What doesn’t kill you makes you weaker: advice on living with chronic illnesses such as Fibromyalgia, Chronic Fatigue, and Long Covid (trigger warning: depression)
Prologue: It can and probably will happen to you.
The world is getting more and more disabled people, because a significant proportion of those who get Covid develop Long Covid. Without getting technical, imagine tiredness, weakness, brain fog, and pain at the same level as the flu but forever. If you are chronically ill, you are disabled. No amount of self-control, diet, or medication is going to get you well again.
Around 10% of the population is disabled. It can happen to you, and it is probably already happening to someone you know. If you don’t know anyone with a disability or chronic illness, you actually do. They either keep their suffering hidden or (as often happens) they just don’t fit into your healthy-ish lifestyle, and you didn’t notice when they disappeared.
Everyone who lives long enough will become disabled. It is not a “someone else” problem. Kindly remember that fact when you vote, when you design your home or work space, and when you make long-term plans.
It happened to me.
Pregnancy and birth is a serious physical ordeal that still kills many women today. My body had several chronic issues after my first pregnancy, but my husband and I decided to take a chance and have a second. From that point onward, I was disabled (although it took five years to get a diagnosis of fibromyalgia, which is how long it takes for most people). I can remember begging my partner not to leave the house for more than three hours at a time as I wasn’t well enough to care for the kids for that long.
Yes, I’m aware of the dramatic irony of pregnancy taking away my ability to be a ‘good’ mother. If I could punch dramatic irony in the face, I definitely would.
I also have migraines (also from pregnancy—without medication I would have them every day), and after a few years of fibromyalgia I became morbidly obese and developed diabetes and a couple of other conditions (once you have one chronic condition, you tend to get more as your body is permanently out of whack). I’m also intolerant of FODMAPS and Salicylates (which basically covers 99% of all fruits and veggies—thanks, body!) Shockingly, I also have depression and anxiety. Most disabled people have at least one major mental illness to keep their physical illnesses company.
Worth it.
Part 1: What to do to prepare for the demise of your health (or your partner’s health)
a) If possible, get health insurance. My health insurance costs over $100/month and hasn’t paid me a cent even though I’ve been disabled for eight years. It lists 46 different health conditions that get a payout. Fibromyalgia is specifically excluded.
If you can, get health insurance that covers your degree of ill health rather than specific conditions. And income insurance.
Actually, income insurance is better suited to helping you cope with Long Covid or other disabling conditions. Get that.
b) Talk to your partner realistically about the fact that one or both of you may end up becoming a carer and/or financial support for the other. Note that although Australia has a Disability Support Pension (possible but difficult to get for chronic conditions), it is assumed that your marriage partner (including de facto marriage partners) will share EVERYTHING that they have with you. So if they earn above about $80,000/year or the two of you have more than $3600 in the bank you will not be able to get any government help. Can you support a family of four on that income? (Take-home pay of about $60,000/year, and rent for a 3-bedroom home is at least $30,000/year—which also means you probably won’t be approved for a 3-bedroom rental if you’re not already living there. And a lot of people, such as single parents, have it much worse.) Ask each other, “What if I wasn’t able to work?” “What if you weren’t able to work?” Can either of you become the breadwinner if you have to? Make sure both of you know how to do all the household chores (including cooking a few standard meals) in case one of you can’t do them any more. Talk about the fact that marriages often break down if one person becomes chronically ill, especially if the ill person is a woman. Talk about the fact that chronic illness goes hand in hand with depression and with massive weight gain. Try to figure out what matters most to each person eg one person may feel loved when given gifts like flowers regularly; one may rely on physical intimacy to feel loved; one may need to be told “I love you” every day.
c) Finances. Try to have savings if you can. Basically, if you get sick you’re financially screwed. As any millennial can tell you, our society now expects everyone to be in a committed long-term relationship that contains two able-bodied adults who both work full-time. Sorry about that.
Pick one thing on your bucket list (that doesn’t involve travel, crowds, or hospitals) and do it now, so that if you get sick you can say, “Well, I probably can’t ever go to Paris but I DID learn how to play the ukelele.”
And yes, I know I just told you to have great savings AND to buy and spend a bunch. Sorry.
d) Got kids? If they’re over four years old, there are SOME jobs they can be trained to do. Even if it’s not appropriate to have them doing regular chores, try to teach them the skills so that they are physically capable of doing more chores if they need to (teaching kids chores takes time & health). Focus on the essentials: packing and unpacking their bag before and after school; making their own lunch; filling their drink bottle; getting dressed and undressed; taking care of their own personal hygiene. Sorting washing; putting away washing; hanging out wet washing; putting a load of washing on; remembering to get the wet washing when it’s done; washing dishes; stacking and setting off the dishwasher; unpacking the dishwasher; vacuuming; cleaning bathrooms; mopping; cooking; preparing their own snacks and getting their own drinks when they’re hungry and thirsty; entertaining themselves; walking to and from school; walking to and from the local shops; finding an item at the shops (eg milk) and buying it.
Make some memories with the kids doing stuff that you couldn’t do if you were unwell eg holidays, playing sports, hiking, leaving the house kinda thing.
e) Have at least one friend that you are very honest with eg “I’m too tired to wear a bra but I’d love if you would come over and make me a cup of tea (and a drink for yourself) and re-watch Lord of the Rings with me.” Someone other than your partner.
f) Contribute to your friends and your communities while you can eg washing up after church morning tea; helping friends move house; cooking for a family with a new baby.
g) If possible, make your house and workplace more disability friendly with ramps, reverse cycle air conditioning (many sick people are extremely sensitive to heat and/or cold), comfortable chairs for every situation (many people can’t stand for more than thirty seconds without pain), a bath (for cheap pain relief), and possibly lifts (most non-paralysed-but-still-disabled people are okay with a few stairs but a full flight can be a major obstacle). If you can, have a wheelchair accessible toilet and plenty of room in hallways etc. Get solar panels.
h) Make sure your finances and paperwork are in order, including a will. But the main reason for this is that ‘brain fog’ is a major symptom for most chronic conditions. So if you are sick, you are probably not able to run the paperwork side of the household. I once paid our car registration incorrectly and we nearly got a massive fine before it got sorted out. I regularly forget to pay bills. I nearly ran out of insulin over Christmas even though I had thought of that possibility and prepared for it. I regularly take a wrong turn on the way to a familiar location.
Maybe learn how to do a shared household calendar and shopping list. Have a perpetual calendar that shows all your bills for the year.
Unfortunately Chris has ADHD so paperwork-wise the buck stops with me. I have a whole complicated system that usually works including physically leaving paper bills in a prominent location until they’re paid, marking in my diary every month when our mortgage is due, and using a Webster pack for medication (SO helpful!)
Write down your passwords, and make sure the partner knows where they all are. I know writing down passwords is meant to be bad but if you have them in a spot far away from your computers etc but where you both know where they are, that will save a lot of grief.
Time for a kitten break, I think.
Part 2: How to live with chronic illness in yourself or your partner
This is Chris, my husband. We married in 2009 and our kids are in Year 3 and Year 6 this year. He is an extremely calm and naturally contented person, which is very helpful because he doesn’t dwell on the fact that his quality of life dropped sharply when I got sick.
