Another cat post! This one mainly for Patches’ owners, so they know how she’s doing. A few days after Grey passed away, Patches became very talkative and cuddly. I was surprised at the quick change, but she went back to hiding and growling only a week later: one evening, she suddenly stopped purring and meowing in her tracks, crouched down, looked around everywhere, and then snuck off to her favorite hiding spot for another week, until this Friday. Were I to anthropomorphize, I’d say it seemed as if she realized, “wait a second, I don’t know this woman or this other big furry cat… where am I, again??” She would only come out to nap on the towel her owners had left — I kept it in a nice spot on purpose, figuring she’d want their familiar scent. She still sleeps on it every night.

Compared to her still-nervous extroversion two weeks ago, this week she now behaves as if she were “at home”, having adopted some spots on the patio and by the big living room window. I took the photo above today — she closed her eyes just when I snapped it! She hadn’t dared go on the patio two weeks ago, but she sauntered on out as if it were perfectly natural this Saturday.

Kanoko and Patches have an entente cordiale, occasionally pouncing on one another. Kanoko’s very careful around her, since she’s so much smaller he seems to recognize that she’s no real threat to him. Patches is quite comfortable asserting herself with Kanoko; it’s good that there’s a balance.

An hour before I returned to the vet for the last time on Thursday, Nice was hit with a hail and rain storm; our first rainfall since the end of May. It lasted up until a few minutes after Grey’s passing, and hasn’t rained since. Kanoko was puzzled when I came home without Grey, pawing at the empty cat carrier and looking at it from every angle, then meowing at me. The next day, Kanoko was much worse; when I got home from work, he had strewn placemats and napkins around the apartment, and had rubbed his face raw on one side during the day. He’d never done any of that before. While I was home, he obsessively searched the apartment for hours, especially re-checking Grey’s favorite spots on the cat tree and kitchen bar. When he’d exhausted himself from all the walking, Kanoko sat and licked his fur for another hour, occasionally stopping to meow-wail — it was not a meow I’d ever heard before.

Saturday (yesterday) went better, although Kanoko still took time to search the apartment occasionally. He snuggled with me much more than usual, and finally, in the evening, relaxed enough to sprawl out as shown above. Today he’s mainly been sadly peeking into Grey’s spots, again; the most heart-breaking was when he even checked under the living room chairs, then sat listlessly, head drooped for several minutes, just staring at the floor.

I want to thank everyone who’s written — I’ve read all your comments and been touched by them. Like Kanoko, I too keep looking at Grey’s spots out of habit, since he always had his head toward me, the only exception being when he was watching birds outside. But when there were no pigeons at which to gaze, he’d sit on his white chair and meow or sigh happily when he saw me go by. I’d usually go out and give him an ear scritch.

I most miss his “discoveries”, which he’d always share. Slugs were the funniest. This winter was very wet, and my patio would often get the slimy visitors in evenings. One evening, I heard Grey give a long, insistent meow. I wondered if something were wrong, so checked on the cats from the patio door. Grey was sitting on his hind legs in the middle of the patio, Kanoko was napping on the composter, nothing looked amiss. “Meeeeeoooowww!!!!” Grey repeated. “What, dear?” I asked. “Maw!” Grey replied, keeping still in his spot. “What? What is it?” I asked him. He looked down, did a cute little dance on his front paws, and happily said “Meow, meowmeowmeow!” then looked up at me expectantly. I went out to look at what was fascinating him. “Moww!!!” he danced again on his front paws, looked down, said “meeeeeow!” and looked up to say a soft “maw”. I burst out laughing: the object of his curiosity was a little brown slug. “Yes dear, that’s called a slug,” I told him. It moved, ever so slightly. “Maaaaawwww!!!” he said to it, cocking his head to one side. “Yes dear, they’re very slow,” I chuckled, and patted his head. He purred and gave another soft “maw”.

His gentle spirit is very missed. I am, however, experiencing a different sort of grief than for Malo’s more traumatic passing (just after I’d moved in to my then-new apartment, he had escaped through a window that wouldn’t close properly and been hit by a car). Although Kanoko and I miss him very much, and wish that Grey had had more time in good health, remembering his trust and purring happiness while in my arms at the end makes it much, much easier to bear.

