My daughter has a cat named Bagheera. He is pure black (hence the choice of name). However, there are times when his mercurial temperament makes his nickname ("The Little Bastard") much more fitting. If he was human, one might wonder if he was a little sociopath with a fur coat.
When we had two cats (the other one passed away ten months ago), Bagheera was very much the Alpha Male, dominating (and sometimes abusing) the other cat, who happened to have a very sweet and friendly disposition. For the three humans in the house, trying to be friendly with Bagheera was often a walk on the wild side. He could be extremely friendly and affectionate, but might then suddenly bite or scratch you without warning. He also would become almost psychotic if another cat was outside. He would howl and attack our other cat or one of us if we were nearby; an apparent attempt to defend his territory.
Bagheera is also well-know at the River Cove Animal Hospital, where we take him for his health care. Dr. Lincoln has ended up bleeding on more than one occasion, and now an assistant dons heavy leather gloves to get him out of the pet carrier and hold him for the exam, which is usually extremely brief.
Since Bagheera has been the only cat in the house, I have to admit he has mellowed a bit. He can now sit at a window and watch other animals outside without going berserk. If one of us is sitting on a sofa, he will often jump up next to the person and cuddle against their leg. At night, he generally sleeps on one of the beds with us, and will often crawl under the covers.
Even though he is pretty nice most of the time, the "attack cat" in him is not totally extinct. A few weeks ago, he was sitting next to my wife on the sofa; she was petting him and he seemed to be enjoying the attention when he suddenly bit her in the hand, jumped down, and walked away. The week before, she was sitting on the futon in the family room talking to my daughter on the phone when he walked up to her, bit her on the ankle, and walked away.
Based on how he treated the other cat, Bagheera is destined to be an "only child" for the remainder of his days. While we are all glad that the attacks are now pretty rare, and he overall is quite decent, bringing another animal into the house would no doubt provoke him, and we would all pay for it. For now, we will enjoy the good behavior and hope that his mood stays fairly pleasant and that "The Little Bastard" makes only an occasional appearance.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Don't worry, the patients will tell you what to do
When I graduated from school, my first job was in the Nursing Float Pool in Easton Hospital in Pennsylvania. Float nurses were oriented to work in all of the areas of the hospital with the exception of the operating room. Since I had to be prepared to work a wide variety of units, such as ICU, Med Surg, Pediatrics, ED, Labor and Delivery, and a host of others, my orientation was quite lengthy. I was not as highly skilled as the staff who regularly worked on a unit, but I could go there when there was a need and work alongside the "regulars" and help get through the shift without doing any harm and hopefully being helpful.
On my first day that I was to go to orient on the Psych Unit, there was a huge snowstorm. As often happens, many staff were unable to get to work, so the supervisors did the best they could with the people that were able to make it into work.
When I arrived at the entrance to the unit, it was locked. I knocked and Rick, the night shift Nurses Aide, let me in. Rick wore glasses with thick lenses which made his eyes look larger and two hearing aids and spoke in a high-pitched voice. I remember from studying Psych Nursing the importance of being observant, but Rick just didn't present the appearance of one in whom this was a strength.
Maggie, the night nurse, was the most senior nurse in the entire hospital. She was short, built like a bowling ball, had her gray-streaked hair in a tight bun and wore glasses with frames I believed they referred to as "cat's eyes". Maggie and Rick had apparently worked together for years, and they seemed to know what the other was thinking or wanted without much in the way of conversation.
Maggie informed me that I would be working with Cindy, one of the regular day shift nurses, but that she was having trouble getting here because of the weather and it would be at least an hour or two until she arrived.
While Maggie was finishing up some of her paperwork, Rick gave me a quick tour of the unit, and then I met with Maggie for report on the patients. There were 12 patients on the unit, all voluntary admissions. Maggie gave me a quick summary on each.
