The Cat Daycare

 

We have feral cats in our backyard.  They hang out and leave dead lizards and mice on the doorstep. Being a scientific sort, I dutifully assign each cat a name and note their coloring, etc.  We currently have Otto, NotOtto, and Mr. Fluffikins visiting frequently, with Marmalade and Sissy(my husband named that one) living in the bushes in the corner of the yard. The neighbors across the street have raccoons living in their backyard, so I am okay with cats.

Recently, Sissy had a litter of kittens. Two adorable tiny kittens.  I tried to make sure that Sissy had food and water, and we occasionally tried to check on the babies.  Except that mother cats move their babies often in the wild, to keep them safe. Also, it's difficult to have family bonding time when a large human is poking around because "they're so cute!" and he wants a picture. Completely understandable.  

We did not see the babies for several days, but I wasn't worried. Sissy knew what she was doing.  I drove to work for a few hours, then drove to my oncology appointment.  I then drove to New Braunfels to pick up my son, and we drove home, through the beginnings of rush hour traffic. 

Imagine my horror when we got out of the car and heard VERY LOUD mewing coming from my engine. Go on, imagine it.  I'll wait.  Did you picture me, panicking in the front yard, trying to locate the bar that unhooks the hood of the car?  It took Zane and I almost FIVE whole minutes to get the hood open, because we were both so hysterical. We even called my husband, who was on his way home, to ask him how to open the hood, so then he was also hysterical, only on the phone.  Zane and I finally got the hood up and discovered a tiny kitten wiggling about underneath the hot engine. We were frantic about rescuing the kitten(s)?  We only saw the one baby, and had no idea where the other one might be.  Larry came home and we talked him into removing the bottom part of my car so we could get the kitten out.  We got the baby out, and he seemed to be okay, so I took him into the backyard and handed him to Sissy. 

"What the heck did you do that for?" Larry had dreams of kitten fatherhood, but I thought it best for the baby to be fed by its mother. Sissy sniffed a moment, grabbed her kitten and took off for the bushes.  We searched underneath my car, but alas, the other kitten was gone.  It likely rolled out of my car at some point.  I felt guilty about this, but at least we saved one of the babies. Larry, Zane and I had a family moment of feeling good about reuniting mother and son.  

Until the next day when I got out of my car at the end of the day, and the kitten was right back where we found it the day before!  I waited for Larry and Zane to get home, then we extricated the kitten from my engine.  We were confused now.  What should we do?  Larry decided that he wanted to keep the kitten, who was sound asleep in Larry's arms. I was less sure.  On the one hand, the best place for a baby cat is with his mom.  On the other hand, why is this mama cat using my car as a daycare?  So we let the kitten sleep in our house all night.  The next morning I made an executive decision and gave the kitten back to Sissy.  My understanding is that kittens need to eat every two or three hours, and there would be no one at home to feed it.  Larry was upset, but he understood.  

At the end of the day, I came home, sans engine cats; we checked before I left home.  Larry and Zane get home about 30 minutes after me. He suddenly "had a feeling", and opened up my hood.  THE KITTEN was there again! Sissy had decided that my engine was the perfect daycare: warm, dry, and easily defendable from unauthorized visitors.  However, I cannot tell my boss that I have to stay home on account of cat in my engine. Does that count as carpooling? I gave up after that, and drove my mother-in law's jalopy to work for two weeks until we were sure that the danger of cat babysitting was passed.  

We named the kitten Lucky.   

No Cone of Shame for Cats

One of my favorite movies, Up, has a scene involving the "Cone of Shame".  When the main dog character, Dug, does something wrong, the other dogs make him wear it, and he feels terrible.  Dug is such a people pleaser, a good boy, that he can't bear to disappoint anyone.  The Cone is actually the plastic cone that the vet puts on dogs to keep them from fussing with their stitches after surgery.  It's necessary for good healing, although the dogs don't like it.  It smells funny, and it makes moving around difficult.  It also provides many amusing moments for dog owners, and occasionally a viral video for the internet. 

Cats are not people pleasers.  This is part of the reason why we adore them.  When a cat does something wrong, they don't cower and act chastised.  It's not their nature.  Cats do not exhibit the behavior we consider to be shame.  They feel that they've groveled enough just allowing us to exist, and we had better not forget it.  

Cats sometimes come home from the vet wearing a cone.  Our cat Bella, who was just spayed this week, came home wearing a cone.  The vet tech told us that she needed to wear the cone for 7 days.   We were to keep Bella quiet and still, while she was recovering from surgery, the vet said.  No jumping.  No running. No late night cheeseburgers. 

We intended to follow the doctor's orders. We brought our precious cargo into the house, and opened the crate door.  Maisy, our lab mix, was curious about the new smells coming from the crate, and leaned in to investigate.  Bella stumbled out, still groggy from the anesthesia. The sight of a huge black dog, even one she knew, had her running,  The cone gave Bella a lean to starboard, and her feet were carrying her in the opposite direction from where she wanted to go.  Bella was still groggy, and did not even seem to be aware of the cone around her neck. So we let her sit on her perch, once she got up there, and Bella fell asleep with the cone supporting her head.  Once she woke up, she realized that there was something around her neck that was just, NOT.