In a very sad turn of events, I chose to have Grey put to sleep today. On Tuesday evening, by chance, I took an earlier bus home than usual. This turned out to be a fateful coincidence: as soon as I got home and washed my face, Grey used the litterbox near the sink. I glanced at it, then panicked — there was a lot of blood in and around his stool. I rushed him to a nearby vet — had I come home at the usual time, the vet would have been closed.

Grey was hospitalized, given blood transfusions and several tests. I took the next afternoon off to return to the vet and check on him. More tests were needed, since Grey had tested negative for the first ones done. I agreed to the extra tests, keeping in mind that if he had something transmissible, Kanoko and Patches would also be at risk for it. Results still came back negative for them all: it wasn’t poisoning, FeLV, FIV, or anything else that could be tested. Bloodwork showed he was very anemic and having liver problems, but it wasn’t fatty liver syndrome. (He had been eating and drinking fine; I’d been watching closely since I had been worried about how thin he’d become recently.) Very low red blood cell counts; very high white blood cell counts; low albumin, high bilirubin. Kidneys and heart were fine. The vets — two work at the clinic I went to — both agreed it was an autoimmune disease, very probably Feline Infectious Peritonitis. Quote from that article: “One of the most difficult aspects of FIP is that there is no simple diagnostic test. The ELISA, IFA, and virus-neutralization tests detect the presence of coronavirus antibodies in a cat, but these tests cannot differentiate between the various strains of feline coronavirus. A positive result means only that the cat has had a prior exposure to coronavirus, but not necessarily one that causes FIP.” The “good” thing is, that it’s mainly transmitted in unclean environments; I’ve always been good about litterbox and general cleanliness, plus Kanoko is at a healthy age and Patches, constantly hiding, hasn’t been in contact with Grey or anything that could transfer from him.

As for treatment, it could have been possible to keep Grey alive for another week, few weeks, perhaps a month or two. However, for that to work, he needed to eat… and yet he refused. I took him home yesterday evening and tried to give him some of the delicious-smelling prescription food the vet had given me. He turned his nose away from it. This is a cat who would gallop to the kitchen, meowing up a storm, as soon as he heard his metal food dish come out. (I give a bit of wet food to Kanoko and Grey from time to time, in addition to their usual carnivore-specific dry food.) I tried using the feeding syringe the vet had given me, putting food onto Grey’s tongue through his teeth. He swallowed it dutifully, but ran away and hid on a dining chair under the table when I tried a second syringe.

I woke this morning to Grey on the floor by the bedside, waiting for me. He meowed when he saw my eyes open. I snuggled him, then picked him up and took him out on the patio. He didn’t want to sit in his favorite pigeon-watching spot. Instead he hopped onto his favorite chair and meowed for me again. I offered him some food. He turned away, huffing. I tried the syringe again. He swallowed, but refused some, leaving bits of wet food on his mouth that he didn’t lick off. I ended up having to sponge the food off his fur. I brushed him, which made him purr with happiness, then he set to cleaning his front paws, even the one bandaged to protect the needle kept in his arm for further transfusions.

I took him back to the vet just afterwards, as we’d agreed the night before. Grey had another transfusion. The vet told me to come back at three this afternoon, after she’d observed him some more and had a firmer idea of his prognosis. When I returned at three, the vet had him in her arms, and Grey nearly lept out for joy on seeing me, meowing and pawing excitedly. I took him in my arms. He purred his motorboat purr and kneaded my shoulder and arm. The vet told me he was still refusing to eat, even with a syringe. His prognosis was very bad; to survive he would need daily transfusions. I brought up euthanasia and the vet agreed. Grey stayed in my arms the whole time, purring and head-butting me up until the end.

Monsieur-qui-parle was a pet name I gave him, since he was always keeping up a conversation with me. The vets remarked on it too, noticing his different tones of voice and how purposeful he was with his meows; for him it was clearly communication, he never meowed just for meowing’s sake. And he was always so gentle; an exceptionally sweet, kind cat. I miss him very much. However, I’m also glad I was able to let him go while he still had the heart and energy to purr. I couldn’t stand to see him suffer and not even find joy in eating.

