Tag Archive 'cat'

Apr 19 2011

Another cat post.

Published by under Pets

I try not to disturb Destiny the Brain Damaged Cat while she is napping. The reason for that is that she doesn’t deal with interruptions very well. If I innocently pat her sleeping form while I pass by, she is likely to violently awaken, and start screaming at me. I don’t think she’s screaming in rage. She always sounds more confused: “Where am I? What’s happening? Who are you? Oh, it’s you. Is it food time? Is something wrong? Where’s Fate? Is she going to eat me? Should I follow you? Where are you going? I’ll get up. What are we doing here? Are we going to play? What are you doing? That looks like food.” And it goes on. And on. AND ON. I think I’ve mentioned before that Destiny is kind of a vocal cat, and also that her voice tends to get on my nerves. I’m not trying to be mean about it, I’m just saying. I’ve tried to capture the ridiculousness of how much she talks on camera, but she seems to sense when I’m recording her and tends to shut up. If she were a smarter cat, I’d think she was weaving some complicated plot to make me insane, but I know the truth: she’s actually just stupid and noisy.

Sometimes, though, I can’t help but disturb her, and those times are usually when I lose track of her. Most of the time, if I don’t know where a cat is, I check three spots and I will find the cat(s) in one of those places. Those places are: couch, chair, love seat. When one of them is not immediately visible and is not in one of those three places, I commence The Search, where I rummage through the house looking for the missing feline. Most people would just shrug and wait for the cat to reappear, but these cats escaped one time about ten years ago, and now I worry constantly that they’ve gotten out of the house, even though they’ve pretty much never shown an inclination to go outdoors since that one incident. Plus, they have an irritating habit of sneaking into the downstairs closet when someone is in there getting a coat or rebooting the router, and sometimes they get shut in there. So, I start searching. And if it’s Fate who’s missing, no problem. I find her somewhere, she kind of blinks at me, and we both go on with our lives. But if I have to track down Destiny, then most of the time I am in for at least a half hour of this cat YOWLING at me.

For instance, I just lost Destiny. I located her napping in the towel cabinet, on the towels that we use for sopping up spills and for the pool in the summer. I opened the towel cupboard. She yowled at me. I shut the towel cupboard. She yowled at me. She opened the towel cupboard and stepped out, still yowling. She followed me out of the bathroom, yowling. I told her, “I didn’t want anything! I was just checking!” And, you guessed it, she yowled at me.

Right now, she’s doing laps around the coffee table, and every time she passes by me, she yowls. If I pet her, it pretty much just resets the cycle. I’m not sure what she wants, or if she even wants anything. The Man’s theory is that her brain kind of wipes while she’s doing laps around the coffee table, so when she rounds the corner, she’s like “Oh! There you are!” and then she keeps going until she comes around again: “Oh! There you are!”

She certainly does annoy me when she’s doing things like this, especially if it’s first thing in the morning, but sometimes I have to stop and remind myself that my little brain damaged cat won’t always be around to annoy me, and then I pick her up and give her a cuddle, and she drools on my shoulder.

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Feb 04 2009

Physically impossible.

Published by under Media,Pets

While we were in Nashville, I took several pictures that I then collaged together to make one big picture for The Man to hang on his office wall at work. I sent this big picture out to a lab to be printed, and it arrived today. It looks great – I’ll be sending more work their way – and they shipped it flat, in a nice, thin, cardboard box.

My cats, especially Fate, LOOOOOVE cardboard boxes. Fate wants to become one with every cardboard box that enters the house. She wants to get into them and make them her fort. Most of the time, she manages to find a way, but this time, it was Not Going To Happen, no matter HOW much she wanted it to.

Sorry for the snickering, but come ON.  I couldn’t help myself.

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Jan 10 2009

Just visiting.

The best part about being home is simply…being home.  I love my house, even though a lot of work needs to be done to it, and it’s not always as clean as it could be.  I still love being here.  All my stuff is here.  My cats are here.  I can watch my own TV and work in my own kitchen and it’s all good.

