I Didn't Plan on This Post

This blog is supposedly written by an astronomer, and is supposedly in part about astronomy, but you wouldn’t know it recently without the verbiage around its Blogger frame.

A historically significant Galaxie.

I really am working on a couple of big posts about science and community colleges’ ways of wrenching it into relevance for our students. Multi-spectral views of the “grand design” spiral galaxy M74 are in the offing here in SherWords, for example, and in the works are guest blogs from electrifying explainers of modern Meteorology and Geology. Let’s hope that the latter guest appearances happen before global warming and/or earthquakes kill us all. (The astronomer is holding a major asteroid impact back as a trump card.)

But, meanwhile, Fort Harrington just insists on continuing to happen. And, particularly, its short, supposedly “dumb” denizens insist on being cute in ways that can’t be ignored, unless you can ignore a baseball bat applied to your nose.

You think being cute is a once-in-a-while thing? HAH. These critters work on it full time, and sometimes perversely. For example, the last post in this blog was a presumably unusually-cute picture of Emma. Yesterday, she just had to trump that with the prettiest picture ever taken of her, seriously:

Emma, January 2nd, 2008

And, the day before that (New Year’s Day), Guinness and the still-acclimating Finn McCool just had to practice their Hallmark audition:

Finn McCool and Guinness celebrate New Year's Day, 2008.

And, yesterday, even the chickens had to get into the “You just TRY to leave this out of your precious blog, pinky!” game, notably the remarkable Specks…

Speckles surveys the deck rail after the solstice.

… and Bratty, the Black Giant.

Bratty perseveres, kicking dirt to uncover worms, a month after the loss of her sister.

Bratty’s picture is both warm and heartbreaking to Diane and me. Pepper was her nearly identical sister, and (if you can believe it), Pepper’s eyes were even more startling in their warmth.

Finn McUpdate

Finn McCool, August 2nd, 2007

[Note: the one-year anniversary blogtour of Ireland continues in updates of the HI-POD entries of this blog. Just go to the most recent one, scroll down to the bottom, and enjoy the most recent additions. And that's an order.]

It's been a while since I wrote anything about our newest cat, Finn McCool.

The reason I haven't written anything is the same as the apocryphal child's who was utterly mute for years until he suddenly said, "This soup is cold": everything's been just fine. Unlike A. Pocryphal Child, though, there isn't anything wrong at present.

Finn has settled in here just wonderfully. He's fat, happy, sassy... and little. Maybe he'll grow up a bit in the next year, but being a year-and-a-quarter already, probably not much. (Not much up or long, that is -- he's already got a pretty good start on growing out.) His self-confidence has gotten to be almost comically out of whack with reality. Here, he's trying to grab dinner from Cooper, of all things. Cooper is about three times Finn's size (and actually is Finn's favorite animal in the Fort, which may explain Finn's chutzpah):

Finn McCool tries to intimidate a bantha. Fonzie, in the background, visits from a dimensional matrix in which food is served in sink drains.

When I last wrote about Finn, our older Maine Coon, Alnitak, was being a bad guy to him. That's stopped, but I'm glad, sincerely glad, that Al acted like that. It was so out of character for him to be so aggressive and hostile that Diane and I thought there might be something wrong with Al, something irritating him so much that adjusting to a new family member wasn't something he could handle with his usual grace. We took him to the Fort's vet, and multiple tests later showed some problems that could have become life-threatening if they hadn't been caught so soon. Several weeks of antibiotics and steroids have brought Al back to his suave, usual self.

Odd, isn't it? Finn might be said to have saved Al's life by being more of a pain in the ass than Al could tolerate.

Finn now hangs out with the 'Coons mostly -- a teeny, bright, orange splash against their massive brown-ness. Here they are this evening, sharing dinner:


(A note to anyone who worries about our cats eating on our kitchen counter: Pfflbbttt! They're clean, they're healthy, we're of ages that begin with a "6" and so can do pretty much whatever we want, and so there.)

A complete aside: I have a continuous feed from the HamCam on my computer screen. This is a scene therefrom while I was typing this blog entry (you really should click on it to see a bigger version):


I live in such a wonderful place.

Okay. That's Irish Enough. You Can Stop Now.

Today was my 60th birthday.

When I arrived home after my night class, Mrs. Fort had a nice surprise giftie waiting for me (an old-time baseball themed wall clock for the den), and the usual daily update on how things went in Ft. Harrington while I was away.

I fired up the computer to check in on my e-mail and my favorite blogs, poured myself a birthday mug of Guinness Extra Stout, and found myself face-to-face with Finn, who apparently had a pretty good day, too.

He first wanted to see if he could help me with the keyboard...

... then, noticing that I wasn't actually typing anything, turned his attention to the mug...

... and its contents ...

... and then STARTED DRINKING MY DAMN' GUINNESS!!!

He's taking this "Finn McCool" thing way too seriously. Maybe we should have named him "Fluffy" or something.

