Cat Chronicles, May 2023

 Part 1: Mellow

Mellow was my cat for nine years.

He was a dapper tuxedo cat, and he was affectionate and cuddly, and he drooled. OMG, he drooled. The woman who gave him to me nicknamed him, “Slobberchops.” I tried to grab a towel to catch the runoff when he climbed up on me, and I threw towels to guests who were favored with his presence.

Every guest was favored with his presence. He was the official greeter at Casa Tuel. If you sat down at my kitchen table, you soon had Mellow in your lap. He was kind of shameless that way.

He was especially fond of climbing up on my left shoulder, circling around the back of my neck, and settling in facing forward on my right shoulder. I didn’t mind that. He only stayed for a few minutes before jumping down and taking off to do his own cat business.

He came to live with me from a dear friend in Oregon and was the king of the cats at Casa Tuel for nine years.

Rick and I always lived with an animal for a few days and let their name come to us. A few days in I thought, this cat is so mellow. So I started calling him Mellow. Major Jack Mellow, but Mellow was his call name (not that he’d come when I called).

When he started going outside and began hauling home bits of things he had killed, I realized that he wasn’t so mellow when hunting, but by then the name had stuck. So he was mellow, AND a cold-blooded murderer of whatever he could catch, usually rodents, occasionally a bird (which is why bird lovers wish all cats were indoors only, and it’s a good argument).

So I had Marley, my sweet dog, and Mellow, my sweet cat.

 When I fell and broke my back a couple of years ago, my friend Sonya, who had bonded with Mellow on her visits here, took him to her home to foster him while I recovered. Marley was eventually taken in by a VIPP volunteer during my absence in hospital and rehab. Marley arrived home the same day I did. Mellow didn’t return until November, when Sonya came up for Thanksgiving. I thought she’d get a cat of her own after that, but she did not. Mellow may have ruined her for other cats.

Mellow settled back in here fine.

He was a great communicator, was our Mellow. We had conversations. I would meow at him; he’d meow at me. I don’t know what we were saying, but apparently, we weren’t arguing.

He was an indoor/outdoor cat, because all the cats I’ve had all my life were indoor/outdoor. One of the bonuses of that was that I seldom had to clean his litter box. He preferred to go outside. That arrangement worked fine, for nine years.

Then one night a couple of months ago he wanted to go out. Usually I would have said, no, it’s too late, because I know that the coyote population on the island is thriving, and that they do kill people’s cats. But he was yowling a bit and demanding to go out. Eventually I said, oh, fine, and opened the door. Out he went, same as every time before, but this time he did not come back.

A lot of people offered to look for him, and did, because I can’t walk so well anymore, but he did not turn up. Gone without a trace.

I miss him.

Good night, sweet Mellow.

 

Part 2 The New Kids

After an indecently short period of grieving I saw a pair of bonded adult cats up for adoption online and I said, “I need cats!” I haven’t stopped feeling sad about losing Mellow, but it’s nice to have other living creatures in the house. As a cat-loving friend said, “They need you!” And I needed them.

Their Priormom had to drop everything and move back east to take care of her mother, who has large dogs. Priormom decided to leave the cats here. And that’s why I have two new fur roommates, an orange tabby boy, and a dark grey  and tan medium-longhair Maine Coon cat.

They were traumatized when they arrived. They’d lost their lifelong home, been in foster care for three weeks, and now they had landed up here in a strange house with a strange lady. They’ve been here two and a half weeks, and while the orange boy likes to rub up against my ankles and lets me scratch his back and rub his ears, the other one is such a spook that I’ve started calling her Cryptocat. Not sure if she really exists sometimes. I see her about once a day when she comes downstairs to eat.

After my experience with Mellow I decided that they would be 100% indoor cats. So far, it’s almost like not having cats after Mellow’s effusive affection, but cleaning litter boxes for two cats tells me that, oh yeah, I have cats, all right.

