Our Mission

To live a self-sufficient and organic lifestyle for the next half century. With the Grace of God and the power of prayer, we will succeed. Nothing is impossible with His help. It wouldn't be us without laughter and joy at the Cockeyed Homestead.

Sunday, December 24, 2017

RIP Logan

On my other blog, my stroke recovery blog, I talked about the piles Logan left for me on the carpet each morning and evening. It made walking in the small hallway between the rest of the house my bathroom and my bedroom a precarious adventure. It has been this way for months since I removed the litter box from my bathroom. It's not that he wasn't outdoor trained or that he couldn't get outside, it was because he was stubborn and liked the convenience of having a litter box right inside. He didn't have to brave whatever weather was outside.

His stools were noticeably loose. He had chewed his fur off leaving bald and sometime bloodied area of skin exposed, but he did that every summer. Usually, his thick black coat would return in the late fall and winter. He had allergies and was like this every year. He was a peculiar cat.  He was a Manx, born without a tail. Pure black with yellow eyes which reminded me of two moons shining on a black night. He was a beautiful cat. He belong to Mel's mother before she died so Mel inherited him.

He became a service cat. He could sense when your blood sugar was too high or too low. It was a perfect attribute for Mel's mother and me who both had diabetes. To everyone else, he was a pest because he would yowl and pester them until he got to smell their breath. If he sensed that the person's blood sugar was normal, he snuggled up to be petted or leave you alone. If your blood sugar was not normal, too high or too low, he'd bite you. Not hard at first, just enough to get your attention. If your ignored him, the bites and pestering would get more intense. He'd bite me long before I ever felt the symptoms of my blood sugar being too low. A much better glucometer than any brand and he didn't need batteries.

 Earlier this week, I was making the rounds of the household animals. I caught Logan crouched in the hallway ready to leave another present for me to step in or have to clean up. I yelled and literally at kicked him. My foot missed him by several inches. I would never hurt an animal on purpose  other than butchering them for our needs. I figured I'd made my point. He ran outside through the pet door. It was later in the evening, when I noticed he wasn't on the breakfast table with the other cats trying to grab some extra warmth from the wood stove. I asked Mel if she had seen him. She hadn't since earlier in the day.

The next morning, still no Logan. We both, Mel and I, canvassed the property looking for him. We eventually found his body by the wood shed. What exactly killed this cat, we have no idea. He must have been sicker than we thought. So we are down another cat on the homestead. Not that we are lacking puddy cats here. There is still Whirling Dervish, Flynn, Lil Bit, and Patches to keep us company.

Still, I'll miss Logan. Darn, now I've got to put batteries in my glucometer. I haven't had to worry about it in almost two years. Not that my blood sugar is that high anymore with my diabetes, but low blood sugar can kill you just as fast. RIP Logan.

Y'all have a blessed day.

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