Joey, My Diabetic Cat

Joey has diabetes

For more than three years, twice a day, our blond tabby, Joey, has taken insulin injections. He has diabetes. His disease altered our schedule greatly–no more spontaneous late nights out because the cat needs a shot. But he’s the one who endures the needle sticks and wobbly hind legs that are part of the deal. Quite nobly, in fact.

I didn’t know cats could get diabetes. My first clue something was wrong was after returning from a two-day writers conference and finding puddles in the litter box. I’d cleaned it before I left, and I cleaned it again, but the puddles kept forming. We have two cats (Bailey is the younger), so I didn’t know who was peeing so fiercely. Then I noticed Joey, age 14, lapping up large quantities of water. I took him to see Dr. Kerry Lancaster at Wheaton Animal Hospital. The veterinarian suspected diabetes, ran tests and confirmed the diagnosis the next day.

I cried. My husband, Arnie, and I lost another cat to pancreatic and liver issues two years earlier, and I dreaded going through that pain again so soon. Dr. Lancaster assured us that, with care, diabetic cats can live full, contented lives. He prescribed Lantus, a long-lasting insulin used by humans. I thought “long-lasting” might mean “several months,” but I was wrong. It means “12 hours.” What about pills? I couldn’t stick Joey with pins.

“It’s much easier to give a cat injections than pills,” Dr. Lancaster said.

He was right. The injections are simple to administer. Each morning and evening, usually between 7 and 9, either Arnie or I load a super-fine, short-needled syringe and entice Joey with food. While his face is in the bowl, we grasp a bit of scruff, insert the needle and squirt. The deed is over in seconds. Joey doesn’t flinch, not unless my hand inadvertently jerks. I’ve stuck myself twice.

The two biggest challenges were supplies and vacation care. We need to buy syringes and insulin at a human pharmacy. The Lantus is $100 for a vial, and lasts four to five months. The syringes cost $15 for 100. Some people re-use their needles, but Dr. Lancaster advised against it for sanitary reasons.

Some pharmacies are more animal-friendly than others. Walgreens and CVS are great. But a grocery-store pharmacy gave me larger syringes with a fatter needle. I didn’t notice until I got home. When I tried to return them, the pharmacist said that’s the size they carry and he wouldn’t take them back. “It’s just a cat,” he said.

I donated the syringes to an animal shelter and found a new pharmacy.

As for cat-sitting, I felt I couldn’t impose upon friends. I turned to Lynn’s Pet Care in Glen Ellyn. She and her fabulous team have been tending all kinds of creatures in our village for more than 20 years. They are professional, reliable and loving, and we are thankful for their help.

Today Joey is doing well for a senior cat. His appetite is good, and he wrestles and snuggles with Bailey. Because his back legs have weakened, he no longer jumps from the floor to the kitchen counter to wait patiently for pats and treats. Instead he devised a new route: from the living room coffee table to the sofa to the piano, over the pass-through and then onto the counter. He likes Friskies Party Mix treats the best. Also, it’s hard to hoist himself in and out of the litter box. I place disposable doggy pee-pads in his favorite corners. My dog-owner friends taught me that technique.

At his age, Joey doesn’t have a lot of time left. I will be distraught when we must say good-by. But I’m confident that diabetes didn’t cut his feline life short.

www.lynnspetcare.com

www.wheatonanimalhospital.com

The Exotic Feline Rescue Center

Lots of sunshine and plenty to eat for this rescued tiger

The narrow two-lane road turned from asphalt to gravel, miles off the freeway, and we wondered if we were in the right place. There were no streetlights or billboards, only thick forest, sweeping grasses and delicate wildflowers. Then, a tiny sign: EFRC Parking. On the shoulder, please.

We had arrived at the Exotic Feline Rescue Center in Center Point, Indiana, about an hour west of Indianapolis. It’s a sanctuary for more than 200 big cats, representing 9 species, and most had been horribly abused or abandoned. They come from all over the country, from bad circuses, bad zoos, tattoo parlors, meth labs and overwhelmed owners. Here they get a second chance to live out their days in peace.

Each cat has a story, and we hear many of them on the hour-long tour. Sinbad is an awkward-gaited black leopard whose earlier bone fractures healed improperly. Achia is a sleek, taupe-colored puma who purrs like a contented housecat. The Munchkins are a pride of 7 lions and tigers who were rescued from a dark basement where they were locked in small cages without food or water, apparently left to die. They weighed between 50 and 80 pounds, less than half of what they should have. They are thriving now, but remain small in stature.