Realizing that I was going to be alone until Cindy arrived, I was quite anxious. I did not know any of the unit policies and procedures (I was there to learn them), I had no training on how to deal with Psych emergencies, or how to get help if I needed it or had a question. These were the days before the individually packaged unit-dose medications. The top drawer of the med cart was filled with stock bottles of pills, so I would have to go through all of them to find the right medications when the time came.
I would have appreciated it if Maggie would have volunteered to stay until Cindy arrived, but, when she reached for her coat, I knew it was not to be. Maggie buttoned her coat, dropped the unit keys into my hand, and headed toward the door. As she opened the door, she paused, turned to me and said, "Don't worry; the patients will tell you what to do." With that, she walked out and the door slammed shut behind her.
I obviously survived the experience, eventually transferred to the unit to work there full-time, and eventually became the Nurse Manager. I even found the tough, no-nonsense Maggie to bee quite nice, once we got to know each other.
Even though this was 30 years ago, I have never forgotten it, and it helped to make me more sensitive to others who were trying to learn how to work on a Psych Unit. For that, I thank Maggie and will always remember her parting words as she walked out the door.
On my first day that I was to go to orient on the Psych Unit, there was a huge snowstorm. As often happens, many staff were unable to get to work, so the supervisors did the best they could with the people that were able to make it into work.
When I arrived at the entrance to the unit, it was locked. I knocked and Rick, the night shift Nurses Aide, let me in. Rick wore glasses with thick lenses which made his eyes look larger and two hearing aids and spoke in a high-pitched voice. I remember from studying Psych Nursing the importance of being observant, but Rick just didn't present the appearance of one in whom this was a strength.
Maggie, the night nurse, was the most senior nurse in the entire hospital. She was short, built like a bowling ball, had her gray-streaked hair in a tight bun and wore glasses with frames I believed they referred to as "cat's eyes". Maggie and Rick had apparently worked together for years, and they seemed to know what the other was thinking or wanted without much in the way of conversation.
Maggie informed me that I would be working with Cindy, one of the regular day shift nurses, but that she was having trouble getting here because of the weather and it would be at least an hour or two until she arrived.
While Maggie was finishing up some of her paperwork, Rick gave me a quick tour of the unit, and then I met with Maggie for report on the patients. There were 12 patients on the unit, all voluntary admissions. Maggie gave me a quick summary on each.
Realizing that I was going to be alone until Cindy arrived, I was quite anxious. I did not know any of the unit policies and procedures (I was there to learn them), I had no training on how to deal with Psych emergencies, or how to get help if I needed it or had a question. These were the days before the individually packaged unit-dose medications. The top drawer of the med cart was filled with stock bottles of pills, so I would have to go through all of them to find the right medications when the time came.
I would have appreciated it if Maggie would have volunteered to stay until Cindy arrived, but, when she reached for her coat, I knew it was not to be. Maggie buttoned her coat, dropped the unit keys into my hand, and headed toward the door. As she opened the door, she paused, turned to me and said, "Don't worry; the patients will tell you what to do." With that, she walked out and the door slammed shut behind her.
I obviously survived the experience, eventually transferred to the unit to work there full-time, and eventually became the Nurse Manager. I even found the tough, no-nonsense Maggie to bee quite nice, once we got to know each other.
Even though this was 30 years ago, I have never forgotten it, and it helped to make me more sensitive to others who were trying to learn how to work on a Psych Unit. For that, I thank Maggie and will always remember her parting words as she walked out the door.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Hot Ass Pond
When some people choose names for towns and places, one might wonder what they are thinking (or smoking) at the time. To give you an idea, here are some examples:
- Bastardstown (Ireland)
- Beaverlick (Kentucky)
- Clap Hill (UK)
- Assloss (Scotland)
- Bangs Beach (Maine)
- Titless (Switzerland)
- Sexmoan (Phillipines)
- Pecker's Point (Newfoundland)
- Maggie's Nipples (Wyoming)
- Middlefart (Denmark)
Another one to add to the list is Hot Ass Pond, allegedly in the North Woods of Maine. It may be just an urban legend, but there is an amusing story behind how the pond got its' name.