Those of you who visit my photostream may have noticed a new arrival yesterday evening: her name is Patches and she’s a 9-year-old domestic shorthair calico cat. Her owners had come to Nice with her from the US last year, planning to return this year. Unfortunately, as for so many other people, the economy isn’t providing enough opportunities to ensure that they and Patches would have a home back in the US. Despite their best efforts, they couldn’t find any shelters here to take in Patches, and veterinarians charge a daily holding rate for animals left in their keeping. They asked me if I knew of any other associations or shelters, who were either full or didn’t answer the phone… It’s very hard at the end of July and beginning of August, because it’s French vacation season, and unfortunately that means a spike in pet abandonments, which translates into shelters filled to capacity. So I offered to take in Patches. (I want to be very clear, knowing how often judgement can be passed on people who are forced by circumstances to rehome their beloved pets: it was obvious from her owners’ emails and from meeting them in real life, that they love their cat very much and that they did everything they could for her. The economy hasn’t been kind to anyone. Well, except perhaps to dishonest financiers.)

Patches arrived Tuesday evening, with her owners, whom it was a real pleasure to meet, and has been hiding ever since. First in the kitchen, then under the bedroom chest of drawers, and now under the bed. This is pretty typical of cats who’ve changed homes! I’ve only taken this one photo of her, since it’s best for her to feel as safe and comfortable as possible. Kanoko and Grey have been very good, giving her space and being gently curious, but when I noticed that Patches still wouldn’t budge from under the bed this evening, I shut them out of the bedroom and let her have it (with a bowl of food and her litterbox) all to herself for a few hours. I plan to do the same while I’m at work tomorrow, hoping that she’ll feel more at ease that way.

Hopefully things will work out for the best for Patches’ owners, and who knows, in a few months we may be able to get Patches back to them. I have an idea what it’s like, having gone through my previous cat Malo being given away without my knowledge to someone I didn’t know. I made peace with him having a new home eventually, but was nonetheless overjoyed when several months later, his new owner decided she couldn’t care for him any more and demanded that I take him back. She didn’t have any experience with cats before Malo, however — I’ve had cats all my life, am very happy to bring in a third furball, and whatever happens, Patches will be cuddled and pampered along with my two boys Kanoko and Grey, for as long she stays with us.

My last few weekends have been spent taking off wheels, pulling off old tires, scrubbing rubber and rust off rims, getting new rim tape put on, cleaning and oiling the derailleur and chain, then figuring out the old Simplex derailleur and adjusting it so it now shifts properly (the cable was a tad slack and one limit stop was too tight, which prevented shifting into the lowest gear). As always, the bike shop I’ve gone to for nearly five years now, Vélo Concept on boulevard Raimbaldi in Nice (if the Flash entrance doesn’t work, try this link instead), has been great. They gave my bike a quick look-over three weeks ago, pointing out a few things I hadn’t noticed, and yesterday they kindly put on new rim tape for me, for the same price as buying rim tape would have cost (plus, I wouldn’t have been able to put it on as well as they did).

Although my bike still needs a few more repairs — new brake and derailleur cables, as well as new brake pads — they’re not urgent. The 30-year-old Simplex derailleur works like a charm. I still remember the old lever shifter on the road bike I used twenty-odd years ago. It was a royal pain since it was very finicky. A millimeter off and it would throw a fit — with so little tolerance, it would often drift into a different speed while you were pedalling. While I haven’t yet tested my Peugeot on the road, it’s already clear that this Simplex shifter is a different beast: it’s solid, has definite stops with plenty of tolerance, and once you’ve memorized its stops, it sets into the new speed in less than a single pedal turn. On my old road bike, I had to pedal several times while fiddling with the lever until it finally decided it wasn’t going to be cranky any more.