Postscript: Ronniecat will recognize the webpage on the monitor! It's I Am Mojo! -- her cat Mojo's blog -- which I was actually reading for myself, not trying to show it to Finn. Also, the discerning viewer will notice (by clicking on the images above to see larger versions) the walrus talisman on the shelf behind Finn's shoulder. I'm looking for a tiny blue bucket to put next to it.

Project Finn

Finn McCool relaxes on the couch.

Finn has been at Ft. Harrington for two weeks now, and he's slowly, slowly getting comfortable.

He's going to be more of a project than expected, but he's smart, basically affectionate, and wants to get along here. He just doesn't quite know exactly how to do that yet, but he's learning quickly.

That Finn was going to be a little bit of a challenge became apparent on his first trip to the vet, after he had been with us for a mere 48 hours. Here's a slice (heh) from the doctor's writeup on that visit (click the image to see a legible version):

The "bold, inquisitive" part comes from Finn's behavior whenever anyone would open the exam room door from outside: he'd come to full alert and stalk toward the corner of the exam table nearest the door instead of shrinking away. The "may scratch or bite, a little wild" comes from our mis-adventure in attempting to take his temperature the first (and, so far, only) time. He had behaved very well up until then, but as soon as the thermometer made contact... BLAM!! Finn went off like a tactical nuclear warhead, writhing, screaming, biting, slashing, and I swear I could hear him in my head, saying "THAT'S A ONE-WAY STREET, YOU PERVERTS!"

We managed to constrain him pretty quickly, but not before there was blood on the exam table, none of it Finn's. It could have been worse; there could have been some on the walls.

On the third day, he rested behind the CPU.

Through the first week, it became more and more clear that Finn had never been socialized, either with people or other animals. Consistent encouragement/discouragement of specific behaviors is working very well with him, though, and I'm sure he'll eventually be safe for Grace-the-Granddaughter to handle. Not quite yet, though.

His interactions with the other animals has been fascinating -- sometimes heartwarming, sometimes frightening, sometimes infuriating, but always fascinating. He has the computer room all to himself, but we've had it open to the other animals (and for him to visit other rooms when he's of a mind) for increasing periods each day.

Finn bowling

His first forays out of his room were times for finding hidey-holes and nooks (of which there are many in the Fort.) He seems most comfortable in high places (like the bowl above up near the kitchen ceiling) where he can keep an eye on things. It says a lot about him that he prefers those places to dark, hidden places under furniture.

The other animals have varying reactions to him, but the weirdest by far is what goes on with our Maine Coons, Alnitak and his nephew Copernicus. The two of them are together so much that we almost think of them as one cat, but their reactions to Finn have been polar opposites, almost like they're playing a "Good cop, bad cop" routine on the little guy. That's got to be confusing to Finn; the two coons look so much alike that I'm not sure how long it took him to figure out that they are actually two different cats.

Cooper has been a big, fuzzy, warm friend from the start -- but Al's behavior has bordered on the hateful, never physically hurting Finn, but intimidating him to the point of terrorization sometimes. It's a relief that his behavior is ameliorating rapidly -- and today I caught him sitting with Finn at the computer room window watching "kitty TV" (chickens in the yard) happily together.

Cooper, the good cop.

Al, the bad cop.

Fonzie sleeps under Boo's picture.

Fonzie, the spacey, lovely little Aby, has been fond of Finn from the outset, and Finn has always seemed comfortable with him, too. It may be a red cat thing; Fonzie was always very fond of our old ginger bobtail, Boo, too.

Kelsey and Finn McCool

Finn is slowly coming to grips with the dogs, but I don't think he'll ever actually like them the way the coons do. They don't freak him out now like they did in the first week, but there's still plenty of room for progress.

And then there's Oolie, the Black Freighter. Oolie completely and utterly ignores Finn unless the little guy gets inside his no-trespassing zone, which seems to be about a foot and a half. When that happens, the Freighter spits a little and threatens to call his lawyer:

So far, the name "Finn McCool" seems to fit pretty well. He's in a terribly alien situation, with lots of strange things and animals to get used to, and he's holding his ground without hiding. Not bad for a little 8-pound yearling.

Say Hello to Finn McCool [Updated]

Finn McCool, year-old veteran of multiple shelters, was liberated from the Humane Society of Silicon Valley at 5pm, Sunday, June 3rd. He was immediately smuggled by his rescue squad into the deeply-forested mountains, to a place called "Fort Harrington." There, he is intended to be the guardian of the king (as was his namesake in legend).

He will, that is, if he ever comes out from underneath the dresser.

And, no, I'm not the "king." That would be Oolie, the Black Freighter.

Finn McCool (or Fionn mac Cumhaill)

This painting of the light-red-haired warrior was stolen from Ton Coolen's short description of the legend . Dr. Coolen is a member of the "Disordered Systems Group" at King's College, University of London, and has no idea who I am. He named his son "Finn," and does that kid ever have some name to live up to.

UPDATE...

Finn McCool came out from under the dresser at nine o'clock -- as soon as he heard Mrs. Fort's voice when she came into the computer room to check on him. Apparently, he became enchanted by the sound of her voice on our long drive back from the shelter. Can't say that I blame him.

Finn and Mrs. Fort, June 3, 2007.