To be fair, my quality of life dropped a lot more than his.
a) Fat. One of the best things Chris has done is that he’s never once commented on my massive weight gain. As of this entry, I weigh literally double what I weighed on our wedding day. Some of it is from emotional eating (to keep myself from burning down the world and/or harming myself). Some of it is from eating to stay awake or to distract myself from pain. Some of it is from not being able to exercise much. But the bulk of it (see what I did there?) is side effects of either my medical conditions or my medication. I am incredibly sad at the moment as my weight was stable for several years (even through lockdown) and then suddenly jumped by nearly ten freaking kilos. Guess what caused that? Insulin. Cool, the medication now keeping me alive just completely screwed me over. And giving myself injections every morning before breakfast was already so fun.
Some chronically ill people gain only a little bit of weight or even lose weight. Weight loss from illness is difficult as society tends to view it as a plus and doesn’t see it as a dangerous health issue. Weight gain is hated with a visceral passion by modern society, and it is very difficult to live with. As a bonus, a fat disabled person is more likely to be seen as purely lazy—by strangers, by friends and family, and by doctors. The hatred towards overweight people is incredibly painful and can be deadly. I guarantee it comes from inside the fat person as well. I hope that if you or your partner becomes overweight, that you can unlearn the prejudices surrounding weight gain.
Dieting is less healthy than being overweight. Over 95% of diets fail, and with chronic illness and medications in the mix the disabled person is extremely unlikely to ever lose any weight no matter what they do (including gastric bypass surgery, which reduces stomach size and hunger pangs but often causes chronic diarrhea and definitely doesn’t solve all the other weight issues). Amazingly, pretty much every health professional I speak to (including dermatologists, neurologists, and so many others who DON’T specialise in anything relevant) tells me to try and lose weight. Almost all of them suggest gastric bypass surgery. They say things like, “Even five kilos makes a difference” (which I know for a fact is not true as I became diabetic almost 20 kilos ago and my blood sugar varies more with my stress level than what I eat). This is INCREDIBLY HARMFUL and JUST PLAIN WRONG.
There is exactly one up side. Dieting is off the table (pun intended), probably forever. Do try and eat foods that will sustain you, like protein and vegetables. But there is absolutely no reason for you to restrict your eating. Babe, eat WHATEVER you want. You’re gonna be fat either way. Might as well enjoy it.
b) Medical gaslighting and trauma. If you are fat, female, depressed, chronically ill, or a woman of colour (and the prize for “That really really sucks” goes to those who are all of the above) then you will pretty much definitely have at least one doctor who treats you like a hypochondriac and/or moron. Keep an eye out for these common statements: “You’re not sick. You just need to lose weight.” “You’re just aging.” “Every mother is tired.” “Great news! Your test came back completely clear.” “Everyone’s back hurts.” “See an exercise physio.” (NB: An exercise physio can be helpful, but they can also underestimate your illness and injure you.) “How often to you exercise?” “Do you think you might be pregnant?” “Muscle pain is a part of life.” “Get plenty of rest.” “I really think you should see a counselor.” (NB Counselors can be great but they can’t fix chronic illness—just like they can’t fix a broken leg.) “You’re still young.” (Cool so I have decades of pain to look forward to.)
Remember how I mentioned that fibromyalgia averages five years before diagnosis? It gets worse. There are literal medical professionals who believe fibromyalgia isn’t a real disease. Ditto Long Covid, which is overwhelmingly stupid but here we are. The worse part is that they’re sort of right—fibromyalgia is the diagnosis given for a cluster of symptoms that don’t fit any other condition. It’s a ‘recent’ illness in that it only got the name within my lifetime. It’s poorly researched and poorly understood. All of that plus more applies for Long Covid. It’s newer and even less well understood. Even Long Covid specialists are often amazingly unhelpful.
Medical people are human and they make mistakes. But mistakes, especially those based on stereotypes, get people killed. Fat people, women, and people of colour are given less painkillers than other patients, and are less likely to be believed or trusted. There are MANY horror stories eg the woman who went to Emergency with severe abdominal pain and was told to lose weight. She died of uterine cancer.
Understand you’re not alone. Change doctors when you need to.
Time for another cat break.
c) Being poor. You’re almost guaranteed to have a lot less income. If you can stomach cutting back on expenses (having 1 vehicle instead of two; going camping instead of to Fiji, eating at home and having any remaining job-keepers prepare their own packed lunch) then go for it. But remember that no one is perfect and make sure you have at least some dumb stuff that isn’t just about survival eg buying books, eating out once a month at a mid-price restaurant, getting massages. Start your budget with a place to live, bills, food, and probably running a vehicle or two. (Having only one vehicle can mean the sick person becomes completely house-bound…. so don’t do that.) Chris and I almost always get our electronics secondhand (phones, TV, computer games, computers) and we give very crappy Christmas and birthday gifts.
Make sure you have free or low-cost things that you love to do, such as taking a walk, swimming, or sitting in a comfortable chair to watch the sun set while listening to music. And playing computer games. Last night I became obsessed with a really stupid and pointless quest. Giving in to it and staying up way too late was actually a healthy thing to do because it’s a virtually free way for me to NOT be super self-controlled (which I have to be with money). Have pressure valves, and use them before you crack from all the other pressure.
It’s vital to change your expectations about your life, and it’s not easy. I grieved “bring an adult” for many years because the definition of “adult” for many is “someone who financially supports themself”.
Some friendships cost money because the norms of that group cost money eg eating out together. Some friends can adapt to your new circumstances (especially if you’re totally honest with them) and some can’t. Some friendships are worth spending a chunk of your limited income on, but many aren’t. Some friends are extremely beneficial eg some people prefer to host at their house and are happy to pay for the meal without requiring anything (or anything much) from you. Some people are great for ‘babysitting swaps’ where you look after their kids one afternoon and they look after yours the next. Some families step up beautifully and long-term, although most can only handle helping out in a crisis (eg when you’re first sick, or if you’re moving house) or they burn out. Everybody in the world is stressed and overwhelmed and struggling with their own problems, so be gracious.
Try to have a mixture of sick and able-bodied friends—the sick ones will understand you like no one else can, but the able bodied people will be more able to adjust to your needs.
A shocking number of people are struggling to get by in our society, so there are a million interlinked communities out there that are understanding and supportive. Food pantries supply free or low-cost food (and it is often a great way to try something new), and hyper-local FaceBook groups such as Freecycle, Buy Nothing, and Freebies are brilliant for giving and getting free stuff including beds, couches, toys, and clothes (especially baby clothes). Most schools have a second-hand uniform shop and/or a parents group where people give away or sell outgrown uniforms. I emailed my kids’ school recently about camp fees and they paid for the whole thing (nearly $400). Our morgage rate was recently reduced almost a full percentage point thanks to desperation + our morgage broker. CHU and Homeground Real Estate offer below market rate housing for renters in Canberra. It is definitely worth considering a group house situation, especially if you are single and in danger of being socially isolated.
The only up side is that you’ve become part of a major global movement against capitalism and greed. You HAVE to find a different way of living. You HAVE to value yourself for more than your earning capacity. You HAVE to resist the constant siren call of “Buy this thing! It will make you a better and happier person!”
I like to think of myself as semi-retired, and take joy in that. I only get about four functional hours a day, so I nap a LOT, read a LOT, and watch TV a LOT. If I wasn’t sick, my life would look like Paradise. It also means that I can fetch the kids from school and then be at home all afternoon (probably asleep, but still THERE).