They had names when they came here. At present I’m calling the boy Brony, after adult male fans of My Little Pony. It’s a real thing. You can look it up. His given name when he arrived was Jibronie. I looked that up and found out it was a derogatory Italian word. Didn’t feel like calling a cat anything derogatory.

I find myself greeting him in the morning with, “Hey, Bro.” The other cat was named Macie, but I’m beginning to call her Mopsy, because my friend Sonya saw the cat’s picture and said, “She’s a mop!” Yeah, she kind of is, and it struck me that Mopsy might be her new name at Casa Tuel. We’ll see if it sticks.

Two totally different personalities than sweet old Mellow, but company all the same. Brony is affectionate enough for me at present. He likes to rub up against my ankles in the morning, and he allows me to scratch his back. I’ve been told that someday I’ll be minding my own business and one of them will crawl into my lap. I can wait.

 

Part 3:  May 15, 2023

Adjusting

I didn’t have to wait long. That very night Mopsy jumped up on my bed, came over to me and fell on me, and began snuggling and cuddling and kneading. My mind was blown but I started scratching her and she seemed delighted. I don’t know what flicked the switch. Maybe she was waiting to have her name changed?

Actually, I think what really did the trick was sitting in the living room throwing her Temptations cat treats. The next day she was literally eating treats out of my hand, and she is a bit of a chomper, so she bit my fingers, but gently, and I noticed that she got more careful right away. The last couple of days she has been lying on the cushion of the chair next to my recliner, looking at me flirtatiously through the side of the chair, and so far she has joined me when I go to bed for cuddle time.

I thought then that Brony, who was the first one to show any affection, would be a long haul because he wasn’t doing more than letting me pet him as he walked by, but today he jumped up on the back of my recliner, and went to sleep there.

My friend Sonya came to stay for a week, and now that’s she left the cats have backslid a little into their original spookiness. Perhaps her absence feels like abandonment to them? I don’t know. Still can’t do more than stroke Brony as he walks by, and Mopsy isn’t cuddling up to me every night, although she does like to sleep on the bed with me.

Now they spook and run off if I stand up to walk somewhere. My walker and wheelchair must seem like fearsome contraptions or even creatures to them. They always run away when I am using these aids to walk.

They run away a lot. It’s getting a little tedious to be honest. They’ve been here for a month now. They have figured out that I am the purveyor of treats, kibble, catnip, and canned food, so I have a lot of cred with them, but I am trying to adjust my expectations. They may never stop running away when I get up to walk, with or without assistance. I hope that eventually they will figure out they are safe here.

They are a huge change from Mellow, who liked to climb up me when I was sitting and liked sleeping on me when I was in bed. Well, I am soft.

They both surprise me every day. Some surprises are more pleasant than others. When I discovered that Brony had knocked the bag of catnip flavored greenies off the hutch, ripped a hole in the bottom, and eaten all the treats, it was not a happy surprise. He is a hunter, I’ve realized, and his hunting ground is the top of tables and counters.

I have never heard Brony meow, and Mopsy’s meow is a tiny little squeak. She is a Maine Coon Cat, so she’s large, and that tiny meow seems incongruous to me, but there it is.

I have not heard either of them purr.

Stay tuned for further developments.

Part 4: Cat Life Now at Casa Tuel

They do purr, almost inaudibly, and they do meow, but again, almost inaudibly, and rarely. Sometimes Brony will give a little cat, "chirp," but mostly they are non-talkers.

They are not physically affectionate, but they do like to hang out in whatever room I am in. I attribute this entirely to cat treats.

 They don't hang out together much. None of that cute cat yin-yang when two cats curl up together, but I do see them occasionally touch noses and give each other some grooming licks. And then, like as not, Brony gives Mopsy a good swat in the face. So much for that moment of tenderness.

I feel like they have made peace with being in their new home, and they are quiet company for their human. Their lack of showing affection still bewilders me a little after living with Mellow, but they are who they are, and because they are so stand-offish I feel complimented every time one of them deigns to come over to me to say hello and allow me the privilege of petting them. Cats.