Not supposed to be there.  Not supposed to exist.   Not allowed.  No way.  Nope.

The battle was on.  Bella growled, an unearthly sound for such a tiny cat.   Maisy and the other two cats found places to watch the show.  Then there was some running about, lots of jumping and leaping, and So. Much. Noise.  She was too fast to catch, even for Zane, who will be the only one in the family to survive the zombie apocalypse.  Bella was as determined as a year old cat who just got spayed can be.  All we could do was follow her around the house in procession as she ran amok. Before our eyes, the string that was keeping the cone around her neck was gone, and nobody had any idea where, or when, it had disappeared. While we were processing that information,  Bella rounded a corner and the cone was...gone.  Problem solved.  She skidded to a stop, glared at us, and began grooming her paws.  We all waited for another hubbub to occur.

She was quiet and still the rest of the night. 

A Cat Lady Moment

These are my cats.  We used to have more, but old age and various afflictions have whittled down the crowd.  None of these cats have reached Mean Kitty status, like my precious Morris did.  They do have their eccentricities, however. I don't care.  I loves them, just the same. 

Zena the Serial Killer

Zena was found at a truck stop as a tiny kitten. She was nursed back to health, and then she became my husband's birthday present.  At just under ten pounds, Zena is fond of long walks in the moonlight, especially when she can race outside at inopportune moments.  Zena is into also into big game hunting, often bringing home various legs, tails, and heads to leave as a warning to other small mammals. Zena's favorite activity, however, is raising her dog, Maisy.  She has worked very hard to teach Maisy how to hunt and how to defend herself from rampant raccoons.

Pouncer Lulu the Underbed Stalker

At thirteen, Pounce is the grand dame of the house. Pounce has an unfortunate anxiety disorder that has been unresponsive to treatment thus far. She is fond of hiding under the bed and hissing at her nemesis, Zane, who makes way too much noise for her taste.  Pounce does not like anyone but her adult humans, but she does love her some crab grass, which she eats whenever I can remember to bring a few blades in from the yard.  Pounce has hatched a plan to scare the dog Maisy by hissing at her constantly for the last two years. 

Smoky "Open Sez Me" 

Smoky is an outdoor cat.  He's an outdoor cat because he is not fixed.  He is not fixed because every time I mention it, he disappears for a week or two until he thinks I've forgotten about the whole "fixed" thing. (I'll get him eventually) Smoky prefers long walks through the neighborhood, checking out the babes, and eating.  However, Smoky's favorite past time is sitting in front of our back door, staring at it until it opens and he gets fed.  Smoky also prefers napping indoors, and does not understand why I don't share that same opinion. 

There.  Now I have shared my crazy with the world.  You may all now proceed to point and laugh as it suits you.  Have a great day!

The Bird Had It Coming

My cat killed a Mockingbird the other day.

My tiny, affectionate feline killed that bird deader than dead, and then she left the corpse, untouched in any other way, on my patio. The obvious message would be very clear, at least if you were a bird.  It was quite succinct and elegant.  Do not trifle with me, my cat instructed.

I was a little sad to find a dead Mockingbird on the patio, because it made me think of that quote from the book, about what a sin it was to kill such a bird. However, I knew something that the rest of the animal kingdom did not. 

The bird had it coming.

Mockingbirds do make very beautiful music, and it is indeed lovely to listen to them on a spring morning while a person works in the garden or sits on the patio, cogitating.  The Mockingbird is the state bird of Texas for one reason: people love them.  I have enjoyed many hours of watching the Mockingbirds around me. They are very intelligent, crafty creatures. 

http://www.netstate.com/states/symb/birds/tx_mockingbird.htm

They're also kind of jerks.

For the past thirteen years, my poor cats have been hollered at, pecked at, and dive-bombed.  When any of the cats would try to sun themselves on the patio, they never got a moment's peace.  Even the feral cat Lalo, who is now on three legs and appears to be blind in one eye, gets his share of the fun. 

The Mockingbirds are not engaging in this behavior because it is nesting season.  That would be completely understandable.  The Mockingbirds do this sort of thing to the cats year round. It never stops. I finally had to face the very real possibility that Mockingbirds just liked messing with cats.  They're thrill seekers, playing a game of chicken with a predator.  

None of my other cats ever fought back against the attacks of the Mockingbirds.  They were just doing their own thing, after all, minding their business. They put up with the random pecks to the head and tail, the sudden dive of feathers, and the noise, while I ran out with a broom to rescue them.

Zena is a different kind of cat.  She is tiny, barely 8lbs, but she is fierce. Lord, she is fierce.  I've seen her go after raccoons without even a thought.  Zena studies everything.  She sits in the window and watches.  When she gets to go outside, she jumps on top of our barbecue grill, or perches on top of the fence...and waits, her tail twitching, her ears back.

It is so easy to underestimate small things. We are unthreatening. Easily dismissed. Overlooked.  Small things can be very capable, however. And sometimes dangerous.