I often pretend to be lazy rather than sick (or poor) so I don’t bring down the vibe with friends, which is a dangerous strategy as it leads to people thinking I’m faking all of this. But it’s still worth it sometimes so I don’t have to spend five minutes explaining why I can’t go and try axe throwing (can’t pay, and would almost certainly injure myself badly due to the throwing motion), or to an art gallery (can’t walk that far and don’t feel comfortable asking you to push me around in a wheelchair all day), or to a school play (gives me panic attacks, and two hours in a chair that’s not an armchair can leave me in extra pain for weeks), or whatever.
d) Chores. Once again, you need to severely lower those expectations. My kids are both autistic and Lizzie also has ADHD (which Chris also has…. out of the three of them, 8 year-old Tim is the most likely to actually put his friggin’ rubbish in the bin) so they’re not as independent as I like but oh well.
Work out how much your partner can take on, and don’t push them past that.
If you have to have clean washing picked through day by day on the couch (rather than put away), so be it. Focus on basic hygiene and making sure everybody eats (shopping can be done online although it is a little more expensive; it is definitely worth cooking larger meals and then just reheating leftovers later; don’t buy fancy crockery or cooking things that can’t go in the dishwasher).
Another kitten break.
e) Loneliness and Depression. Very likely.
If it helps, it may be worth getting a pet but only if the able-bodied person is able to deal with their poo, food, and water. Puppies and kittens are a lot of work but older pets are easier to adopt and more likely to be suitable to a disabled lifestyle (plus you can talk to RSPCA staff and get a sense of which one’s personality is best for you). As you can tell, my cats are essential to me.
Try to do low-impact exercise if you can (swimming, bike riding) but do NOT let anyone (especially doctors) pressure you into exercising too much as it can be very dangerous for chronically ill people. “Graded Exercise” programs have harmed many many people.
Get outside if you can. Or possibly take vitamin D supplements.
Enjoy what you can, like TV or picking fresh flowers or whatever works for you and isn’t illegal.
If you’re not able to see people face to face, the internet is a massive source of community. Use it.
Connect to other chronically ill people. There are a LOT, and many many internet/social media groups.
f) Christmas. For years I would use Christmas to get some of the things I couldn’t buy myself, such as clothing (I’d ask my mum to go shopping with me). But that only works if your family accepts and pays attention to wish lists and/or is willing to give you vouchers to stores you like. Usually Christmas and birthdays are really difficult due to finances. A lot of adults, including able-bodied adults, feel stressed by Christmas and will appreciate an honest “Let’s just not give each other gifts for Christmas—ever”. Others would crawl over broken glass if it meant they’d get a home-made gift.
h) Parenting. Find a way to connect with your kids that doesn’t make you sicker. Bed time rituals are usually great (if there’s a comfy chair in their room or you’re able to sit on their bed). I’ve taught my kids to come into my room and jump into my bed with me. To talk; to play on phones side by side; to read or to be read to; to practise times tables; to pretend to be a cat. It works really well for Tim but not as well for Lizzie. We are also watching some great TV shows together, like Avatar and She-Ra. My kids have unlimited screen time (screen time can be essential to autistic kids, so it actually works well for all of us).
What advice do you have for people who have become chronically ill?
This post was brought to you by this tweet:
I focused on disability in this post, since I’m more or less an expert after eight years. But my father died last year and there was SO MUCH paperwork crap to sort through.
Have a think about what your partner/friends/family would have to deal with if you dropped dead without warning, and see if there’s a way for you to make it less awful—making a will; writing down passwords; sorting through that filing cabinet you’ve been putting everything official-looking into since 1994; etc.
A rather bumpy FLIGHT
Here is the tale of a story that you can now buy for $5 here.
Way back in 2019, I wrote a game for the IF Comp. I’d done well with “Scarlet Sails” in 2014 so I used ChoiceScript but tried my very best to disguise the engine and myself with a fake name, new intfiction account, and by altering the visuals of ChoiceScript as well as breaking some of the basic stylistic writing rules of ChoiceScript (I wrote “Flight: An Alchemical Adventure” in first person, only ever allowed two choices, and used a mostly-parallel scene structure based on stories I’d done for the Tin Man Games “Choices That Matter” series).
Reader, stealth is not my forte.
It was immediately obvious exactly who I was and what I was trying to do. If memory serves, my name and all the usual ChoiceScript credits came up immediately when anyone clicked on my link. Oh well. Still a great story! Still super well-suited to the IF Comp, which I adore!
I had thought the deadline was October 1, but luckily I checked the due date and realised it was not 1 October but the end of September. Whew! Imagine how cut I’d be if I missed the deadline after pouring my heart and soul into this story!
At the end of September I settled in for an incredibly intense 48 hours of editing. In a fit of paranoia, I checked the deadline one more time.
Reader, it was already over. The deadline was 28 September. Not 30 September, which for some reason had stuck in my mind.
After falling about raging at my own stupidity for a day or three, I gathered myself and kept working on the story, knowing that the delay would be good for it. 2020 would be a GREAT year. A real winner. It would be the best year I’d ever had.
Things in 2020 didn’t go entirely to plan.
I wrote two more chapters in the story, polished it to a glossy shine, and then accidentally posted an open link to the game for beta testers…. disqualifying the story from the IF Comp forever and ever amen.
Cue more falling about weeping and raging. (Fun fact: two people had clicked the fateful link. I was probably one of them. Still disqualified. Isn’t life fun?)
No problem! I was always planning on submitting it as a Hosted Game to be published at Choice of Games after the IF Comp anyway! I’d give it just a few more tweaks since I had so much free time now, and I’d submit the game to Hosted Games and start raking in the royalties.
Those little tweaks took me two more years.
I love and hate this game, as I love and hate myself.
Finally it was ready and I submitted the game to the Hosted Games queue at Choice of Games. For the first time in my writing career, I was asked to make significant changes to a potential Hosted Game—apparently murdering children is (checks notes) bad. Who knew?
Okay, no problem. I’d change the protagonist’s past crimes from murdering orphans to murdering tourists. Everyone hates tourists. Easy peasy. There were references to the protagonist’s gently-murderous past throughout the book, so that meant another line by line edit, but so what? This was a great story! Everyone would love it!
I took another half year or so (lightning fast by “Flight: An Alchemical Adventure” standards) but finally resubmitted the game. Sadly, it was still deemed too offensive for Hosted Games.
Ah, crap. I could thoroughly defang my deliciously evil protagonist (the best part of this story) or I could publish the game elsewhere.
Luckily for antiheroes everywhere, itch.io exists.
So here it is, a grand little story that almost killed me (much like an orphan and/or tourist who fell into the hands of that naughty protagonist pre-1783).
It was 48 hours from being finished four years ago. Now, at last, it’s really truly done I swear.
I hope you like it.
You can buy it for $5 here.
Welcome to Australia: Indonesian/Malay Version
This version is the Second Edition (newer than the version sold at the launch).
You can buy the books from my store here.
The English version is here.
The Dari Persian is here.
There will be digital versions of every language (selling for the mighty price of $1.99 most likely) and you are welcome to use the version below (including for schools) as long as you don’t actually print it out.