We sped quietly past the tiger Montana. It was dinnertime, and he gets loud and aggressive when interrupted.

Upon their arrival, the felines are given medical care and placed in appropriately sized, natural enclosures. Some enjoy the company of others and some prefer to be alone. A few are too frail or traumatized to be displayed. They also are spayed or neutered, although male lions get vasectomies so they don’t lose their manes. Accidents, however, do happen. One majestic lion, King, was only 14 months old when he was taken from an owner who could no longer afford to feed him. He was also fully declawed. Believed to be too young to father, King was placed with Jasmine, a female lion. The result was a daughter, Lauren, and all three live together.

The center was founded in 1991 with 3 cats and 15 acres. It has since expanded to more than 100 acres and is one of the largest such sanctuaries in the country.

A few travel tips: The center has been created for the comfort of the cats, not necessarily for people. Visitors are warmly welcomed, but amenities are few. The paths are unpaved, and the single restroom is portable. Bring your own water bottle. Also, in the spring and fall you’ll see more because the animals are less hidden by heavy foliage. The cost of admission is $10.

Next time we’ll stay longer. The center has one guest cottage that sleeps two adults (but no children) for $150 a night. We’ll be able to see cats from the front yard, and in the morning the keepers will take us on a private tour to some of the restricted areas. Let’s get going, pussycats!

Exotic Feline Rescue Center: www.exoticfelinerescuecenter.org

Letter from Tweet Camp

A 'tweeter' from my front yard

I arrived at Tweet Camp Chicago, along with a couple hundred journalists, philanthropists, PR reps, entrepreneurs and one teenager. Some pretty big bylines were among the group. We had heard that Twitter was good for us, but we didn’t know why or how.

“There’s no such thing as a stupid question,” said photojournalist Karen Kring, one of the camp counselors. I tested her by asking if Twitter is something done on a computer or via telephone, and she was kind. The answer: Both.

Bit by bit, byte by byte, the media mavens took us through the mechanics and vocabulary of a Twitterer. Or, Tweeter. Or, just plain Twit. They showed us how to find people to follow and what we want to say. Or tweet. We got pizza and a commemorative t-shirt.

“Twitter is pointless and boring until you join the conservation,” said Scott Smith, who then was an editor and director of content for Playboy.com.

For sure. And then we saw specific examples:

Kim Mance, co-founder of the travel website www.gogalivanting.com said she uses Twitter to get quotes for her stories. She puts out a question and then follows up the responses via email. “It’s easy to get a huge stream and a range of perspectives,” she said. “It’s also easy to verify because you can see what’s in their profiles and who they are and where they have been.”

Alicia Dantico, then the social media director for Garrett Popcorn, spent long hours interacting with customers. Sometimes she surprised them by showing up in their offices with tins of freshly popped treats.

The teenager said he knew someone who was practicing to be on a game show and asked people to lob trivia questions his way.

As the day wore on, tapping noises from keyboards grew louder and louder as the campers became confident and tweeted their first tweets. I did, too. Follow me @pmckuen.

The Color of Everything

Pantone 2010 Color of the Year: Turquoise 15-5119

The 2010 Color of the Year is Turquoise, according to global color authority Pantone, which sets standards for the design industry. Turquoise is a fluid, peaceful hue, one that combines the serenity of blue with the invigorating aspects of green.

“In many cultures, turquoise occupies a very special position in the world of color,” said Leatrice Eiseman, executive director of the Pantone Color Institute. “It is believed to be a protective talisman, a color of deep compassion and healing, and a color of faith and truth, inspired by water and sky.”

Turquoise also represents an escape to many, taking them to a tropical paradise that is pleasant and inviting–if only in fantasy, she added.

Little could Pantone have imagined another of this year’s interpretations: honoring the turquoise Gulf of Mexico waters that have been ravaged by the BP oil leak.

In addition to nominating the Color of the Year, Pantone creates nine color palettes for homes and interiors. Each palette reflects a distinct design point of view, such as whimsy, elegance or classicism. The colors don’t come out of nowhere. Each hue is carefully chosen with reason.