I am sure that the Mockingbirds thought they were safe.  After all, not one of my other cats was a match for their flying speed, even if they had attempted a counter attack.  Zena likely waited for them to feel that air of superiority, and then she launched herself into the air, claws out and jaws ready.  The Mockingbird probably had no idea what hit them.

They will know now.

Got the Winter Blahs?

February brings the Winter Blahs, when even the most cheerful of us get a bit down. Spring is so far away that it will never come, we start to think. and we are so over the dark days and the dreariness of being cooped up together inside.

I'm here to help!

First, find a picture of one of these:

You can't help but smile at a sunflower.  They're just happy looking, aren't they?  Sunflowers are little suns, and that brings to mind warmth and the feel of sunshine on your face.  Yellow is a happy color, unless you're looking at the results of a little boy who is still working on his aim in the bathroom.

Do pictures of sunflowers remind you of runny noses, hayfever and other allergy-related fun?  Then there is only one thing to do in that situation to alleviate the winter blahs.  Follow these instructions!

1. Dress in your most comfortable clothes.  No belts, bras or other binding items!  It's all about elastic...and warmth.  That means your favorite pair of sweatpants are a must, as well as thick and comfy socks.

2. Make your self a hot drink.  I prefer apple cider, but others might like hot chocolate, coffee, or tea.  The hot part is the most important thing.

3. Find the most comfortable spot in the entire house, and sit on it.  I have an incredibly comfortable chair that is my favorite spot, but others might prefer their bed.

4. And then...wait for it...

Yes, when in the midst of the winter blahs, there is nothing more comforting than the love of a good and faithful pet, curled up and sleeping in your lap.

Friday Photo

What do you see in this picture?

Do you see a bunch of clouds in a picture of the sky?

I see the face of my beloved cat Tiger in the midst of a silent meow.  Tiger is no longer with us, having passed on a few years ago.  When I saw this in the sky, it made me smile at the end of a not so great day.  My husband thought that I was being silly; he didn't see anything.

I know that our brains tend to see things that aren't there.  Matrixing, I think it's called. We're programmed to see faces, even in the pile of dirty laundry on the floor.  That's why the Virgin Mary and Jesus keep showing up on toast, on trees, on back doors, etc. While I'm not a big fan of venerating rust stains, I'll not hold it against anyone.  Sometimes we need to see something miraculous.

Why not in the clouds? Many people look to the heavens for answers, metaphorically and literally.  Is it wrong that I might find comfort in such things as might appear in the sky? Why not enjoy the moment, savoring what I see and holding it close to my heart? It makes me happy to do so, and it's not hurting anyone.  There's no law against it. 

So feel free to look at this photo, and see whatever you want. 

Nobody In, Nobody Out

Every morning before we leave the house, no matter how rushed we are, Zane and I stand in the doorway and tell our dog Maisy and cats Zena and Pounce something very important, if not profound: 

"Nobody in,
Nobody out,
Stay off the phone.
No parties,
No boys."

We cannot turn the key in the door to begin our day unless we have said the words.  When I've forgotten, the rest of the day feels 'off', as if I'd left the stove on or something.  Our words are not just  a brief reminder of the rules of the house, but a benediction of sorts.   It's our way of telling our critters, and the house, that we will be back at some point.

Where did those words come from?  The first three lines came from my parents.  Each and every time they went out and left us at home by ourselves, they'd give us these three rules.  At the time, they were most particular about us staying off the phone; call waiting didn't exist, and if they needed to call us, they did not want the phone line to be busy.  Hearing those words each time my parents left became a little comforting after awhile, even if we didn't always follow their warning about staying off the phone or not leaving the house.  Even when my brother and I left home, I know that my parents continued to give their concise instructions to the dog. 

The last two lines became attached to the first three because my friend Evil Laura* would say them to HER dog Emily before we left the house.  Evil Laura's parents would say those words to her, and her sisters, before they went out for the evening.   I was happy to find out that my family wasn't completely weird after all, and Evil Laura's ritual was added to mine.

And the ritual was complete. 

My husband thinks I'm crazy for giving instructions to the pets, and maybe he is right.  It's not as though they can understand what Zane and I say, but maybe our tone is all they need.  I've thought about my need to say my little bit before I leave the house.  Does my little compulsion mean that I'm loopy in some way?  Probably.  Do my neighbors think I'm odd?  Most likely.

But there are quite a few instances of similar rituals in the many cultures of our world.  There are the rituals that people do before hunting, in order to assure that food is brought home.  There are the rituals that people do before going on spirit quests, or long journeys.  There are the rituals that signal births, deaths, and everything in between. And we all seem to have our rituals that ensure "luck", such as blowing on dice before they are thrown, or kissing a chicken foot before pulling the arm on the slot machine. Don't even get me started on all the rituals that are alive and well in sports.

So why not a little discussion with the family pets? 







*Evil Laura is not actually evil.  It's just that I have two friends named Laura, and the other one is really, really, really good. Yes, alcohol was involved. 

Spare Parts

WARNING:  This post contains icky stuff, likely not suitable for reading during the breakfast hours.  Come back a couple of hours after breakfast, unless you have a cast iron tummy, like myself.  