The Great Book Sort, Part 6: Disability Representation
Today was exciting. My kindle app has been having issues for a long time; holding blank spots for nonexistent books (that I couldn’t delete); refusing to download certain books that do exist; etc.
I was patient. Until today, when I finished the first book in a rather good series, and couldn’t download the second. Bah!
So I poked through various bits of the app, trying to find a way to fix it. Finally, I did the closest possible thing to, “Have you tried switching it off and on again?”—I logged off. Of course I didn’t have the faintest idea what my password was, or how difficult it would be to reset it. Luckily, it wasn’t difficult at all.
One tiny problem. None of my folders existed any more. Four years of sorting, and all my 700+ books were in one jumbled pile once again. On the up side, I could download the book I wanted to read right now. So I did.
And a few minutes later, all my folders magically reappeared—minus the phantom books that I’ve been trying to delete for a year. I win!
So let’s talk books! There are only 112 left to sort: I’m almost down to double digits.
Chronicles of Egg by Geoff Rodkey
These rollicking adventure tales have lots of piratical injuries—missing limbs, eyes, etc—and one of the key characters has a missing hand as well as neurological issues that make him twitch. As someone with neurological twitches of my own, this is the first time I’ve seen twitching in fiction. Hurrah for variety!
Speaking of things done well, Egg is in love, and not very good at it—but the author is clearly self-aware about the character’s immaturity. Your characters don’t have to understand consent or respect perfectly at the age of thirteen, but you the author need to know when they’re being a creep and/or dumbarse. These books aren’t perfect, but they’re close.
The Arcadia Project by Mishell Baker
These deserve a BIG trigger warning as the viewpoint character attempted suicide before the series begins. It resulted in serious injuries ranging from having significantly less than the usual number of legs to often losing touch with reality.
However, while I almost always end up triggered by any fiction portraying mental illness, this series is like therapy to me. Partly because the main character is trying her best, and improving, and even putting strategies from therapy into practice. And it’s working—sometimes well, sometimes not so well. But she’s smart despite her neurological issues, and she’s alive, and she’s making a difference.
Meanwhile, there’s an excellent fantasy story to be had, which is often horrifically tragic, and sometimes the main character makes awful mistakes. One of the things she knows is that suicide is always a bad plan. Another is that when she’s at her worst, she just needs to keep breathing and a good day will come around again.
The Floating City by, uh, me
This is one of my interactive novels. The viewpoint character’s legs stop just above where her knees would be. Her best friend is Hard of Hearing. I’m really proud of the work I did on this book, even though I know very little about prosthetic limbs or Deaf culture. Yes, I hired sensitivity readers, and of course did research. I chose those disabilities because (a) Prosthetics are cool, and (b) Sign languages are cool. And because I wanted to be a good ally to disabled people, partly through sheer representation and partly by representing a society in which those disabilities are far less difficult to deal with due to the society around them being more adaptive.
It was research for this book that made me realise that I am disabled myself, and that my daughter has ADHD. So it was quite life-changing, and I’m grateful. It’s also a pretty cool climate change fiction story. There’s a shark farm.
Click here. It’s on steam, Googple Play, the App store, Amazon, and your PC.
Oh yeah! The series I’m reading has a couple of minor disabilities too. One of the main characters has periodic bouts of malaria. Another has an eye that gets fatigued, so he sometimes wears a patch.
Veronica Speedwell series by Deanna Raybourn
This is a delightful story of an irrepressible spinster and lepidopterist gallivanting about in steampunk times. They are excellent (although not for a reader averse to a sex-positive heroine).
My apologies for the poor-quality images this entry. I’m having worse neurological problems than usual (current theory is that it’s due to being very low on iron for a year—it’s very much the focus for my doctors and I at present) and I’m severely lacking in even the rudimentary competence required to divvy up the screenshots into individual pictures rather than sets.
DIY Cat Enclosure, Part 4
Here’s Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3.
I can’t remember if I blogged about the second small section of mesh that Chris put up. If I didn’t, here’s a pic, featuring a blurry Zoom. As you can see, one of the cat tunnels is incorporated in the mesh.
It is 2023, yay! As a public servant, Chris gets a ‘free’ holiday between Christmas and New Year’s every year. I eyed the coming holiday with a great deal of nervous excitement. This, clearly, was our time to get more of the cat run done!
Amazing, we actually did. Chris put together the greenhouse (bought purely because it was relatively cheap, see-through, and enclosed—ideal for watching cats playing). Here is Buttons investigating it, since he is the only cat currently in our household who doesn’t assume that anything designed for him is clearly some kind of trap.
I’ll put more cat toys and stuff in it soon. The cat tunnel (same one that’s attached to the most recent small mesh segment in the gazebo) is tied into place, and will eventually be tied more securely (and the plastic door of the greenhouse will be closed) but for now it’s open so the cats can explore the greenhouse and get used to it when I’m not looking.
During the same holidays, Chris put a BIG section of mesh up. Here is Zipper pretending to ignore it from one side.
And here she is pretending to ignore it from the other side:
Either brilliantly, lazily, or both, Chris chose not to trim the bottom edge of the netting on this section. The tangled mass of it works as a lower boundary, and some friends have said they have some cat netting that won’t be useful at their place, so hopefully we’ll be able to just leave it like that (and use the new stack of netting for the final gazebo section).
(In other news, Zipper and Zoom are going to be SO ANGRY when the cat run is finished and they’re fully enclosed.)
The original cat tunnel, which is firmly attached to our cat door, has had its loose end flailing about wildly for some months now, and part of the wire has come out. I realised during the holidays that we already had a tarp-covered table that might as well become part of the cat run, so I tied the loose end of that tunnel to the table, and placed the table by the wall. That will hopefully anchor the whole of Cat Tunnel #1 to the wall, making the rest of the yard more convenient for humans.
So here’s the ultimate plan and current status:
Cat door–> Tunnel #1 –> tarp-covered table = Section 1
1.5 metre gap between Section 1 and gazebo (the gap may get filled with the trampoline at some point, or that may be too finicky). This is Gap #1.
Gazebo: It has a shade-cloth roof; more shade-cloth is clipped to the fence to extend the roof on two sides. The small vertical gaps on two sides are both covered in custom mesh panels; one of which has Tunnel #2 leading out of it. One large side is also completely covered in mesh. One large side (the side facing Section #1) is still completely open.
Tunnel #2 leads from the gazebo to the greenhouse, although it is not properly enclosed at the greenhouse end.
There is a large/long gap between the greenhouse and the shed. It will probably take two cat tunnels, at $59 each. This is Gap #2.
The shed aka the cats’ toilet, is set up and in its rightful place, with a cat-sized hole cut in the door. The door is still standing open in order to make it as easy as possible to use.
I’m still liking the (rather expensive and rather large) cat tunnels we bought. I’ve observed both cats relaxing in them, so they clearly like them too.
Gap #1 is by far the most complex, because we need to have some kind of human door to get in and out of the gazebo. I have several pieces of scrap wood that are likely to get involved somehow.
Lizzie’s having her birthday at our house this month, so it’s unlikely we’ll do anything else until after that, because whatever door we end up making for the gazebo won’t be as convenient for a bunch of 11 year-olds as an open side.
Bonus picture of Buttons and Zipper.
Taming a Feral Kitten: Two Weeks
Pretty soon this sweet attack-oriented angel will go to a new permanent home.