According to the story, one winter many years ago, when the pond was frozen over, an Indian squaw was walking across the ice. As she was walking, she came across a silver dollar on the ice. She bent down to pick it up, but is was stuck to the ice. The squaw wanted the silver dollar, but she had to get it loose from the ice. Not having any tools but being creative, she lifted her skirt and sat on it and, as we say, the rest is history.
- Bastardstown (Ireland)
- Beaverlick (Kentucky)
- Clap Hill (UK)
- Assloss (Scotland)
- Bangs Beach (Maine)
- Titless (Switzerland)
- Sexmoan (Phillipines)
- Pecker's Point (Newfoundland)
- Maggie's Nipples (Wyoming)
- Middlefart (Denmark)
Another one to add to the list is Hot Ass Pond, allegedly in the North Woods of Maine. It may be just an urban legend, but there is an amusing story behind how the pond got its' name.
According to the story, one winter many years ago, when the pond was frozen over, an Indian squaw was walking across the ice. As she was walking, she came across a silver dollar on the ice. She bent down to pick it up, but is was stuck to the ice. The squaw wanted the silver dollar, but she had to get it loose from the ice. Not having any tools but being creative, she lifted her skirt and sat on it and, as we say, the rest is history.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Goin' Buryin' on Little Cranberry Island
My father was a UCC minister. When I was a child, we lived in Maine on Mount Desert Island, where he was the minister of two small churches, one on each side of the harbor. Back then, the denomination was known as Congregational, which later became the United Church of Christ.
My father has a unique distinction, among ministers, of having helped to dig the grave for a funeral he officiated. Here's the story.
About 50 years ago, my father got a call asking him to do a funeral on Little Cranberry Island. The deceased had been from there, had moved away years ago, and had just passed away. The family were all buried on the island, so the funeral was planned for there.
Little Cranberry Island is about a mile long and lies just off Mount Desert Island. There are about 50 year around residents, living in the town of Isleford.
My father related meeting the hearse and one of the relatives at the town dock in Southwest Harbor. Another relative was there with his lobster boat to transport the casket to Little Cranberry (the bait had been swept up to make the boat more presentable). The grave digger joined them, dropping his tools into the boat.
After the short trip, the boat arrived at the Isleford Town Dock. The casket was loaded into the back of a pickup truck, which drove away. No one was left to direct my father, so he started walking around the tiny community, looking for the cemetery. Little Cranberry has several small cemeteries, with some graves dating back to the 1700's. My father spotted the pickup truck down the street, and joined the grave digger and one of the relatives.
Apparently, the grave digger was also the town drunk, and had a bottle with him, so progress on digging the grave was a bit slow. In the meantime, other relatives joined the group. One of them reported that a huge storm was approaching (the sky was already changing) and the seas were going to be extremely rough. One of the old salts offered the opinion that, if the visitors didn't get off the island within an hour or two, they might be marooned on the island for a couple of days.
The relative who had come over with my father took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work with the grave digger. My father said he looked at the sky, and decided to join them. The grave was quickly finished, and the relatives gathered for one of the shorter funerals in recent memory. The deceased was reportedly "planted good and proper", and my father and the others were able to return on the lobster boat to Southwest Harbor in time.
My father has a unique distinction, among ministers, of having helped to dig the grave for a funeral he officiated. Here's the story.
About 50 years ago, my father got a call asking him to do a funeral on Little Cranberry Island. The deceased had been from there, had moved away years ago, and had just passed away. The family were all buried on the island, so the funeral was planned for there.
Little Cranberry Island is about a mile long and lies just off Mount Desert Island. There are about 50 year around residents, living in the town of Isleford.
My father related meeting the hearse and one of the relatives at the town dock in Southwest Harbor. Another relative was there with his lobster boat to transport the casket to Little Cranberry (the bait had been swept up to make the boat more presentable). The grave digger joined them, dropping his tools into the boat.