There's a stomach on my patio. 

Yep.  A stomach.  Distended, as if the owner had been able to enjoy a good repast at some point.  This is the point on television shows where the police would show up, and something would cover the stomach while the CSI people went over my back yard with microscopes and tweezers.  Since this is not a television show, I have to do my own sleuthing.  Stomachs tend to all look the same, much like kidneys.  From the scale of the organ, I'd say that it once belonged to a mouse.  I could be wrong.  I am not about to go into the house and put on my glasses in order to see more clearly and answer more precisely.  I still retain some long lost vestige of girliness which requires that I find such things icky. 

I am just happy that I only found a stomach this time. 

When I rise each morning, bleary-eyed,  to put out cat food and fill water bowls while making sure that the dog does her business, I expect everything on my patio to look exactly the same as it did the night before.  I rely on it, simply because I am just like every other person out there.  Consistent routines are not only comfortable, they also allow other brain activity in the background. At that stage of the morning I need my brain focused on putting one foot in front of the other and staying upright.  

My backyard feral cats are not malicious creatures. Lalo looks like a capital O with legs, and Smoky likes to sleep with his legs pointing straight up in the air, so the sun warms his belly.  As far as I know, they are not up at night for nefarious purposes, plotting the demise of the Rottweiler next door.  Most of the time, those two are not even awake enough to take a whack at the mockingbirds who snack on their food during the day.

And yet I regularly find parts of things on the patio.  A leg.  A tail.  A kidney.  A stomach.  It doesn't happen every day, but often enough.  Occasionally, there are entire corpses, laid out for display, and then the cats almost seem proud of their contributions to the family larder.  Those occasions are when my husband is reminded of the "for worse" clause in our wedding vows. 

It is difficult for me to reconcile the picture of a cat the shape of a soccer ball with a creature capable of killing and eating a living squeaky toy.   These cats purr and blink at me, and they're fluffy and cute.  They also happen to be predators, and they are very good at their job.  I am thankful that these cats, even if they won't let me scratch them behind the ears, are keeping the mouse population out of my house.

But I would rather not find spare parts on my patio.

Random Something

I opened my email the other day, and the subject practically hurled itself off the page: YOU HAVE A POSSIBLE 137 RELATIONS!!!  And I just sighed.  Because the email is likely correct.  Whereas my parents limited themselves to two children, other family members went whole hog on the biblical "Be fruitful and multiply" suggestion.  It's entirely possible that I'm related to most of Illinois and parts of Ohio.  I stopped searching for relatives on Ancestry.com.  Every time I clicked on that green leaf, more cousins, great aunts, and long-lost uncles popped up.  It was starting to be annoying, all these relatives popping up.  Of course, they likely say the same thing about me. 

I overheard one of the teachers telling a custodian about the roach problem in her classroom.  It seems that one of those insects ran up her pant leg.  Not those diminutive German cockroaches. No, this was one of the impossibly large Texas-sized cockroaches.  Kafka-sized. The ones able to move furniture. The ones that haunt my phobia. The very image of such a creature scurrying up my leg filled me with terror, and made me look very closely around my office when I got back.  I have a new found respect for teachers--they need combat pay!

Zane has a new habit, one that he learned in only a single week of school.  He will now approach people and say, "I have a question," and wait for them to ask him about it.  I am so proud of him! Especially when his question is something like "Do gorillas do dishes?" or "Are ghosts real?"  You should see the looks we get!  People are always nice enough, however, and most of them do try to answer Zane's questions honestly, even if the answer is "I don't know."

All summer long, one thing in my life was constant:  a cat wanted out.  Unless they wanted in.  We only have two cats, but it seemed some days as though we had forty.  As soon as I sat down to eat breakfast, Zena was meowing to go outside.  I let her outside, and when I sat down again, she wanted to come back inside.  In and out, in and out, all day long, for no apparent reason other than that there was a door.  It made me seriously consider a cat door.  For a moment, anyway.  I've discussed all the random critters who visit our backyard: possum, raccoons, skunks, rats, and the odd feral cat.  Who knows what I would find in the kitchen each morning, if those creatures could just walk in the door every time they felt like it?

Have you ever sat and just listened to another person type? My friend Anita, who used to have a typing business in grad school, seems to type so fast that the sound of her fingers hitting her keys is constant. I think that I type at a decent speed, with my usual random stops for hitting the wrong key or deciding to use another word.  When I hear her whipping around the keyboard in such a speedy manner, it makes me very self-conscious about my own typing.  I've ended up with a typing complex of some sort.  It's embarrassing.  Does this sort of thing happen to anybody else? 


Go visit Stacy, if you're up to socializing.  She's in the process of moving across country, but I believe that she is almost done.  


Or check out the lovely Shawn and her friend Impulsive Addict and their somewhat regular show.

Randomly Yakking

Things have been just whirling by this month--next week it's AUGUST!!!  I am of course, not ready for summer to be gone.  Most of my summer was spent recuperating, but I swear I had intended to clean out the house and take a bunch of stuff to Goodwill.  Now I will be happy if I finish cleaning out my old desk at work.   I would really love to have a cleaning lady to help me, but right now that is out of the budget.  I do intend to revisit the idea--my sister-in-law and mother-in-law both have people come in to clean up the house, and neither of them work outside the home.  Why not me?