How’s his socialisation going? Well, it’s a mix of good and bad. . .
Does he sleep at night?
Yes. Every night I put him in my bathroom and turn off the light. The first night he meowed for a little while. Ever since, he’s been cartoonishly obedient—like a pet parrot that immediately goes to sleep if you just put a blanket over his cage.
Now that I don’t lock him in the shower each night, he tries his best to escape the bathroom any time someone actually uses the toilet. Ah well.
Does he use the litter box?
Yes. This was also an instant success… until it wasn’t. He has urinated and defecated in a variety of locations around my house, but every single instance was in my presence—and his clear favourite toileting location was my bed. That strongly suggested he was deliberately mixing our scents.
I’ve started changing his litter every two days instead of once a week (I’ve always removed his poo very quickly). But I think the real breakthrough came because I stopped feeding him in the bathroom (near his litter) and gave him food and water in my bedroom instead. I THINK I’ve solved the problem—but I still don’t let him in my cupboard or in the kids’ rooms (so he’s not tempted to add his scent to other beds or to our nice soft, fragrant clothes).
Does he claw up the carpet and/or couch?
Yes, a little. Couches are my Achilles’ Heel when it comes to training cats. When a kitten is tiny, it is natural for it to climb up beds and couches because it’s too little to jump that distance. And it’s adorable. But by the time the kitten is old enough to jump that high, the bad habit of using claws on the couch is already formed. Buttons definitely much prefers the cat tower, so hopefully his new owners have a couch that’s not too alluring.
Yes, he has a bow on in this picture.
Does he get underfoot?
Uh, yes. I’ve had at least one cat in my life since I was seven years old, and Buttons is by far the worst when it comes to putting himself next to, in front of, and directly below my feet. It’s worst when he thinks I’m about to feed him (naturally) but it’s extremely common and extremely bad. He’ll circle round and round under my skirt—stuff like that. He’s been stepped on three times and kicked across the floor more times than I can count. The only real solution is to pick him up from wherever he is (even when he’s asleep—he’ll come out of a dead sleep just to hurl himself, kamikaze-style, at your path) and put him down only when you stop moving.
How does he feel about getting picked up?
He loves it. Every time. Even if it’s a young child he’s never met before—he’s all for snuggles, all the time. Having said that…
Does he bite and scratch?
This is where he’s shown the most dramatic improvement (not even counting our initial meeting, when he tried to kill me). He wants to snuggle a LOT but he wants to be playing even more. The perfect solution in his mind is to be attacking his human family. Toes and fingers and arms and unprotected bellies, oh my. Warm, loving, AND delicious!
For the first few days with Buttons, we were all covered in scratches. Hands, arms, legs, feet, and necks suffered the most. The deepest cuts were on the legs, as he was a major climber of human legs. Why not? Such a convenient path to snuggly violence in the warm lap of the legs’s owner. He didn’t particularly care if we were wearing pants or just our skin: we were for climbing.
He’s already learned not to climb humans, or to have his claws out at all if he’s playing with us. (From Day 1, he was clearly moderating his violence in order to not harm us, but he was still drawing blood frequently.) It’s not perfect, but he’s well above the usual standard for his age (now seven weeks). Well done Buttons!
But it’s still a good idea, if one wants him in one’s lap, to have a toy within reach. Because he’d love to be in your lap, but he’s especially love it if he could be attacking something at the same time.
And over the last few days, he has learned that we usually pick him up when we’re about to open a Forbidden Door, and he has started deliberately biting us in hopes that we put him down. This is not ideal.
How is he going with the other cats?
My cats are NOT super friendly, even with humans. (Cats always prefer humans to other cats.) They have gone from terrified to angry to merely annoyed—at which point, although we continue to closely supervise their interactions, we don’t need to be within arm’s reach.
At the ‘angry’ stage, Buttons was perfectly meek and mild, keeping his body low to the ground and backing off when the other cats hissed. But now, after many hours spent carefully keeping out of reach of the other cats, he is getting bored. He wants to play. So although he is still definitely putting himself at the bottom of the totem pole, he is now batting at the other cats’ tails and things like that. Which is upping the annoyance factor, but also continuing to prove that he is not out to hurt them.
In this video, you can see that Zoom (the older cat) is curious about Buttons, and is nervous of him but confident enough to do some experimental slow blinks (remember how that was the very first sign that I’d made positive contact with Buttons?) and to look pleadingly at me. If she was still properly afraid of Buttons, she wouldn’t take her eyes off him—and she wouldn’t try to sniff him.
You can also see Buttons thinking about attacking, but definitely not attacking.
In this more recent set of videos, you can see that Buttons is definitely attacking now (but not in the first clip, where Zoom hisses—but softly—and Buttons makes sweet little mews). As of today, the older cats are still curious about him, and about 89% sure he’s not dangerous, but they’re not in the mood to cheerfully coexist just yet, especially when coexisting with Buttons means a guarantee of being adorably attacked. If they’re really had enough of him, though, they leave.
All of this (and there are many many hours now invested in this process) is about establishing who is boss, and what the rules are between them. The older cats would prefer a “Live and let live” approach (now that, “Make it go away” appears to be off the table) but Buttons cannot be awake without attacking something. Thus, negotiations continue.
He is incredibly sweet, and will often burst into purring just to be near one of his pet humans. Or if one of us looks at him. Or when he invites himself into our lap. When I go to the bathroom at night, he pokes up his stoned little face to see if there’s any chance of a cuddle.
He treats anything and everything as the floor under his feet, and has more than once made himself comfortable on my face.
And, unlike our other cats (who were born suspicious), he adored playing in our Christmas tree.
The friend of mine who was going to adopt him has an older cat with fast-declining health so they had to bow out. However, they have cat shelter connections so we know he’ll find a good home.
I’ll most likely ask the friend to contact their animal shelter person on Tuesday aka 3 January, aka the day when dates and days of the week begin to mean something again.
In the meantime, here’s my favourite pic of Buttons again:
Welp, the good news is that the kitten is well-hydrated
Trigger warning: Mention of injections, and hard-core depression stuff.
Today’s troubles began in 336 AD, when the Roman church began formally celebrating Christmas on December 25th.
This year, Christmas fell on a Sunday.
Which means that Monday (Boxing Day) is a public holiday—and so is Tuesday 27th December, an otherwise perfectly ordinary day sitting in that weird liminal space between Christmas and the New Year.
This is not a difficult concept to grasp… or is it?
The second major contributor to today’s troubles began in 2013, when Chris and I made Tim (huzzah!), and I started having daily migraines which ultimately led to some very minor brain damage. This brain damage is a lot like a Jack-in-a-Box in that I know it’s there and could pop up at any moment, and I live in constant and increasing fear of the upcoming unpleasant surprise, but there is still absolutely no way to brace myself for the shock and horror when it does, inevitably, pop up.
The third contributor is diabetes. I had gestational diabetes when I was pregnant with Tim, and then a couple of okay years and then was officially diagnosed with fully-grown proper diabetes about six years ago. When combined with fibromyalgia, major food intolerances, and depression, there was never a plausible chance of me being one of those diabetics who can keep their diabetes under control by lifestyle changes.