We’ve been dealing with a heat and humidity wave for the last month here, so I’m waiting until this evening, when it will (hopefully) be a bit cooler, to take out my Peugeot for my maiden ride on it. I’ll probably take it down the tram tracks (as long as you pay attention to the trams and watch out at intersections, it’s much safer than the so-called “bike lanes” on roads here, which are more like “we painted on some new lines without changing the streets”) to the Promenade des Anglais, which has safer dedicated bike paths where I’ll be able to fiddle to my heart’s content without having to worry too much if I run into any problems.

A few weeks ago I took my camera to Boulevard Garnier, an east-west street north of Nice’s city center. I walk it occasionally to go to the Libération open-air market, and had noticed some beautiful mosaics on apartment entries. The one shown above is a closeup of this mosaic, leading to beautiful wooden doors. It was done by the mosaic cutter and setter Zanussi, as well as this scrolling vine mosaic just down the street.

There’s a more modest art deco mosaic in my building’s entrance, and back on Boulevard Garnier, this “Provence” mosaic, done in a very different style:

About a year ago, Nice started a “city bike” program called Vélo Bleu. I took a 15-euro yearly subscription, which lets you borrow bikes as you want, with the first 30 minutes free on each bike. While it is very cheap, it’s not so practical when, in reality, I’ve only been able to find a bike to use about 10% of the time, plus they’re very heavy and only have 3 speeds. I enjoyed riding them anyway, which helped me realize that I’d be happy with a cheap bike of my own for riding around town. I wouldn’t have to lose any time looking for a Vélo Bleu, and would save the money spent all those times I ended up paying for a bus or tram ticket when a bike couldn’t be found. The downsides are the probability it could be stolen, and having to maintain it myself. But even needing to do maintenance has its upsides: you know what you’re getting into with your own bike.

I didn’t plan on shopping for one until my yearly subscription ran out. I visited one of my favorite secondhand shops today, as I often do because they’re so much fun to browse, then went upstairs to check their used bikes, just in case. I’d seen decent ones in their store over the years, but nothing that ever caught my eye… until today. A charming old Peugeot in orange, with bright green decals, touring handlebars, a chrome rack on the back, front and rear lights, and a mixte (unisex) frame. I could hardly believe my eyes, and figured something must be wrong with it. I spun the wheels to check for wobble: they turned straight and true. I looked at the rims: no divots, cracks, or any other problems. I checked the rear derailleur: a bit gunky, but in fine working condition, which surprised me for a bike its age. The teeth on the chain wheels looked good; the bike pedalled smoothly. I sat on it: surprisingly, the seat was already at the right height for me, and the frame a comfortable fit for head-up city riding, though I would need to turn up the handlebars to level. There was no rust around the bike’s various bolts, which meant adjustments would be feasible. “If the brakes still work, it’s mine,” I thought — not only did the caliper brakes still clamp onto the rims, the pads were in good enough shape that the bike braked without a problem. The only reservations I had were for the shifter and number of speeds: it’s an old lever shifter, and there’s no front derailleur, so the bike’s 5 rear chain wheels meant it only had 5 speeds. “It is just for riding around town, and 5 speeds are still better than 3, plus this is a lot lighter than the city bikes,” I pondered. Then I bought it. 50 euros, and all I need to replace are the tires and inner tubes.

According to its decal styles and serial number, which starts with Y904, it’s a 1979 touring model. Everything on it but the seat and tires is original. 1979 Peugeot Cyclotourisme set with all the photos I took today. As a kid my brother and I would ride steel-frame Takara road bikes, which also had lever shifters. We often had to finagle their caliper brakes and derailleurs, so having another bike with a lever shifter brings back fond childhood memories. I’ll have to re-learn how to ride with one hand while shifting, and memorize the sweet spots for each of the 5 speeds! It will also be fun to have a mechanically simple bike to work on again. I do love my mountain bike, but with disc brakes, and front and rear suspension, it’s not one I can repair entirely on my own.

What’s your reaction to this ad? It will depend on several factors: your sensitivity to animals, for instance, but also how much you know about other cultures, as well as a much less obvious factor. I’m willing to bet that many English speakers are thinking “chicken with its head cut off.” What does that saying conjure up? Someone running around frantically. But this chicken isn’t running around.