The worst part about being home is the reason we came home early – The Man’s uncle passed away and the funeral was yesterday. I didn’t know him – he was from the side of The Man’s family that we rarely visit with – but it’s never enjoyable to see a bunch of people you care about hurting so badly.

The other thing that’s dampening my mood is that we’ll be leaving again soon.  I was, and still am, pretty excited about our upcoming trip to Nashville, but the fact that we’re only home for one week is bumming me out a little bit.  I’m doing all this laundry, because I know I have to turn around and pack up the clothes again.  I’m frantically cleaning the house because it not only needs it (oh God, does it need it), but also because if I don’t get it done, it will be another TWO WEEKS before I can get to it.  I’m not interested in knowing what my house will look like after a month of not dusting.

I’m also sad about leaving the cats again.  They’re fine and everything, and Chris takes good care of them when we’re gone, but I miss them.  And Destiny is getting a little too big for her brain damaged britches – she tried to jump onto a chair today, forgot that her limbs don’t respond as quickly as they used to, therefore fell down and landed flat on her back.  She seems OK, but she seemed OK the last time too, and a couple of days later she was spending the night at the vet’s.  We already have a vet appointment on Monday – I’m interested in taking her off the prednisone – so if she knocked some more damage into her brain, I’ve already got her in.  Great timing, huh?

Today was mostly laundry and putting away the Christmas tree.  There’s now a big hole in the dining room furnishings, where I think I’m going to put the small recliner from our bedroom.  I’m not sure.  There’s also a rather large display cabinet sitting in the middle of the floor that needs to be hung up.  This is going to be my china cabinet, thanks to Dr. Mom who recommended I find something that hangs rather than something that takes up even more valuable floor space.  I’m nervous about getting it up on the wall, and I’m nervous about it STAYING on the wall once it’s up and loaded with stuff.  Plus, it will be hanging right over The Man and Chris’s computer desks, so if it falls down, there may be some collateral damage.  Eeek.

The Man is working on the spare room (must stop calling it the office), building the closet.  Once that’s done, we need to look for flaws in the finish work, then prime and paint, then get the carpet in.  Then the room could be used, even though the trim work won’t be done.  I’m really looking forward to having that room back.

Tomorrow we’re going to 8:00 AM church, then The Man will be playing D&D and I’ll be heading out to Grandma’s so I can see her before we leave town again.  I’m hoping J-bird is feeling better by tomorrow and she can come to Grandma’s too.  I haven’t seen her since Christmas.

When I get home from Nashville, I’m going to have to start scheduling time with my friends.  I told Special Op B we’d get together in January, before I knew we were going to Nashville.  I need to get together for another lunch date with Julio, and I need to go visit Mackers.

But first, I need to finish cleaning my house.

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Nov 18 2008

It’s Tuesday night, so the house is silent.

I get a lot of questions about Destiny.  People want to know how she’s doing, and apparently “she’s retarded” isn’t the answer they’re looking for.  So, here’s your friendly cat update:

Destiny is doing better than we expected she’d be doing.  She is no longer crapping outside of the litter box, which is a nice, unexpected bonus.  She is back to vomiting up her food because she eats too fast, as opposed to because she has vertigo.  Although, she probably still has vertigo to a certain extent.  She’s just learned to cope with it better.  We no longer have to keep her confined at night, but she still cannot climb stairs.  To keep her from trying to climb stairs anyway, we invested in a baby gate, and let me tell you, it’s a good thing no one was listening to our conversation in Babies R Us, because they wouldn’t have known we were talking about a cat, and they would have been HORRIFIED:

The Man:  You want to get that one?
Me:  Sure, what’s wrong with it?
The Man:  Well, it’s a little cheap.
Me:  We don’t need a real good one.
The Man:  Yeah, but it won’t fit quite right.
Me:  Oh, come on.  She’s brain damaged.  It’s not going to take much to keep her out.
The Man:  Let’s get this one instead.
Me:  Oh, all right.  If it will make you feel better.

