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18/03/2007 Morning PetsIt is a cruelty of life that pets love mornings. Especially when both B and I are NOT morning people, if we can help it. It's a real injustice in life when a person (me) absolutely loves animals, (hence I have two cats, Simon and Earl (currently being cat-sat by a friend), and of course my Chihuahua, Precious (or, as she's curently nick named, Preshie Freshie Mama's Girl) and our newest addition (because there will ALWAYS be new additions) Elvis (named, of course, by B), but is NOT a morning person.
There is nothing I can do about that love... I can't help myself... yet each time I bring a new addition into the house both B and I suffer. We lose sleep (which for us is difficult...our schedules make us sleep deprived already) and we argue over the rules and the raising of that new addition. Some couples argue most over finances, or jealousies... not us... not any more. Those things have been mostly resolved, and other than us "playing" at being jealous (though I think sometimes B isn't playing), we trust each other sufficiently not to be sitting around wondering WHO the other is with, and WHAT they're doing, when we're not together.
B and I are sleeper inners... if it's at all possible... if we don't have some appointment in the morning that we HAVE to attend... we like to sleep in. This used to be possible. Well, with Precious, who is 9 years old, it's easy... she's learned to be a sleeper inner too... she actually gets grumpy if we have to wake her up early because our schedule demands it. Years with me has taught her that if I'm still sleeping, don't bother me. She'll get tons of attention AFTER I wake up, and I'll be in a much better mood too. She knows to go outside to do her business, and she knows when to ask for her meals. Life with Precious is smooth and fun and loving.
When we adopted Simon, our "second born and first son", we went through the whole training period, B and I, for the first time together. I learned that B has absolutely NO tolerance for "potty mistakes"... he has this aversion to any type of pee or poop, or even throw up... be it human or animal. He's disgusted that they don't seem to understand exactly WHERE it is appropriate to go without repeated training reminders. (By now it should be obvious to anyone who has any knowledge of pet ownership at all that B did NOT grow up having pets... he was essentially petless almost all of his life... well, until meeting me.) So, I was elected, by default, to be the ONLY one who cleans up such messes. No exceptions, and that rule seems to apply forever... nothing has changed, and Elvis is trainee number three, since B and I got together.
However, it's not just the potty training issue... it's also the morning schedule issue. Until our new additions are made to understand that mornings are NOT the time to bother mommy and daddy, we are sleep deprived. Simon used to wake up in the morning, almost always around 7:30 or 8 am, and he'd begin to chew on whatever body parts B and I dared to have outside the blankets... and kitten teeth are VERY sharp! He'd get up on top of my head and begin to knead my head with his claws open while "cleaning" my hair... nibble nibble nibble... puuuullllllll.... nibble nibble nibble.... puuuullllll... until I was sufficiently awake to grab his tiny body and hurl him to the bottom of the bed, or over to B's side. He mistook this for playing however, and he would then attack anything that moved under the covers, which, on several occasions turned out to be... ummmm... parts of B's anatomy that are WAY too sensitive to be clawed or bitten by a kitten. This would result in B jumping, horizontally, from the bed, at least a foot in the air, the quick grab of Simon and removal from those parts, and the hurling of Simon, usually toward me. We played kitten catch, partially in our sleep, most mornings for about the first month of Simon training.
I know that in most people's cases this would have resulted in making the animal sleep elsewhere. I can't do that. I can't stand to hear a baby cry... even if it's a kitten or puppy... I just lose it. We did try it... for about an hour. B could see by my face that I was suffering far more than the pitiful mewling baby kitten who was so lost and scared and all alone, that B actually went and brought our Simon back to bed with us... he was resigned to suffer through it for my sake. That's love.
With Earl, our second "son" and adoption, it was much the same thing, only, not so much biting... more lay on your face and purrr kind of torture... of course... first thing in the morning. He was easier to morning train because he is just a mush... all he ever cares about is that he's somehow ON me, and that I'm touching him... petting or just have a hand on him. It was easier for me to get used to hearing Earl purring in my ear than it was for me to get used to Simon biting my head. It was also easier for B because it wasn't HIS ear Earl was purring in.
Now, we have Elvis. Elvis's mama is full Pitt Bull, and his papa is full Bull Dog (either way he's full of Bull... tee hee). I was exiting Walmart one evening and there was Elvis, in a storage box with 6 of his brothers and sisters, hopping around trying to get out, and drawing the attention of everyone passing by, including me. I reached down and grabbed him up... the first one my eye was drawn to because first, he had the exact coloring of Preshie's daughter Cossette (she's dead now), and second, because he looked right at me... not whining... just standing against the side of the box looking at me. The owners told me about him, and that he actually had 9 brothers and sisters but they'd already given away 3 of them, and that Elvis (no name at the time) was the smartest. He was the only one who'd figured out that by standing on top of his brothers and sisters he could hook his paws over the edge of the box, pull himself up and out and escape. I picked up a couple of others, got puppy kisses and all kinds of warm receptions, but Elvis just kept looking at me from his box, and I couldn't ignore him.