After the short trip, the boat arrived at the Isleford Town Dock. The casket was loaded into the back of a pickup truck, which drove away. No one was left to direct my father, so he started walking around the tiny community, looking for the cemetery. Little Cranberry has several small cemeteries, with some graves dating back to the 1700's. My father spotted the pickup truck down the street, and joined the grave digger and one of the relatives.
Apparently, the grave digger was also the town drunk, and had a bottle with him, so progress on digging the grave was a bit slow. In the meantime, other relatives joined the group. One of them reported that a huge storm was approaching (the sky was already changing) and the seas were going to be extremely rough. One of the old salts offered the opinion that, if the visitors didn't get off the island within an hour or two, they might be marooned on the island for a couple of days.
The relative who had come over with my father took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work with the grave digger. My father said he looked at the sky, and decided to join them. The grave was quickly finished, and the relatives gathered for one of the shorter funerals in recent memory. The deceased was reportedly "planted good and proper", and my father and the others were able to return on the lobster boat to Southwest Harbor in time.
Monday, January 2, 2012
I Don't Care
Looking at the title of this post, one might be led to believe that I don't care about anything. That's not quite true. While there are many things that are important to me, I find that there are many things in the world that, while they may be important to you, I don't give a damn about them.
Among the things that are important to me:
- family, friends, co-workers
- my job (and doing it well)
- humor
- being organized
- books
- paying my bills on time
- being on time for everything
- having a reputation for honesty and integrity
- naps
- good food
- making time for me
There are other things, but you get the idea.
On the other side of the coin, there are many things in the world that people find to be fascinating, important, in some way worthy of their attention. Examples of these things that I don't care about include:
- what the Real Housewives of New York (or anywhere else) are arguing about this week
- who designed someone's outfit for the Oscars
- who Jennifer Aniston is sleeping with this week
- what Paris Hilton is up to
- politics and politicians
- iPhones
- people who have opinions about everything
- Twitter
- living to be 100
- First Night
- the latest fashion
- commercials
- playing games (saying "I won" doesn't mean much to me)
- any form of exercise
- commemorative plates, coins, etc.
- "think tanks"
- what Fox News thinks about anything
- American Idol
- Survivor
- telephone surveys
- professional basketball
- PETA
- Starbucks
- the Stock Market
- golf (especially on television)
- banks that are too big to fail (let them)
- consultants
- bowl games (there are way too many of them to mean anything)
- NASCAR
There are many other things I don't lose sleep over, but this is a fair sample. You may think I lead a terribly boring and unfulfilled life, but please be assured I'm OK and not unhappy or suicidal. As for all of the things I don't care about, you are more than welcome to be as fanatical as you want to be about any of them; I don't care about that, either.
Among the things that are important to me:
- family, friends, co-workers
- my job (and doing it well)
- humor
- being organized
- books
- paying my bills on time
- being on time for everything
- having a reputation for honesty and integrity
- naps
- good food
- making time for me
There are other things, but you get the idea.
On the other side of the coin, there are many things in the world that people find to be fascinating, important, in some way worthy of their attention. Examples of these things that I don't care about include:
- what the Real Housewives of New York (or anywhere else) are arguing about this week
- who designed someone's outfit for the Oscars
- who Jennifer Aniston is sleeping with this week
- what Paris Hilton is up to
- politics and politicians
- iPhones
- people who have opinions about everything
- living to be 100
- First Night
- the latest fashion
- commercials
- playing games (saying "I won" doesn't mean much to me)
- any form of exercise
- commemorative plates, coins, etc.
- "think tanks"
- what Fox News thinks about anything
- American Idol
- Survivor
- telephone surveys
- professional basketball
- PETA
- Starbucks
- the Stock Market
- golf (especially on television)
- banks that are too big to fail (let them)
- consultants
- bowl games (there are way too many of them to mean anything)
- NASCAR
There are many other things I don't lose sleep over, but this is a fair sample. You may think I lead a terribly boring and unfulfilled life, but please be assured I'm OK and not unhappy or suicidal. As for all of the things I don't care about, you are more than welcome to be as fanatical as you want to be about any of them; I don't care about that, either.
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