One should be careful when opening a case of Gatorade:

Cats just love boxes and small containers that they can squeeze themselves into, and Zena is no exception.  I suppose that she was attracted to the sound of the plastic, and it was nice and cozy in there.  She does the same thing with the television receiver, even though it is behind glass. But I can't get mad at that face, and she knows it.  So as long as she doesn't start chewing through electrical wiring, I don't make her move. 

Ooh!  The royal baby has arrived!  I'd feel sorry for the new parents, and sympathize with how little sleep they will be getting, except that this baby comes with a nanny, among other employees, to help out.  I am sure that a number of us would give our right arms to be able to get a few hours of shut eye, let alone watch our child while we enjoy a full eight hours of uninterrupted sleep?  I wonder if there is a Royal Diaper Changer, and if so, how much does it pay?  I expect it might be a bit more than minimum wage.  That certainly would be an interesting note on one's resume. 

My mom hands me a stretchy bracelet the other day.  It has pink and white beads. Turns out that the beads were made from flowers.  The flowers that were at my grandmother's funeral.  A memento mori, certainly. I'd rather have had something else, but I guess that everyone grieves in their own way.  I don't even know if my grandmother liked the color pink.  I suspect that she did; the entire outside of the house was painted pink.  I do know that I am not fond of pink.  When I see someone wearing all pink or driving a pink car, I automatically think of Mary Kay.  Weird, I know! 

This is an artist's rendition of my dog.  If it is stinky and in the trash, she has to have it.  Especially if it is embarrassing, like one of those --ahem--feminine products. Yeah, those items are her very favorite.  Maisy will get her nose into the can and pull the offensive item right out, which isn't the bad part.  No, the bad part is that she takes the wad to the living room and quickly proceeds to tear it into shreds.  Tiny, tiny shreds.  Did I mention that the pieces are tiny?  Try cleaning all that up in less than five minutes, when your parents have just texted that they are on the way. 



Go visit Stacy--help her stay sane while she packs!

Also, go check out these fine ladies--Shawn and Impulsive Addict for Talk To Us Tuesday!

A to Z Challenge Wrap Up

To recap, for those who have been stranded on a deserted island for the last couple of months...I participated in the A to Z Blog Challenge.  Every day in April except Sunday, I started off my blog with a different letter of the alphabet.  I did this while continuing to participate in several creative writing memes. 

It wasn't easy.  Some of the easiest letters, such as E, had me sitting in front of a blank white screen, the cursor blinking at me.  Stop blinking at me, I'd tell the cursor.  Whaaaaat?  The cursor would reply, blinking some more.  Aren't I inspiring enough for you?      Quit it, I'd say.    Cursors can be downright irritating.  Then my husband would come into the computer room.

"You're arguing with the cursor again," he'd say, subtly letting me know that I needed to turn off the computer and get some sleep. 

I was going to complete all of A to Z with a theme, like my friend Andrea over at Maybe It's Just Me and Juli over at Surviving Boys.  Andrea did an entire month of angsty 80s tunes, and I loved reminiscing.  Juli's theme was all Pinterest--tricks, recipes, science experiments--oh my!  Those two are so creative.   When I tried to follow in their footsteps and come up with a theme, the only thing that came to mind was...cats.  Yes.  It would have been "Cats I Have Known".  Except that this crazy Cat Lady doesn't know 26 cats.  Or 26 dogs.  So that idea sank rather quickly. 

In the end, I did what I think I do best: improvise. 

I enjoyed finding and reading lots of new blogs and I've found quite a few that I now have bookmarked on my phone.  So that was a bonus.  

I have participated for the last three years, and being a creature of habit, I will participate again next year.  Unless my public begs me not to...  Oh look, there's that cursor blinking at me again!


Everyone, enjoy your Friday!!!!

Every Dog Deserves A Day

Ever since we got our current pup, I've been falling in love with dogs again.  Not that I have ever disliked dogs, it's just that I embarked upon a love affair with cats.  Cats and I share many qualities, after all.  We both like to sleep a lot, we tend to pounce on things for no obvious reason, and we are quick to bring out the claws when we get annoyed.  Also, cats are most comfortable around a select few individuals that they trust, which is the very definition of an introvert.  Which would also be me. I was chosen by my first cat in the late 90s; Isobel(RIP) was sitting on my balcony one morning.  Then came Morris the Irascible(RIP), then Tiger(RIP), then Pip(RIP), then Pounce, and finally Zena.  Along the way we also acquired Lalo and Smoky Bear, who live in the bushes in the backyard.  I never get tired of watching the cats. 