This year I started on insulin. The body takes a while to get used to insulin, so I started on just 10 units daily, injecting myself first thing in the morning. Each week I call my endocrinologist’s office with my blood sugar readings (up to seven a day, but usually only one/day) and they typically call me back the next day and tell me to increase my dosage. Blood sugar readings also involve a needle. (One of my other conditions also requires injections, so it’s lucky I’m fine with needles.)
The insulin I take comes in a pack of five insulin pens, each of which has 260 units of insulin for me to inject. When I first started on insulin, a single pen lasted aaaagggeeeesss. I was vaguely aware that I was getting through pens a LOT faster these days and was on my final box, so last time I saw my chemist I asked if they were closing during the holiday period.
“No,” they said, “just three days over Christmas and two days over the New Year.”
I was so relieved! In my mind, this was recorded as, “Nope, we’ll stay open every day except Christmas Day.” ie I didn’t need to worry about insulin until after Christmas. Tra la la.
The above picture is Joey (not Buttons), who often travels back and forth from Canberra to Cooma with my mum, who is a priest serving several small towns. Mum has the use of the rectory at Cooma (beside St Paul’s Anglican Church), and we drove up to Cooma on Christmas Eve to spend most of Christmas Day with her.
I realised while packing on Christmas Eve (it was only one night away! Easy peasy, right?) that I had only one full dose of insulin left. Luckily, the rubbish bin beside my bed hadn’t been taken out in a few days, so I figured out that I could use half a dose from the old pen and half a dose from the pen I used on Christmas Day. That would get me through Boxing Day.
So on Boxing Day I dug through my own rubbish bin (mainly tissues as I’m intensely neurotic about noses—I struggle a little just typing the word—which means I blow my nose way too much, which causes it to run, which causes me to blow it more, and so on) and felt moderately clever for still injecting myself with my full dose of 78 units.
Then I drove to my chemist to get more. As I drove in, there was not a single car in the carpark. Sure enough, the entire medical centre was closed. I went up to the outside door of the chemist, and saw “CLOSED CLOSED” towards the bottom of their list of holiday opening hours. Clearly, it was closed for two days, not just Christmas Day. I would have to come past before breakfast the following day.
I go to Capital Chemist at UC, and they are FANTASTIC. I get those old-person Webster Packs from them each month (the ones that have all your meds in little pockets, divided by day and time), and during covid lockdowns they hand-delivered supplies to my house, which isn’t even in Belconnen. I take more than a dozen pills every day, and it is brilliant having the chemist track all those scripts, keep the physical copies, put the right pills in the right place, and even keep an account for me so I can delay payment if it’s a bad week (or month, or year). Which it definitely is.
My normal morning routine is to immediately do a blood test, write down the number, then inject myself with insulin and set a timer for 20 minutes, after which I can eat breakfast. So this morning I measured my blood sugar and headed directly to Capital Chemist UC.
There were very few cars in the carpark. The doctor was open, but the chemist… was not.
When I had looked at the opening hours on Boxing Day, I had looked at the information that the chemist was closed for two days over the New Year—instead of seeing that it was closed for three days over Christmas. Including today. An otherwise ordinary Tuesday. And I was out of insulin. Without insulin, I was in danger of excessively high blood sugar, which can result in a diabetic coma. And I was hungry, and scared, and I already knew I couldn’t trust my brain.
Cool.
Let’s pause to enjoy this picture of Buttons. An excellent representation of my emotional state.
I called Florey Pharmacy, which I know prides itself on being open at odd hours. They were open! And they had insulin! I drove over right away.
This carpark was a buzzing hive of activity, and I was grateful for my disability permit as I was feeling pretty darn shaky. I was still nervous, as I’m on a list of national diabetes people but it’s purely digital and doesn’t always work smoothly. Plus I had absolutely no idea how much insulin costs, as I never pay directly (but through my Capital Chemist UC account)—and it could easily be much more expensive than usual because I wasn’t a regular customer. Insulin is massively subsidised, but would it still be subsidised if I didn’t have the right paperwork? Then I walked into the pharmacy, and they immediately asked me for a prescription.
I was utterly thrown. I didn’t even know insulin had prescriptions, because I’d never seen one. It goes directly from my endocrinologist to my chemist. If I’d thought about it at all, I would have thought it was all approved in advance for those with the national registry. But of course anything valuable is regulated.
They absolutely could not sell me any insulin.
I asked the pharmacist for advice, and she said I could try a different Capital Chemist (Charnwood) but if that didn’t work I’d need to see a doctor. Failing that, I’d have to go to a hospital to get insulin.
I already knew my doctor was busy/unavailable, as I have a life-changing phone appointment with her tomorrow (which I tried to have last week, but couldn’t because she was unavailable). I will find out whether I have Peripheral Vascular Disease or not, which has major implications for my health, for my finances (am I finally sick enough to get a health insurance payout?) and for my ability to continue to be the proud owner of two legs.
If you’ve ever been sick and then tried to park at a hospital, you know it’s a serious ordeal. I SMSed Chris to (hopefully) wake him up, and called the Charnwood Capital Chemist, who said I could get insulin there despite my lack of a prescription. I knew there could still be problems, but I thought I’d try one more place before heading home and throwing the entire tangle at Chris, who would very probably see a simple solution that I was too panicked to figure out.
The Charnwood Capital Chemist was busy, with several people waiting to be seen. There was music playing; a song called “Beautiful Girl” which has the lyrics “Suicidal, suicidal” in the chorus. The songwriter is clearly very proud of using such a triggering word in a pop song, because that word just kept playing—over and over and over. Meanwhile, the chemist prominently displayed a looping video of a man attaching a sleep apnea device to—shudder—his nose. Over and over again.
Cool.
I concentrated on staying calm, and reminding myself not to react badly if the staff were unable to help me. Eventually I saw someone, and she said they’d charge me for a full set of four boxes but give me only one—I’d need to get my prescription sent over from the UC to get the rest.
And how much would that cost?
A fair bit, but little enough that I had the cash and was able to pay.
And so I went home, woke Chris, injected myself with 78 units of insulin, and put my timer on ready for when I could have breakfast.
Crisis over.
While I had breakfast, Lizzie picked up Buttons before/during a massive wee, which spread kitten urine over my chair, the living room, the kitchen, the front entrance, my bedroom, and the ensuite (where Lizzie put him in the litter tray, which was the right thing to do).
So that was my morning.
It’s been a rough year as my health has noticeably worsened—not a surprise, as a diabetic, but still frightening as I don’t know how much more of my health will be chipped away or how bad my life will get as a result. Which is worse—the increasing pain? The increasing dependence on others, who already find me a significant burden? Or not knowing when and where my brain will fail me next?
Cool.
Post Script
While writing this entry, I found the mummified corpse of a lizard on the living room carpet.
Cool.
Post-Post Script
Today a trans friend pointed out that I had outed them, and possibly got them fired. Awesome.
I thought they were already out, and sent them a long, emotional, and public facebook post about how fabulous they are (not just for being trans, but for a bunch of other reasons). If I’d posted it on their timeline, they could have chosen not to display it, but I didn’t—I posted it on mine, and tagged it with their name.
As I’m a writer, facebook is a very public space for me. I have over a thousand “friends”, more than half of whom I have never met in real life. I know some are transphobic, which in my mind was all the more reason to post publicly about how great my friend is.
Naturally, my friend’s employer ended up seeing my post, and that was how they discovered that my actual friend is not the gender that they appear to be at work.