Ooga Booga: Great Shakes

Occasionally, someone comes out with an "ooga booga" story or book about the Big One (earthquake) that is to come on the Cascadia Subduction Fault Zone.

I'm not saying that we shouldn't be scared.

The Cascadia Subduction Zone had its last major slip and earthquake at 9 p.m. local time on January 26, 1700. How do we know this so precisely? I’m going to put it down to nosy scientists, God bless them.

When such a quake happens again, we can expect coastal towns to be wiped out by tsunamis, along with destruction caused by the quake itself, and tsunamis will spread up and down the West Coast and across the Pacific Ocean.

It will affect the Salish Sea/Puget Sound to a lesser degree, we hope. We'll feel it.  A computer projection of tsunamis caused by the Cascadia Zone Subduction Fault showed tsunami waves traveling up the Sound, bouncing off of Tacoma, and rebounding to smack into the south ends of Vashon and Maury Islands. Something to think about.

The March 2011 Tohoku Earthquake in Japan was a subduction zone quake. Perhaps you remember the havoc and death caused by that quake and ensuing tsunamis.

The 2004 Boxing Day Quake in Sumatra wiped out many places and people in Indonesia and all along and within the Indian Ocean.

The 1960 Chile/Valdivia Earthquake is estimated to have been a 9.4 – 9.6 in magnitude, the largest recorded earthquake in the 20^th Century.

The second largest, the 1964 Alaska Earthquake, was a magnitude 9.2. Most deaths were caused by the tsunamis created in that quake.

These were all Great Quakes. I have never experienced a Great Quake. I am not looking forward to it.

The 1994 Northridge Earthquake was rated as a 6.7, but it caused a degree of death and destruction in the San Fernando Valley and greater Los Angeles area that was unprecedented and led to many changes in building codes and earthquake precautions.

It doesn’t have to be a Great Quake to be a disaster.

Tectonic plate theory arose during the 1960s - before that there was a whole different geological narrative about how the earth moved and quaked.

The Cascadia Subduction Fault Zone is formed by the Juan de Fuca tectonic plate sliding under the North American plate. Such a little piece of tectonic plate causes so much havoc. There are earthquakes along the fault zone frequently, but we don’t feel them here because they are too far out at sea.

When subducted material gets deep enough, it heats up and becomes magma, and produces the chains of volcanoes we have on the West Coasts of the American continents, and around the Pacific Ring of Fire.

I am reminded in my reading that Mt. Rainier is an active volcano. Sigh. Noted.

I grew up in coastal Central California in the San Andreas Fault zone, where minor earthquakes are common, and I considered them kind of fun. Whee! We’re shaking!

That was before I was in the 6.6 Sylmar Earthquake in Los Angeles in February 1971. It was centered on a fault out in the Simi Valley - not the San Andreas Fault, which is supposed to unleash a Big One, so I was told all my life. That 6.6 Richter Scale quake was plenty strong enough for me - portions of freeways collapsed, gas and water mains broke, there were fires, a brand new hospital in the San Fernando Valley pancaked and killed around 40 people. Part of the Tehachapi Mountains was raised four feet.

Where I was, on a hilltop in Silverlake near downtown LA, it felt like a truck was ramming the house repeatedly. It was scary - I'd never been in an earthquake that big before. It happened at 6 in the morning. I went upstairs and watched the TV news with my landlady. It took a while for all the reporters and news agencies to wake up and get organized. Reporters in the San Fernando Valley were reporting as they ran out of their houses.

I went to work around 8, because this is America, you know, and we don’t skip work for a major earthquake. I worked for an insurance agency on Beverly Boulevard. On the way there I saw landslides on hillside roads, and the building I worked in had cracks in the stairwell. I know that because the elevator was out of service.

There were aftershocks all day, and those continued for months. I got so I knew the Richter rating of each aftershock by feel.