When I was a small child I remember a couple of dogs being around.  We had a basset hound at one point when I was four-ish.  When next we had a dog, it was a daschund named TJ.  (My mother found the minor skirmishes fought by my brother and I over the slightest issue abhorent, and instead of letting us fight over the names of our pets, she issued a decree that we would take the first initial from each of us and that was that.  Over the years, a succession of horses, dogs, and guinea pigs were all named TJ.  Even a turtle or two, and possibly a crayfish.)  When I met my husband, I had Isobel and Morris, and he had Sandy the Wonder Dog, a feisty yellow Lab.  Sandy was used to ruling the roost; I remember several nights when Sandy would literally push me out of the bed.  I had taken "her" spot.  The entire household mourned Sandy's passing; even the cats. 

And now we have this little critter.  She's not so little anymore, although she is still officially a puppy.  She is pretty smart, and except for a few issues, she's been fun.  Dogs are more obvious about their responses to you. and I love watching them, too.  Maisy scans our faces constantly for the slightest micro expression, eager to please.  At least, eager to please if you have food or are willing to scratch her behind the ears.  Cats are willing to take the food and the scratching, but they aren't watching you constantly for signs of approval.  So which is better?  That's an age old question, but really, it's apples and oranges.  I like apples and oranges, and I don't have to choose between my fruit, right?  Same with my pets; I love my cats and my dog, and hope that they are all around for a long time.

All your treats are belong to us

How about you?  Are you a cat person or a dog person?  Or do you swing both ways, at least as far as owning pets?

Life's Minor Interruptions

Blogging consistently gets hard sometimes, when you're a mom.  While I'd like to think that moms and dads divide the work of raising a family equally somehow, the fact is that most of the time, I'm the one the boy runs to for help.  It just ends up that way, through nobody's fault, at least for right now.  I'm also the one that the pets run to, as well.  I am pretty sure that this is only because I'm usually the one feeding them all, but there's always the possibility that they like me, too.  

While our cat Zena and our pup Maisy have bonded and do all of the wonderful racing around the house and the backyard, my cat Pounce has remained upstairs, under the bed.  She will come out when I am up there, and sometimes when Larry is up there, but she is afraid of Zane.   And Maisy. And she isn't really fond of Zena.  So I am, for the most part, her sole source of interaction, play, cuddles, scritches, and hugs.

So when I am in the computer room, after everyone has gone to sleep, Pounce creeps out from under the bed, and comes to find me.  I am typing away on my blog, and then there's a cat in front of the screen.  I pet her a moment, then put her on the chair next to me so I can finish typing. 

A second later, she is back, and this time she strolls across the key board, inadvertently deleting what I just typed.  I pet her while I say a few curse words under my breath, then I put her on the chair again.  Just as my fingers begin to retype, there's Pounce, and this time she is sitting on the mouse.  Since she is purring loudly, I know that she is wanting affection, but she is starting to drive me a little insane.  I want to finish my thoughts, hit publish, and go to bed.  Pounce has other plans.  I can't close the door to the room because it is late and she'll wake up the house with her meowing.   I feel sorry for her, that she is so locked into her crazy that she won't trust the rest of the house at all.  Maisy would love to play with her, and Zane is just waiting to pet her. 

If only she would come out from under the bed when everyone is awake.



This was my 5 minute Stream of Consciousness Sunday post. It’s five minutes of your time and a brain dump. Want to try it? Here are the rules…

• Set a timer and write for 5 minutes.
• Write an intro to the post if you want but don’t edit the post. No proofreading or spellchecking. This is writing in the raw.
• Publish it somewhere. Anywhere. The back door to your blog if you want. But make it accessible.
• Add the Stream of Consciousness Sunday badge to your post (in the sidebar). .
• Link up your post here.
• Visit your fellow bloggers and show some love.

A Great Start

Trifextra prompt:  In 1959, Rodgers and Hammerstein wrote the music for the Broadway production, The Sound of Music.  One of the most famous songs from the musical is "My Favorite Things." Since its inception, the song has been covered by countless artists, and we're asking you to follow suit. Give us a few of your favorite things, in whichever form you want, in 33 words exactly.  (Link above will bring you to the song's lyrics, if you're not familiar with the tune.)  I am more partial to the classics, like Guys and Dolls, Singing in the Rain, and My Fair Lady, but I will try.





I sit in my cozy chair,
with
A hot cup of coffee,
A warm puppy
curled in my lap,
A cat purring near the window, while
My son's giggles
careen through the house.

Comfort

Mamakat's awesome prompt:   3.) List 5 things that bring you comfort.


It's been a hard month, at least as far as work goes.  We started out two people short, and in the usual wisdom of management, someone decided that two of the other people in our office didn't need to have contracts.  Both of those people found better paying jobs where they will be shown much more appreciation.  They were my practicum students, and then my interns.  For those who've never mentored a person in your chosen field, it's a rewarding experience, but then you have to say goodbye when the 'young padawans' fly the coop.  I don't do well with that sort of thing--I get all teary and blubbery.  It's downright embarrassing, but it's not like I can help it.  I am sad and happy at the same time, while completely freaking out about who is going to do all the work of the people who left. 

I really need my comforts right now!