“Like a chicken with its head cut off” has no literal equivalent in French. An equivalent in panicky meaning would be “être aux cents coups”. This ad appeared in the major French newspaper Libération, and though the text is hard to make out, it has translations in French, namely “Partie terminée” for “Game Over”. So what is a chicken with its head cut off doing in a French ad, when there is no literal equivalent of the English saying?

For one, to French eyes, it’s clearly posed as one of the emblems of France: the Gallic rooster, scientific name Gallus gallus — indeed, it’s an emblem of France in part because of the Latin play on words for “Gallus”, which can mean “Gaul” or “rooster”. The French also like to joke, referring to national pride, that “the cock crows even when standing in its own merde.” The question then becomes, why is a beheaded rooster posed as a symbol of France on a Sony ad with the text “Game Over”?

Well, it appeared in Libération the day after France’s defeat against South Africa in the World Cup. In case anyone doubts the purposeful resemblance, here’s the logo of the French Football Federation (remember, “football” is the word used for “soccer” in Europe):

On this day in 1860, the French flag replaced the duchy of Savoy flag for the first time in Nice. Today that event was celebrated with parachutists and a performance by the Patrouille de France, one of the world’s oldest aerobatic demonstration teams, formed in 1931. I grew up watching air shows at our local airport, and once saw the Blue Angels perform, so I was very much looking forward to today’s festivities. My expectations were far exceeded — the Patrouille de France, led by Virginie Guyot, the first woman ever (in the world) to lead an aerobatic demonstration team, was breathtaking, especially over the background of a particularly beautiful Mediterranean.

Despite there being quite the crowd, I was able to find a spot near the beach and Place Albert 1er, which was where the performances were set to take place. First, a group of 35 parachutists dropped into a formation supposed to be “150″, though we spectators had a hard time making it out in the blazing sun. They landed not far from where I was. Then it was time for the Patrouille de France’s performance.

They took off from Nice’s airport, their smoke trails on, and impressed us all with their first crowd fly-by. I ended up taking loads of photos, which you can browse in this set. My favorite is above, and the following are pretty nice too:
o Smoke trails over the Baie des Anges, showing the beautiful blues the Mediterranean decided to wear today. She doesn’t often look like this!
o Landing approach simulation also shows the gorgeous blues in the sea, and one of the Patrouille de France’s Alpha Jets flying with its landing gear down.
o Concorde formation!
o Threading the needle, although the literal translation of the description given by the announcer would be “flying through the center of a triangle”.
o This formation was neat as well, since the planes were constantly changing position.
o A star for the final formation.

Today’s festivities began with the removal of the bell cast yesterday night. While we waited for Estrosi, mayor of Nice (and also minister of industry), the clamps were removed from the mold, and we watched flags being thrown over a background of drum and fife music. Once Estrosi arrived, the mold removal could begin. The manager of Paccard explained that to help the bell dislodge from its mold, the casing needed to be hammered. He presented the hammer to Estrosi for “a first few strikes,” but once Estrosi had started, he kept going, despite polite requests from Paccard workers to let them take over. After a few minutes of hammering, the bell was finially dislodged and it came out of its mold. It was covered in residue, which Paccard workers began to remove. Estrosi posed for another photo, then workers sandblasted and polished the bell.The finished bell will resemble its two sisters, also cast for the 150th anniversary of Nice joining France.

While the bell was being sandblasted and polished, a large group of chefs were cooking for all who dared approach. It was less chaotic than I had expected, but there was still plenty of jostling as people tried their best to get at the free food on offer. I managed to get three dishes: a socca salad, then “Niçois sushi”, and finally a mango sorbet with chopped strawberries and basil, with a strawberry coulis. One of the many other dishes prepared was stockfish, which, of course, originates from Norway. How did it become a specialty in Nice? Norwegian sailors would bring stockfish to Nice and exchange it for olive oil, quite simply! After most of the food had been given out, techno was put on the speakers and our chefs danced onstage.

Tomorrow, the bell that was finished today will be formally presented to the City of Nice and blessed by a church representative, since it’s for Notre Dame. (“Notre Dame” simply means “our lady”, so there are several churches and cathedrals named Notre Dame throughout France.)