I have learned that that skill does not travel. We had a 6.8 quake here on February 28, 2001, the Nisqually Ash Wednesday Quake. It was centered near Olympia. I was working at a local hardware store at the time, and I thought it was a 5-something quake.  It was long, almost a minute the record says, and it started, and paused, then started again and shook harder. There was surprisingly little damage at the hardware store. We lost some glass lamp chimneys and that was about it. People ran outside, of course, because that’s what people do. You aren’t supposed to run outside. My father’s Uncle Ralph died in an earthquake in Santa Barbara, California, in 1925, when he ran outside and was buried in bricks falling from the building. This is why you are not supposed to run outside.

This is also why I wouldn’t live in a brick house.

But never mind – no bricks hit anyone on Vashon, as far as I know. Some of the older brick buildings around the area did suffer damage, and cars were damaged by falling bricks.

The original Richter Scale has been upgraded for more accurate earthquake measurement, because it was originally designed for earthquakes in Southern California. It was supposed to be an objective measurement, but earthquakes are subjective experiences.

Let's just say that anything over a 6 is getting into major earthquake territory, and you will not enjoy it.  

The 1906 San Francisco earthquake, which had its epicenter in Tomales Bay, north of San Francisco, was traditionally rated as an 8.3 on the Richter scale. In recent years it has been downgraded to a 7.7-7.9 magnitude. A lot of the damage in San Francisco was caused more by the fires after the quake than the quake itself, except, of course, on fill land, which liquified when the quake hit. 

I'm not trying to make it sound nicer than it was by saying its numbers have been lowered. It was as bad as we have heard.

The October 1989 Loma Prieta quake was rated a 6.9, and perhaps you are old enough to remember the damage that caused - a section of the Bay Bridge collapsed, and the double-decker Nimitz Freeway in Oakland pancaked, killing people in their cars. Lots of buildings in San Francisco that had been built on fill land collapsed or sank, and there was fire in the Marina District. 

Santa Cruz and Watsonville were devastated by the quake. Many buildings collapsed or had to be bulldozed and both downtowns had to be rebuilt.

Again, the Loma Prieta Quake was not a San Andreas Fault quake. It was generated by a lesser fault in the San Andreas Zone. The epicenter was in the Nisene Marks Forest, east of Aptos. 

So the 1971 San Fernando Quake (6.6) and the 1989 Loma Prieta Quake (6.9) were big and did a lot of damage and killed people. But they were not Great Quakes. Neither was the Big One.

The 2011 Japan Tohoku Quake was rated a 9.0 to 9.1, the 2004 Aceh Banda Quake a 9.1, and the last Cascadia Subduction Zone Quake in 1700 - well, there was no Richter Scale in 1700, but those were all Great Quakes.  

(see: https://www.king5.com/article/weather/earthquakes/copalis-beach-ghost-forest-cascadia-subduction-zone-earthquake/281-045a5189-de8b-4e25-be36-8271bd4bbfa2)

So, yes, there will be Big Ones, from the Cascadia Subduction Zone and from the San Andreas Fault, and elsewhere, and those quakes will be scary and destructive and deadly.

So someone occasionally says, “Yoo hoo, big earthquake coming. Get prepared.” They are correct.

Big quakes are rare enough that we are lulled into complacency. Be ready. Stock up on drinking water and foods that don’t need to be cooked.

Have I done this preparation?

Oh, heck no. But writing this essay is motivating me to do so. As my mother used to tell us, do as I say, not as I do.

Anecdotes:

In the 1971 Sylmar quake, Dr. Richter, who devised the Richter Scale in 1934, and lived out in the vicinity of Cal Tech in Pasadena, said that his dishes rattled.

In the 1906 San Francisco Quake, springs dried up in Santa Cruz County. My father was born in 1912 and he heard stories from the old timers in Watsonville.

Also in the 1906 Quake – Malvina Reynolds was born in 1900 and her family lived in the Mission District in San Francisco. She told me that the chimney collapsed in their building, and her baby brother, in his crib, disappeared down the hole. Major panic! They found him, sitting on his mattress on a pile of rubble, safe and sound. If he’d been able to talk, he might have said, “Again!”