Anyways, she’s all right.  She travels a lot better, falling down much less often, and is almost back up to pre-stroke speed.  She still cannot jump onto furniture, and probably will never be able to again.  She eats well, is down to 1/2 prednisone every other day, and seems to have the same personality as ever.  By which I mean:  she’s cute, but dumb, and now she’s wobbly into the bargain.

This next thing falls under the header of Too Much Information, but hell, it’s the internet.  I went to Special Op B’s house last Friday for movies and wine, and we got to talking about the ongoing babymaking efforts.  I told her an amusing story about my sister-in-law, who runs a spa/alternative healing place, offering to give me a colonic because, according to her, my transverse colon is probably squishing my uterus.  I told B that even if that was the case, having my SIL give me an enema is not a line I’m willing to cross.  So Special Op B hands me this big bottle o’ pills, telling me that they would basically do the same thing over the course of a week.  Why does B have enema pills sitting around?  I DIDN’T ASK.  So, being me, I took the pills as directed.  Mostly, they give me gas.  There you go.

Saturday I went to see Mackers, and we ended up embarrassing her pre-teen daughter by hand jiving to several oldies songs in a restaurant.  And doing the robot to Daft Punk.  And singing Cake real loud.  And basically, acting like pre-teens, which is apparently NOT COOL after you reach a certain age.  We ate lunch, we went shopping, we had fun, and it was entirely too short of a time, but dark comes early this time of year and with hunting season, the deer are on the move.

I’ve been transcribing reports all week for Dr. Mom, and it’s okay.  It’s pretty easy work.  Sometimes I have to stop and look up words, because she uses words and terms that I’m not familiar with – she’s pretty good about spelling drug names and such, but sometimes I have to puzzle things out.  The only thing is that sometimes I get bummed out because the people are SO messed up that I feel badly for them.  There was one lady today, her list of symptoms (both physical and mental), was like 14 items long, and man, I felt sorry for her.  But other than the occasional bummed-outedness, I like doing it.

So, that’s my life right now.  I’m gassy, I have a retarded cat, my friends are weird, and I have a decent job.  What else can you ask for?

I’ll tell you what:  a fireplace.  Because I am freaking COLD.

She’s not dead, she’s laying in a sunbeam that I had to block so the picture wouldn’t be overexposed.

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Nov 04 2008

Election Day Madness.

Published by under Pets

I got my civic duty out of the way before 9 AM this morning, leaving me little else to do today except grocery shop and bite my nails as I watch the exit poll results.  My fingers might be down to bloody stubs by the end of the day.  It seems that despite telling myself over and over not to get my hopes up so that I won’t be crushed AGAIN, some hope managed to creep in.  Damn you, Barack Obama and your infestation of hope!  Now I have to stress all day, worrying that my small hope will be for naught, when I could have been a comfortable cynic.

After I got back from the polls, I tried to take a picture of myself wearing my “I Voted!” sticker, so you could all have photographic evidence.  Unfortunately, I was unable to take a picture that didn’t represent me as a triple-chinned albino doofus, so I decided to take pictures of my drunken cat instead.  But once again it was proven that taking pictures of this cat is NIGH IMPOSSIBLE.

First of all, if you sit on the floor, she is instantly all up ons.  I tried to back up, to put her back a few feet, and to wait it out, but once a cat sticks her head to the camera lens and starts to “mark” it, it’s pretty much all over.  Then I thought, “Well, she wants attention.  I’ll pet her for awhile.”  Bad idea.  Because Destiny is like an addict for petting.  She has phases:

Phase 1:  Enjoy the petting.  Purr, prance around, mew happily.

Phase 2:  Get aggressive.  Normal attention is no longer enough.  Head butt!  Head butt!  Grind the side of your face into human’s hand.

Phase 3:  Sloppy drunk.  Drool a lot.  Roll around on the floor.  Slur.

As you can see, it can get ugly pretty fast.

And in case you were wondering what happened to Fate, the non-drunken cat, she is currently hiding under the couch.  She’s probably worried about the exit polls.

(P.S. November 1 was the one year anniversary of me and The Man quitting smoking.  One year!  Crikie!)

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