“Color is what happens in the world around us,” said Eiseman.

A few of today’s color influences:

* Soccer. American’s aren’t big soccer fans, but the rest of the world is. This year the World Cup tournament is being held in South Africa. In 2014 it will be in Brazil.

* Couture. Not long ago it took high fashion colors seven years to traverse the runway and into home furnishings. Today the timing is almost instantaneous, due to advances in communication and technology.

* Entertainment. Turquoise and cobalt blue that dominate “Avatar.” Unexpected color pops and creative combos found in the productions of Cirque du Soleil, Pixar and Tim Burton. The retro restraint of “Mad Men” and designer Tom Ford’s directing debut, “A Single Man.”

I always choose a Nail Polish Color of the Summer. This year I’m wearing OPI’s “Dutch Tulips,” a crisp rose that goes with pinks and reds alike. The free OPI iPhone App let’s you preview any of the 200-plus lacquer shades against your skin tone and nail length. You also can search for a color by name. If you like turquoise, try “Teal the Cows Come Home.”

My Grandmother’s House

Clara Anna Brinkman Dittmer, 1904-1995

When I was a child, my grandmother’s house in Plato, Minnesota, was the most wonderful place to be.

None of the other kids’ grandmothers had a bar room, but mine did. The bar room was stocked with candy and ice cream and soda pop and 3.2 beer, and best of all, a juke box. It was a place where, during slow afternoons, when customers were tending their farms, I could turn on the music and dance around the tables, or sit in one of the tall wooden booths and draw pictures of the ballerinas I hoped to become.

My family visited Grandma and Grandpa from far away every summer for two weeks. One year my father told me I had to start paying for the candy and pop I took from the bar room. But when I offered Grandma my carefully saved allowance, she wouldn’t take a cent.

In Grandma’s kitchen, hamburgers and onions sizzled on the stove most of the day and into the night. She cooked for the customers while Grandpa tended bar. They lived in back, on the first floor. The building had once been a stage coach stop, and the second floor was divided into small sleeping rooms. My grandparents turned part of it into an apartment. My bedroom had bunny wallpaper.

Grandpa retired and closed the bar room, but it still got plenty of use. With a table as large as King Arthur’s, it was the ideal spot for extended family gatherings.

Then Grandpa died. Grandma sold the house but moved upstairs as a tenant.

I grew up and, on a few occasions, went to Minnesota for business. I invited Grandma to dinner, but she had no part of it. She would cook, she insisted. With only a few hours’ notice, she could assemble a bevy of relatives and a humongous meal in her modest dining room.

Grandma’s upstairs apartment was a wonderful place to be.

Then Grandma moved to Glencoe, to the senior citizens’ Manor. The last time I visited, she fretted that she couldn’t cook the way she used to. But not one to let a wheelchair and crippling arthritis stand in the way of hospitality, she whipped up a casserole and homemade cookies at the dinette. Later she pulled candy from her cupboards and ice cream cups from her freezer. And she sent me home with cinnamon rolls, warm from the oven.

Grandma’s apartment at the Manor was a wonderful place to be.

Anywhere that Grandma lives is Grandma’s house. She has a new home now, and I know it’s a wonderful place to be.

Walking the Vegan Walk

“Pig” by Mink Shoes

An animal-friendly lifestyle is uncomplicated when it comes to food, cosmetics, cleansers and clothing. The challenge has been finding shoes that bear any degree of fashionability. Sneakers, sure, and flip-flops galore. But nary a club-worthy stiletto or corporate pump. The notion that quality footwear must be leather is long-held. But that’s changing. Vegan shoe offerings have greatly expanded, without harming so much as a flea.

In other words, the vegan walk is catching up with the vegan talk.

Rebecca Mink is a Beverly Hills celebrity stylist turned vegan shoe designer and manufacturer. She became a vegetarian at a tender age after a grade school classmate told her hotdogs are made from dogs. Later she went vegan and influenced several family members to do likewise. Troubled by the disparity between her personal values and retail realities, she founded Mink Shoes in 2000. The road was a rocky one. She traveled to Italy, where 16 cobblers rejected her quest for beautiful cruelty-free footwear until the Marco Gambassi family agreed to apply generations of artistry to her ideas. After she had samples to exhibit at shoe shows, buyers and retailers ignored her. Today they are seeking her out.