1.  My prayer shawl.  When I was pregnant and in a doctor's office at least once a week, I started a prayer shawl.  It's purple, my favorite color, and every single stitch in it is a prayer.  I would sit in the doctor's waiting room and pray while I crocheted my little heart out.  I finished it in the hospital after my son was born, and I've been wearing it around the house ever since. It's a very simplistic design, just row upon row of double crochet, but I love it. It is soft after so many washings, but it is warm and reminds me of my boy.

2. A purring cat.  If the sound of a cat purring doesn't relax you, that is a darn shame.  If I sit still for longer than five minutes, there is a cat near me, and they are purring.  Pounce likes to perch on the arm of my chair, next to my ear, and she will purr constantly.  Zena likes to sit either on my lap or next to me, and she will purr as she is getting herself comfortable, and the purring just melts the tension away.  Purring seems very similar to the chanting that Buddhist monks do, or maybe the same frequency.  It certainly puts me in a meditative state!

3.  My favorite chair.  I have a nice big comfortable chair.  It has a fluffy cushion on it, one that has been warped a bit by Zane's tendency to sit on top of it instead of against it.  The cushion seems to hug around me, which I love.  I will sit back in my chair, put my feet up on the ottoman, and just let go of whatever was bothering me.  If Zane sits next to me in the comfy chair, then that is even better. He and I have sat in that chair many days, just the two of us, and I think that we are both less stressed because of it.

4.  My jammies.  I don't have nightgowns.  I don't have thosw fluffy, diaphanous, barely there nightie that they show women wearing on the television shows.  No, I have jammies. Plaid flannel pants and a t-shirt that have been washed so many times they are as soft as a whisper.  I feel comfortable in them.  Hell, I feel comfortable just thinking about them!  They don't look pretty, and I'm no underfed Victoria's Secret model.  My jammies get the comfort job done, however,  and that's all that counts in my book.

5.  My family.   In times of stress and strife, I don't head for the hills.  I head for home.  Spending time with my husband and my son, whatever we are doing, comforts me.  My husband fusses at me for staying up too late, and Zane fusses at me because I forgot to put the right kind of cheese crackers in his lunch, but it's all good.  My batteries get recharged, at least enough to face the next hurdle.  Or the next ditch.  Or mountain.  Whatever.  With family backing me up, I can handle it. 

How about you?  What items comfort you?

Every Night

Prompt:  This weekend we are challenging you to write 33 of your own words to build upon the following:

On the count of three...

You can choose to include those words if you want, but they do not count toward the 33 words of your own.


On the count of three...

The boy is asleep,
The husband, as well.
At last, I can write, with
The cat-who-lives-under-the-bed
Curled up next to the monitor,
purring,
her tail punctuating my sentences.

Rascally Random

I woke up this morning and went downstairs to feed the outside cats.  Okay, I actually went downstairs and started the coffee first.  Then I went to the door and looked outside.  On the patio was the fattest raccoon I've ever seen.  He was sprawled out next to the empty food bowl, just like he'd been on a bender.  The outdoor cats were no where to be found, and for a moment I was concerned that the raccoon might have eaten them, as fat as he was.  I rapped loudly on the window to get the raccoon's attention, and waited for him to get the message and waddle off.  I wonder what we would see if we put a camera on the patio to run all night. 

My boss asked if I would like to work from home a couple of days a month.  It seems that the grand plan to give every 9th grader an iPad to use did not factor in the massive use of network bandwidth.  To put it bluntly, during the day, when all those wonderful iPads are being used(all the textbooks are on them), our district connections runs at the speed of dial-up.  When I am at home, I don't have to contend with all that, so everything runs faster.  So maybe I will work at home, at least once.  My challenge will be not getting distracted by random Lolcats or spending all day on Pinterest.   Because I am all about distractions when I have to work, sad to say.

Cats are predators. They are actually the most successful predators on the planet, with something like a 97% kill rate.  I thought about that the other day when we found some remains in the driveway.  I just read an article online today that says cats may be killing way more than we know, because they sometimes don't eat what they kill, but scatter the body parts hither and yon as they scamper back home. On the other hand, we do not have scorpions, or mice, or snakes within at least a fifty foot radius of this house.  I think we can learn a valuable lesson from all this: Animals may act domesticated, but don't piss them off.

We were all parked in the living room last night, crashing after a long day, when we hear two sounds, like something striking out window.  We began to investigate, and found a hole in the outside glass of our double paned windows.  We immediately suspected the house behind us.  Nefarious things happen at that house, and most of the time right in the back yard where we can see it, because the people who live in that house aren't really all that bright.   Fortunately, the police said that the window was not hit by a BB or rock.  Do double paned windows just suddenly decide to crack at random intervals?   Maybe it was a body part flung by a cat?  I guess this means that we will be investing in new windows soon.  I'd like to get some with some of that solar film on it. 

I am over visiting at Stacy's Uncorked, because she's awesome and has some cool looking new appliances. Go visit her and have a great day!

Rainy Random

Remember how I was complaining that we were in a drought and we needed rain?  My prayers were answered--we've had about ten inches in the past month.  Luckily, there's been periods of sunlight in between, so the rains gets to soak into the ground a bit.  The grass/weeds in the backyard have shot up about a foot, because by the time things have dried out enough to mow, it rains again.  I only hope that the lakes around here are filling up.  I hope that the aquifer, which supplies all of our drinking water in these parts, is filling up too.  