Here’s the best part: The whole reason I posted about my friend at all was because it was their birthday.
So if you were wondering when and where my brain would fail me next… this is it.
Not cool.
Taming a Feral Kitten: First 24 Hours
About once a week, I dream that, for some unusual but compelling reason, it is my moral duty to take in a stray kitten.
Last Sunday, in Cooma, my sister was sorting books in the shed of St Paul’s Anglican Church (our mum is the priest there) and she spotted a kitten and its mother. The shed is an old wooden structure with a gap under the floorboards. My sister left food and water and then came back to the rectory and told me about it.
We went back to see if we could catch them, and then stood around in the shed like fools, knowing there was no way we could get under the floorboards. Then she spotted the kitten watching us from behind a piece of wood and, between us, we caught it and put it inside a shopping bag.
Catching A Kitten
Fact #1: Catch a feral kitten, and you will be sliced up and peed on.
Catching the kitten left us bloody and shocked. That tiny little thing was strong, fierce, and startlingly effective at both shredding our flesh and jerking sharply from side to side in an attempt to escape. In its mind, this was a fight to the death—and it very skillfully and wholeheartedly used its millennias’ worth of killer instincts as well as nature’s gifts of needle-sharp teeth and claws.
From beneath the floor there was a long, low growl that lasted several minutes.
There was exactly zero chance that we’d catch the mother. Apart from anything else, we weren’t sure we could win that fight.
Sidebar: I later organised for a humane trap and desexing for the mum. My own mum wants to train her as a barn cat—feeding her etc but not having her in the house. Cats are terrible for native animals, but they’re also terrible for rats and mice so as long as the feral cat population isn’t growing the mum doesn’t have to be euthanised.
We never saw or heard any other kittens, so it looks like there was just one (or that only one survived to this age).
It’s very unlikely the mother cat could ever be tamed—but her kitten is another matter.
Probably.
Does it Need its Mum?
Fact #2: A kitten under three weeks old will probably die if you take it from its mother.
Fact #3: Kittens die a lot even under the best care. The younger they are, the less likely they are to survive. Most are better off left with their mother if they’re under four weeks old.
I have a fair bit of experience with young cats, including kittens under six weeks old (responsible cat breeders will usually insist on keeping kittens with their mother until 12 weeks old these days). I was pretty confident the kitten was at least four weeks old. Here are some signs to look for if you’re ever in a similar position:
If its eyes are closed, it’s under 2 weeks old. It definitely needs its mum.
The ears perk up and look ‘normal’ at about three weeks. It is also walking at that age, and its belly does not drag on the ground any more (as they do for extremely tiny kittens).
If the kitten is beginning to explore its environment, use a toileting area/litter box, and wash itself, it is probably four weeks old. That’s also the age where it will stick its tail up in the air when it feels comfortable or curious. And that’s also the age that it starts to be weaned.
Here are some Ragdoll kittens at four weeks old:
My sister was nice enough (and smart enough, because SHE has a real job) to let me be the kitten’s primary carer, and take it to my home. It was a Sunday so most animal places were closed—plus we were in Cooma, where the RSPCA no longer technically operates. The only advice we got (by phone from a 24/7 emergency vet in Canberra) was, “Don’t touch it, and don’t let any other cats touch it.” This is good advice, as far as it goes.
We let all the kids look at it (from a safe distance of a couple of feet) but not touch it.
Fact #4: A shocking number of kittens are killed by kids under age eight. The tragic fact is that kittens are small and dumb and kids are forgetful and unco. So kittens get stepped on/accidentally kicked/etc and the tiniest mistake kills them.
Food, Water and Temperature: The Keys to Survival
My sister went and bought kitten food. I advised her to get a heat pack as well, and the most expensive kitten food she could find as some cat food is pretty rubbish. She bought “Farmer’s Market” brand kitten food, which was the only one that said “0-12 months”. It had small tins of meat “mousse” (extremely soft, like human baby food). She also bought some kitten milk, which was great as we weren’t sure if it had eaten solid food yet.
I put a shallow dish (actually a plastic lid) of water in a box with the heat pack, plus an especially stinky dress of mine (so it could get used to my scent while staying warm and comfy). I put a quarter teaspoon of the food in another lid which I placed inside the box too, and then got some in its mouth by bringing the spoon close enough that it hissed—and putting the spoon in its mouth with a tiny bit of food on the end. Then I left it alone. When I came back, the food dish was licked clean.
A lot of cats have diarrhea if their food is changed, which can be deadly for a kitten, so I gave it very small portions every 3 hours and usually mixed them with the milk to keep it as similar as possible to what it was used to.
I named it Machiavelli. I’ve thought for a while that Machiavelli was a good cat name, but it’s also not good enough to live with for twenty years, so this was my way to remind myself that it wasn’t going to be MY cat.
Once we were home, I set up my shower with all the basics: A nice thick bath mat, for comfort and warmth; the heat pack; an upturned lid with milk; another lid with food, a makeshift litter box; and a makeshift ‘cave’ for it to hide inside (which it LOVED).
I soon stopped using the heat pad as it didn’t particularly care about it one way or another.
When Zoom was six weeks old, she was still unable to regulate her own body temperature, and needed a hot water bottle or human body warmth basically all the time. She nearly died. Most breeders have an incubator for that reason—the slightest draft can kill kittens. Usually it’s not an issue at six weeks, but Zoom was the runt of her litter and probably didn’t get as much human care as she should have received from her previous owner.
I put food out for Machiavelli about three hours after his first feed, and again used a spoon to make sure it knew what was happening (this time I used a plastic spoon so it didn’t break its teeth with the ferocity of its attack). And… it sat on my lap, unrestrained, and purred.
So we passed our first major training hurdle in a matter of hours: it was no longer trying to kill me. I was shocked at the speed of the change, having expecting to work carefully with him for weeks.
I noticed two white dots on its back and three black dots on the tip of its tail, and changed its name to Buttons.
For some reason he didn’t eat the rest of his food (to be fair, he hadn’t used dishes before), so three hours later I gave him fresh food and milk and hand fed him. Liquid is more important than food, so I gave him the milk first, using a child’s Panadol syringe (he licked it off the end bit by bit). After eating, he even played a little bit—sweet little bops of a sheathed paw, which was QUITE different to our first meeting.
Communication: How To Stop Scaring It To Death And To Become Friends
Step 1: Give it space. When we first caught it we mostly left it alone, in a fairly small box with the lid closed—a similar environment to the shed where we found it, but smaller (which most cats prefer if they’re feeling unsure).
Step 2: I taught it my scent by putting my own sweaty clothing in the box for it to sit on.
Step 3: I gave him slow blinks, as cats do out of respect for one another. This definitely made a difference as he blinked back.
Step 4: I meowed at him. That was when I could see him trying to figure me out—I had become a puzzle, rather than a monster.
Step 5: Food. Yeah, that’s the most important one. By, like, a LOT.
Day 2: Time for the Vet
Now that we were (mostly, arguably) safe from its teeth and claws, we needed to know more about what other threats it might post to me, my kids, and my other cats. And, was it a boy or a girl???
The vet checked it for medical issues and gave it stuff for fleas and worms, then gave it a shot (can’t remember what that was for), and told me it’d be safe for my kids in 24 hours (giving time for the worm tablet to be fully effective, as worms can infect across species—and he was pretty darn safe already, but I might want my family to do a human worms course anyway). But if he has feline AIDS he could pass it to my cats by either blood or saliva—so that’s still a concern.