“The green market has arrived, and we are expanding like crazy,” she says.

The Mink Shoes collection includes pumps, spikes, platforms and flatties, all assembled by hand. Animal skins and pelts are verboten. Rebecca even developed a hardy glue that uses no animal byproducts. She designs with a sensual sophistication and an occasional touch of whimsy. Her “Pig” model, for example, is a hot-pink strappy stiletto sporting dime-sized crystals.

Other leading vegan shoe entrepreneurs are designers Elizabeth Olsen of Olsenhaus and Stella McCartney. Erica and Sarah Kubersky, sisters and Moo Shoes retailers in Manhattan, created a line called Novacas, which translates to “no cow” in Spanish. Expect to see more lines in the near future.

It’s worth noting that animal-friendly doesn’t necessarily mean earth-friendly. Many of the manmade leathers used in vegan shoes are oil derivatives. Some insiders suggest that vintage is a viable option, but you must be careful. Kate Shifrin is a Chicago stylist whose company, “Come Flea With Me,” leads expeditions to vintage and flea markets around the world. She says she frequently encounters footwear crafted from cheetah and other exotic furs. To me, that’s creepy. I shudder even at faux fur, which I fear is a gateway fashion to the real thing.

I am not a vegan. I’m just a very picky eater. I won’t eat any food with fat, bones or gristle. I enjoy an occasional filet mignon or tuna fish sandwich, but I feel a little guilty about it. I’m not sure which side of the menu I’ll eventually end up on, but I’ll never give up cute shoes.

Postscript: Mink Shoes are now available at www.zappos.com.

My Life in T-Shirts

Pamela wears one of her favorite t-shirts

T-shirts are the sartorial scrapbooks of our lives. Unlike any other apparel, t-shirts express our thoughts, preferences and aspirations to the world at large. We buy t-shirts to commemorate significant moments of time, but all anyone sees is one person, one shirt. To understand the whole of someone, we must view his or her entire t-shirt collection.

I’ve saved many of my t-shirts over the years, the ones I don’t wear anymore but are too precious to toss. I  keep them in a see-through box on a closet shelf. They tell my stories.

One of my tees is a reminder of the year I took up running. I ran the same route around a park every day, gradually lengthening the number of circuits. A neighbor, a pro-athletic type, began to run with me. He insisted I stretch before we set out and he encouraged me when I grew tired. After I ran two miles for the very first time, he presented me with a bright yellow t-shirt that reads: “I Am A 2-Mile Woman.”

I have my sorority tee, Alpha Omicron Pi, and a worn army-green tee that reads: “Chase Me Charlies” (no apostrophe). That’s the name of a bar I worked at one fun summer. A favorite t-shirt is the purple-and-white number I wore while marching in Washington, D.C., for the “We Won’t Go Back” pro-choice rally on April 5, 1992.

My husband, Arnie, likes t-shirts that depict our travels. I’m not so big on that. I tend to pick up arty souvenirs, like the oil painting by a riverbank artist in Ukraine. Getting it home was interesting. Before we left the U.S., we’d been erroneously advised to pack bath towels and toilet tissue. We didn’t use them for their intended purposes, but they nicely cushioned the painting in the center of my suitcase.

Arnie and I wore matching white t-shirts to the family pizza dinner we hosted the night before we got married. Mine spells out ”Bride” in cursive black script, and his says ”Groom.” My three nephews sang us a song they made up: “Happy Wedding to You,” to the tune of “Happy Birthday.”

Tell me about your t-shirts.

Eagle Watch at Starved Rock

A bald eagle winters at Starved Rock

Once again the bald eagles are wintering at Starved Rock State Park in Utica, Illinois. They perch high on the treetops of Plum Island, next to the dam that keeps the river from freezing and where the fish are easy pickings. This year the eagle numbers are low. That’s because the gizzard chad crashed. Supposedly, it’s a natural and cyclical occurrence, but one that sent the iconic birds elsewhere in search of their preferred cuisine.

Last year 102 eagles were sighted at Starved Rock. We were lucky to spot a handful. “Next year, you never know–it all depends on how the fish bounce back,” said Ranger Bob Petruney of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers at the Illinois Waterway Visitor Center.