I was looking forward to the debates this month, but now I don't even know if I'm going to watch.  This past week, all I've heard from the Romney camp is extremely lowered expectations, like their candidate can't walk and chew gum at the same time. Seems to me that the GOP spends more time making excuses for the candidate that they chose than anything else. Even the VP candidate has been heard making statements like "Oh well, the race won't be decided by one debate".  I hate to break it to Paul "I totally slept through history class" Ryan, but Nixon lost to Kennedy on the basis of one debate, Carter lost to Reagan on the basis of one debate...shall I go on?  All these people want to play the Game of Thrones, and most are sadly unprepared. I'd like some "learned" politicians, please!

This tree is my nemesis.  This tree, and all it's siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles, are going to be throwing out pollen in about a month or so, wreaking all sorts of havoc on immune systems.  I will probably go through a bucket of inhalers, and completely lose my voice again.  Mountain cedar is pure evil.  I can't even touch the sap without breaking out in hives! 

Speaking of Game of Thrones, when is Martin going to publish the next book in the series?  It was supposedly "mostly" written before the last book came out.  Of course, knowing Martin, he likely threw the whole thing out and started over from scratch.  I hate that, because I hate waiting, except that I know that it's his obsessive attention to detail that makes his writing so awesome.  I'll wait, but I may whine about it.  Who am I kidding?  Of COURSE I will whine about it!  Because that just makes authors write so much faster! 

I am sitting here typing, and my cat Pounce is staring at me.  She is right next to the monitor, so she is really difficult to ignore. Normally, it wouldn't bother me, but she has the BIG EYES, like there is something very scary behind my shoulder.  I am determined not to look, but it's starting to creep me out.  What if there is actually something scary behind me?  Animals are sensitive to these things, right?  Sheesh, now I am freaking myself out! 

I am hooking up with the awesome Stacy over at Stacy's Uncorked. Go visit her and meet some new people!

Three in One

 


My Pampered Pet curves
round my legs,
tail raised,
while the Predator
stalks her food,
crouching low over the bowl.
Sated, the Sleepyhead curls
around and round
on my favorite chair,
and dreams.



Trifextra prompt:   Describe something that is three different things at the same time.  Oh, and do it in 33 words.  Structure your response however you want; it doesn't have to mirror Mr. Gaiman's form.  Feel free to leave us guessing.  Just make it your own, and make it good.

Random-sized Random

Here it is, a Tuesday!  No wonder I've been feeling random. 

Actually, random is my normal thought pattern.  If a person could read my mind, they would be extremely confused by my sudden free flight of subjects, because in my head one thing leads to something else that happened twenty years ago when So and So had that black yappy-yap dog after they moved from Sweden.  Confused?  How do you think that I feel?  Add in all the stuff that I am supposed to remember, not just for me, but for my husband and child, and it's complete pandelirium in my cranium.  Not for the faint-hearted, or the unmedicated ADHD.

I have to go back to work on Monday.  I am not feeling that excitement that everyone feels following a vacation from work.  Maybe a pedicure would help?  Should I get a fancy pedicure to start back to work?  Pedicures make me think of vacation, which is the opposite of work, so maybe not. 

The REAL reason dinosaurs became extinct--waiting in line to go to the bathroom!

There were some interesting signs to read while we were traveling.  My favorite was the one outside the gun range at the Bass Pro Shops. That sign insisted that NO ONE would be allowed to shoot any guns at the range if they had been drinking.  I was intrigued by the possible mishap that led to the creation of that sign.  Hopefully, if anything was hit during the drunken target practice, it was not flesh! 

We were at a wildlife reserve, one that you drive through, and we stopped at their restaurant/gift shop/petting zoo/gardens. This sign was in the ladies' room:

All I could picture when I saw this sign were older women, dressed in their Sunday finery, with their feet in the sink.  It made me cackle a bit, and scared the lady at the sink next to mine.  I guess that I need to work on a better cackle. 

No matter where my cats flop down, their tails swish back and forth.  And no matter where they are parked, those tails swishing back and forth, to and fro, knocks some object to the floor.  Even if I grab my cat's tail, she will still try to swish her tail, until she swishes it right out of my hand.  I've decided that it's the same sort of fidgeting that I do while I'm sitting in church, or waiting for the doctor.  If Pounce or Zena were cats in Africa, I suppose the swishy tails would be to get rid of flies, but here it just seems as though my cats' butts have minds of their own.  My butt has a mind of its own, and it is on spreading as wide as the chair can stand.  That is so sad, isn't it? 

Is it bad that I'm feverishly wishing for Tropical Storm Ernesto to make a right turn and head up the Gulf Coast, just so we can get some rain?  We had a good pattern of rainfall in June, but hundred degree temps tend to dry up moisture in a hurry.  No wonder we have all these critters hitting our yard--they are searching for water.  Poor things. 

I'm hooking up with Stacy Uncorked as well as the fine ladies over at Talk To Us Tuesday, Shawn and Impulsive. Check them out--you'll love them!