do to his person:

    1. Brushing, combing or otherwise grooming his fur
    2. Attempting in any way to remove snarls from his coat
    3. Petting past the shoulders
    4. Trimming his nails
    5. Removing him from anywhere he has curled up to nap, including your lap

    Should a human attempt any of these activities, Casper will give a warning growl that will grow in volume and gusto. If the human persists, Casper will bring out the big guns–his claws and teeth. He has excellent aim.

    Several months ago I made the mistake of trying to shave a snarl off Casper’s chest with my horse clippers. Casper snagged the back of my right hand with his claw, hit a vein and a nerve. Lots of blood and part of my hand and pinkie finger are still numb.

    I thought of my minor injury as I was listening to an interview with medical doctor and behavioral neurologist V. S. Ramachandran. Dr. Ramachandran has, among other things, worked with people experiencing phantom limb pain. It turns out there are particular parts of the brain associated with sensation in particular parts of the body. An arm might be removed, but those parts of the brain continue to “report” the sensations that the arm was feeling.

    In one particular case, a patient felt as though his missing left hand was gripped into a tight fist, with the fingernails digging into his palm. He was in constant pain, with no way to find relief. How do you relax a hand that is no longer there?

    Dr. Ramachandran devised a simple therapy to help the patient. He set up a box with a mirror inside, and positioned the patient so that the right hand was reflected in the mirror. The reflection then made it look like the left hand was still there. The patient watched in the mirror as he opened and closed his right hand in an attempt to trick his brain into thinking he’d relaxed his left. It took a number of sessions, but he was eventually pain-free. Such an elegant and simple treatment. The human brain is an amazing instrument.

    I’d like to think it’s superior to the cat brain. But when I consider how the feline set keep us at their beck and call, petting and pampering, feeding them delicacies and providing warm soft places to sleep, I’m not so sure which of us is the genius.

  • Weirdness

    Cats are pretty peculiar animals. Cat personalities range from dog-like affectionate gregariousness to the high-catness of I-don’t-give-a-damn. Unlike socially-promiscuous dogs, who tend to be madly in love with any human they see, even a friendly cat is much more choosy, dashing off to hide under the bed if an undesirable steps inside the house. These are sweeping generalizations, of course, but since I’m more a cat person than a dog person and because this is my blog, I can sweep all I want.

    I have three cats living with me: Tenka, Zak and Casper.

    This is the indiscriminate Tenka, who drops and rolls on her back at every opportunity, exposing her belly for a rub. Nearly 14 pounds o’ feline love. She’s both a purr factory (loud and rumbly) and fur factory (I swear, she ejects fur like a porcupine does quills). As a mostly white cat, she especially likes to cozy up to people wearing dark clothes. Black pants are a favorite. Her main weirdness–refusing to eat unless I’m standing next to her.

    This is Zak, our cautious former feral. My son and daughter-in-law discovered Zak and his litter-mates hiding with their feral mom outside their apartment. At the direction of a cat rescue group, Ryan & Dani tried to corral all the kittens, but only managed to catch Zak. After many months of complete skittishness around strangers, Zak is now very affectionate, and scary athletic. A big boy (also nearly 14 pounds), he can stretch up at least three feet and jump far higher than that. Many weirdnesses, such as liking to carry his cat toys around like a dog would, tapping his water with his paw before drinking it (a feral cat trick) and burrowing under covers like a rat terrier.

    At 13.5 years old, Casper is the old man of the bunch. He was a stray (found under the deck at my sister’s house), but not particularly feral. He tolerates people, but doesn’t like them very much. Luckily, he puts up with twice-daily insulin shots for his diabetes. But once when I tried to shave off some matted fur, he snagged my hand with a claw, hitting a vein and some nerves. Lots of blood and my pinky is still numb. Casper as a whole is just plain weird.

    There is another kind of weird that only tangentially relates to cats, which is where the science part of this post comes in. I was reading this morning about quantum entanglement, which relates to the infamous Schrödinger’s Cat. Quantum entanglement involves objects which are linked in such a way that they cannot be measured or described unless all the linked objects are measured/described.

    In the case of Schrödinger’s thought experiment, a cat in hidden in a box is linked to the state of a subatomic particle. One state (say, positively charged) means the cat is alive. The other state (say, negatively charged) means the cat is dead. Since you can’t check the charge of the particle until you open the box, you won’t know until then whether the cat is alive or dead.

    Einstein considered this sort of supposition weird, and he didn’t like it, at least as it applied to physics. He felt that the weirdness of entanglements just meant the theory was incomplete (hence his compulsion to find a unified theory of physics). A colleague of his, Bohr, was just fine with weird ambiguities. Luckily they never came to blows over the disagreement.

    Physics is full of cool terms like “quantum entanglements.” There are the names of quarks–up, down, beauty, strange. There’s photon, vortex and ergs. Just shows that physicists have a sense of humor.

    And by the way…I never let my cats hide in a box with questionable subatomic particles. It just isn’t worth the risk.

  • The Glamorous Life of an Author…Heh

    I roll out of bed at 10am and eat a few bonbons. My special assistant dresses me in my Gucci (I’m old school) and arranges my coiffure, then brings me a few delicacies for breakfast. After I’ve finished my pot of Kopi Luwak coffee, I stroll into my office and wait for inspiration. If inspiration hasn’t arrived by, say, 2pm, I go back to bed.

    Well, I kind of wish I could do it that way (although, what the heck is a bonbon anyway?). In reality, I have to be up by 7:30am so I can feed my diabetic cat and give him his insulin injection. I drag on a pair of ratty jeans and a T-shirt, stuff my feet into slippers and toddle downstairs. I do often spend a little too much time reading the paper during breakfast (usually a bowl of bran flakes mixed with Honey Nut Cheerios), but I’m generally at my desk by 9am. I don’t wait around for inspiration because that brat sleeps later than I do. I have to gut it out through whatever scene I’m currently working on by sheer sweat and perseverance until that prissy Miss Inpira shows up.

    No glitzy coast-to-coast book tours (at least not yet), although I did attend an Society of Childrens Book Writers & Illustrators conference last month. Got a deluxe buffet breakfast at the Best Western (complete with stale scones), some kick-ass BBQ, and a killer Thai dinner with my editor:

    My editor, Stacy Whitman, and I pose in the Best Western lobby just before the triffid behind me drags me off. Barely escaped. Pretty harrowing.

    I’m sure there are authors living actually glamorous lives. In fact I know one of them personally. But although he lives in a pretty swanky house and does those book tours, he works his butt off when it comes to writing the books that his fans love. He’s not twiddling his thumbs in expectation that Mr. Inspiro will show up any minute and whisper into his ear every word of the scene he has to write.

    Alas. Would that it were so.

    But if anyone wants to send me a box of bonbons, my P.O. Box is on my website: www.karensandler.net.