If you’ve never seen one, bald eagles are not bald. Early European explorers named them using an Old English word, “balde,” which means white–a reference to their heads and tails. A few more eagle facts:

* Bald eagles are all-brown until they are 4 or 5 years old; then they get the white plumage.

* Illinois has the largest winter population of bald eagles outside Alaska.

* Bald eagles weigh about the same as a cat, but they stand 3 feet tall and have wingspans up to 8 feet.

We took off on foot in search of eagles and other snowy wonders. The park is known for sandstone bluffs, 18 canyons and 13 miles of hilly trails. The first day we hiked up and down and up to the top of Wildcat Canyon, where ice climbers were scaling a frozen waterfall. Then we meandered down to the Illinois River and up to Lovers Leap. That’s where we saw 5 eagles–2 pairs of adults and a juvenile.

The next morning we joined a hiking club made up of lodge guests and local residents. It was founded by Starved Rock’s activities director, Edna Daugherty, and the group meets every Thursday, year-round. This day’s destination was St. Louis Canyon and the frozen waterfall there. Arnie and I thought we were hike-worthy, but soon found ourselves sliding along the steep paths. Edna handed me her walking stick. Ron loaned Arnie his walking stick and YakTrax, which are like tire chains for your feet. They worked out well, and the landscape was beautifully stark and still.

I wore cute waterproof boots by White Mountain. They are shiny black on the foot part and quilted on the top part. I was going to show you a picture, but decided you’d rather see an eagle. So here’s a picture of my souvenir from gift shop.

(Journalism) Hints from Heloise

 

Heloise and Pamela, 2009 NFPW Conference

The Pantyhose Trick: Got a run in your pantyhose? Don’t throw the garment away. Simply cut off the damaged leg. Do this every time and soon you’ll have a “good” right and left leg. Don them both, and you’ve got a complete pair! (And two layers of tummy control.)

For more than 50 years Heloise has dispensed household hints such as this, but she’s got a laundry basket of advice for journalists as well.

Heloise writes a daily syndicated column, a monthly feature in “Good Housekeeping” magazine and myriad books. She’s a second-generation investigator, the daughter who took over after her mother’s death in 1977. But today’s Heloise isn’t merely rehashing what came before. She’s constantly testing and updating, and addressing new concerns. After all, Mother didn’t have to deal with how to clean cell phones and whether it’s okay to dry clothes in the microwave.

“Our challenge is the same as your challenge,” Heloise said at the 2009 National Federation of Press Women conference, at which she was named Communicator of Achievement. “People rely on us for accurate information.”

Here are a few of Heloise’ Journalism Hints:

* Ask yourself, what does my audience need? When Heloise composed laundry tips for college students, she didn’t go into the nuances of hand-washing and dry cleaning. For them, that’s TMI.

* Do the research. Heloise and her team spent days investigating the difference between a “leaking” iron and a “spitting” iron. They called multiple manufacturers and talked to engineers. And they ironed.

Look for telephone numbers that don’t start with 800—-those tend to be call centers rather than corporate offices, she said.

BTW, an iron reservoir filled with too much water spills over and leaks. An under-heated iron spits rather than steams.

* Check your facts. A reporter once wrote a story about Heloise that contained an error. When later stories contain the same error, as they frequently do, she knows somebody copied without checking.

“It’s your reputation on the line,” she said.

5 Things About the Galapagos Islands

Wavy albatrosses on Espanola Island

* Even if your ship is classified a luxury vessel, it will be much smaller than it appears in the brochure. You can book a cabin away from the engine room, but it then will be next to the anchor. Either one cures narcolepsy.

* Mornings and afternoons you will visit the various islands. You get there by panga, or dinghy, from your ship. Some landings are wet and some are dry. Dry is a relative term. You will stay dry as long as you don’t fall in the water when exiting the dinghy.

* Some hikes are pretty rugged. You will traverse lava fields and jagged boulders. Genovesa is an easy hike–after you climb the side of a 30-foot cliff to get to the trail.

* You can’t touch the sea lions or penguins or any other creature. They, however, get to touch you all they want. It’s a really neat feeling when a penguin swims between your legs.

* Forget about souvenirs. The islands are largely uninhabited, so there is nothing to buy. If your itinerary includes Puerto Ayora, a small resort town on Santa Cruz, spend your time at the tortoise nursery rather than t-shirt shops. Give your grandchildren $10 bills instead.