The vet also said there was no point reuniting him with his mother as he doesn’t need her physically, and psychologically she would only teach him feral behaviour (in fact my own cats might do a better job of helping socialise him).
Did you notice the pronoun? Yes, he’s a boy!
He was perfectly calm with the vet (having apparently decided that all humans are just fine now), and even explored the area.
I told my kids they could now pat him, but would have to wash and sanitise their hands afterwards. Lizzie went for it, and Tim declined. Buttons really wanted to both snuggle and play, so we introduced a cat toy (that I knew my cats loved—so he could start to get used to their scent, and vice versa).
Thus ended Buttons’s first 24 hours in my care.
Here is a very quick (yet long as it’s barely edited) video of Buttons from his first day or so:
Thank you for being trans
As twitter implodes, I am moving to mastodon. I made this thread by laboriously writing the whole thing, calculating the number of posts it needed, and then replying manually to each post one by one to link them.
It’s possible I should have just been, you know, brief, like twitter/mastodon are meant to be. Too bad.
Here’s the thread, with pictures just for fun (yes I went to the beach last week).
Felicity’s Gift Guide 2022
It’s time.
This list is all stuff that I either made (wrote/photographed) myself, or was made by someone I know.
For Young Kids
As you can perhaps guess based on the title, this book is designed for refugee and immigrant kids who are new to Australia. It will be published in English, Indonesian, Arabic, Spanish, Mandarin, and Dari Persian. You can see the whole book here.
The English version is JUST about to go to the printer (but in the world of books that could mean anytime from ‘this week’ to ‘sometime in the next twelve months, probably’) and the launch is on February 11 2023 in Canberra.
The other languages are all in different stages, so although we aim to have all of them done by February 11 we may not make it. But if all else fails, I am keeping careful records of pre-orders and would love more as we’re at the expensive end of production.
For Kids
My kids’ magical pirate trilogy is finally complete! Think “Narnia, but with (more) pirates”. They’re suitable for 8+. And yes, I can sign them for your little pirates. I can also gift wrap them, including a tag.
If you buy them through my online store it will automatically charge postage, so if you live in Canberra feel free to just comment on this post or email FBanksBooks@gmail.com to arrange pickup or delivery.
Here’s the book trailer for “The Monster Apprentice”.
Mini Art/Christmas Cards/Bookmarks/Postcards
These are all $1 each. There are lots of great photos taken around Australia (by me), cat photos (also mostly by me) and prints of amazing art by Afghan woman Jahan Ara Rafi. I promised to pay Jahan $1250 by the end of this year so I’m scrambling to sell enough cards to pay her in a timely manner (obviously I will pay her either way, but it was a stupid promise to make—I love giving money to artists and I got carried away).
Please note: Some designs are sold out already but most have at least ten cards left.
A small number of the scenic photos have also been printed out in a large size and framed—so let me know if you’re interested in those, which cost $100 each.
From the Whitsundays in Queensland (the above is Whitehaven Beach, often voted the most beautiful beach in the world; the first two below are taken from Daydream Island):
Kosciuszko National Park (the cave is Jillabenan Cave in the Yarrangobilly Caves area), NSW.
Bateman’s Bay, NSW.
My mother’s garden in Canberra:
Young Adult Magical Steampunk Set in Australia
These books always sell better than anything else. They’re fun, exciting, and suitable for anyone from 12 to 200 years old. Each book has a bonus interactive short story as well. If you buy the whole trilogy, I’ll include “Emmeline’s Empire” for free (valued at $60). It’s the full version of the interactive story in Book 3 including professionally printed art and physical objects (but there are major spoilers if you read it before reading the trilogy).
I can sign them, naturally. I can also gift wrap, including a tag.
If you buy them through my online store it will automatically charge postage, so if you live in Canberra feel free to just comment on this post or email FBanksBooks@gmail.com to arrange pickup or delivery.
And yes of course there are book trailers for all three. Here’s the first one (the couple in the display image are married now):
Magic in the Mail: Feuding Fae
I invented an interactive story system in which stories are told through letters, objects, and artworks. “Magic in the Mail: Emmeline’s Empire” is one of those stories, but “Magic in the Mail: Feuding Fae” can still be bought in its original form—three parcels that arrive one at a time in the reader’s physical mailbox.
Or you can just get all three at once. I won’t mind.
Here’s the trailer for both “Magic in the Mail” stories:
Each “Magic in the Mail” story costs $60 (although if you want “Emmeline’s Empire” you might as well buy the whole steampunk trilogy and get it for free). All the artwork is professionally printed.
“Feuding Fae” is technically all ages, but probably best for 10+.
Murder in the Mail: A Bloody Birthday
The physical, mailed-to-you version of this story is sold out, but you can get it in book form for $23.95.
This story is also told in letters, objects, and artworks—with clues in the art.
It’s a cozy murder mystery (meaning that nothing bad happens… except the murder) suitable for any age not put off by the cover.
I can sign them, naturally. I can also gift wrap, including a tag.
If you buy them through my online store it will automatically charge postage, so if you live in Canberra feel free to just comment on this post or email FBanksBooks@gmail.com to arrange pickup or delivery.
And here’s the trailer for that one:
Very Large Framed Art
The frames are A1 size, which is enormous (approximately 60cm x 85cm). Both photos are by Sujay’s Photography. They cost $200 each, and can be hand delivered in Canberra only. They’re not available outside of Canberra unless you can come and get them from West Belconnen.
Prints by Qusay Fadheel (a refugee from Iraq)
Qusay has been painting for over forty years in a variety of styles from landscapes to surreal.
Each of these prints is available in A4 size for $25 or framed for $50.
Other sizes are possible too and I have several unique frames including a Royal Doulton “Radiance” frame (worth $200 but selling for $100 including an abstract print by Qusay and its original box).
You can see the full range of available prints in the Etsy store I run for him here but I recommend buying them directly from me.
Digital Tales
I write a LOT of interactive fiction, most of which is sold as phone apps. There’s steampunk, piracy, climate fiction, crime, and more. This list has descriptions and links.
Escape Room
The “Madam Alchemist” magical steampunk escape room is up and running again post-covid so if you’re in Canberra you can give it a go. It’s one of the cheapest escape rooms out there; beginner-friendly and accessible to those with chronic illnesses (there are no physical challenges, and plenty of chairs). It takes an hour and is suitable for 10+ (supervised) or 12+. You need at least two players and can have up to six (but I recommend three or four).
There’s some info here but all you really need to do is call or SMS Chief Minion Carol (0404 188 138) and book a time that suits you and her. It’s portable (for $150), but it’s cheaper ($100) to simply use our primary venue in Macgregor (West Belconnen, Canberra).
Yes there are books in the room. No, it’s not a trap designed to keep you in the room forever.
Charities
I run the Castle of Kindness Refugee Sponsorship Group and the West Belco Free Pantry. The West Belco Free Pantry also runs “Homeward Hampers” for Indigenous Detainees who are being released back into the community.
You can donate to the Castle’s perpetual GoFundMe here, or email FBanksBooks@gmail.com for donations to any of these charities. I can hand-write a thank you card if you like (addressed either to you or to someone else).
Felicity Banks 