I called B and told him to come to Walmart right away, and he arrived a few minutes later (after a little bit of persuasion). I convinced him to get out of the truck and "look", and then thrust Elvis at him to hold. He got puppy kissed and Elvis tried to climb up onto his bald head, and I think he was hooked. Still, he left and said I was crazy, and that I could "do whatever I wanted"... but with attitude. So, I left.
I felt guilty that I wanted another mouth to feed... another "body" to live with us in our temporary living quarters at my job... a large closet really with alot of our "stuff" squeezed in there with us. I couldn't let it go though. I called B, a bit emotional because I really really thought that Elvis would be an awesome dog... that B could make him HIS dog... he'd been saying he wanted to get a bigger dog for himself anyway. B told me to go back and get him... there's that Love again. I asked if he was sure... I didn't want it to be just because I love animals... I wanted B to really want THIS particular dog. He said get back there and get him before someone else did... if he was still there get him, if not, then he didn't want any of the others. I went. Quickly. I got Elvis (who was later named that by B).
I did the research on line... how to raise and train a Pitt, and how to raise and train a Bull Dog, and I printed it all out for B. I force-read some of the most important (to me) parts to B, and then left the almost one inch high stack of papers on B's table for him to refer to whenever he wanted (I knew that he'd read it on his own...when he could feel he was doing it himself, because HE wanted to, rather than because I wanted him to.) I can tell, since then, that he has done some reading.
We established that Elvis would be B's dog... that HE would decide what food Elvis got... that HE would decide how Elvis was to be trained and what tricks he'd learn, etc. It was also established that I would get the potty training detail. This means that I have to be very puppy aware and sensitive to any possible sign that Elvis has to go potty. I quickly realized that if Elvis took a nap...even if for only five minutes, he had to go immediately after he woke up. No time for me to put shoes on... no time for me to put him on the floor and get him to follow me out the door...nope. Grab up puppy the second he's awake and rush him out the door... I'd barely get to put him down before he was squatting.
Elvis was one day shy of 7 weeks when we got him. He just turned 9 weeks old (yesterday). He's almost potty trained. I'd say he's a pretty smart puppy. He climbs onto my head in the middle of the night if he needs to go out... it's good that he's getting someone's attention, but it's always ME... more sleep deprivation. Of course, he still has the occasional accident... if we leave him alone he has no "holding it" capacity yet. If I'm distracted at the time he awakes from his naps then he'll usually whine at me to go out, but if I don't move fast enough... well, clean up time. If I'm not around, B is not so aware, and so there are accidents... which infuriates B and results in Elvis having his nose pushed into it and him being ejected from the room to the back yard. It's getting better though, and I think B is learning from my example the best ways to get Elvis to learn... and Elvis is learning not to mess with B... this is a good thing.
My Preshie is suffering through it too. She's 9 years old. Elvis is 9 weeks old. Preshie has no patience for a bouncy, jumpy, teething, wants to play all the time puppy. She yipes at him frequently. Elvis doesn't care. He sits on her when she's in her bed... she'll be snarling and yiping at him... reaching around her shoulder to nip at him... he's sitting on her with a nonchalant look on his face... practically yawning at her. He'll finally get off of her and begin a darting in and out type of attack with her... nipping at her cheek and darting away... biting her bottom, then darting away... he'll high-squeek bark at her several times, and then start over again. She's exasperated at him, and often sends me these pleading looks that say "mom... could you PuhLEEES get this pest off of me?", and then I pull Elvis away and let her have some peace. B thinks it's all great fun and laughs and laughs at Elvis's bullying... I think he identifies with it (from his wilder days).
I'm sure we'll all adjust in time, and Elvis will learn to sleep when we do and be awake when we are, just has Preshie learned to do. I believe that the more control Elvis learns the more time he'll get to spend with B... probably ending up being one of those dogs that ride around with it's owner all the time and makes the back of the pick-up his second home. At least I hope so... B needs that kind of love and adoration from something smaller than him and huggably fuzzy... I think everyone does. There's nothing quite like the unconditional love of an animal. No matter what you do, how much time you spend or don't spend with them, whether you feed them on time or not, whether you remember to get treats or not, no matter WHAT... an animal who loves you just does... no questions asked. It's a nice feeling.
14/12/2006 I'm Late - It's the Terrorist's FaultI only have a few minutes right now... I'm late, or rather, going to be late... as usual. Its something that just drives B crazy... he's the type of person who, aparently, when sober, can't stand being late... although I have to say that I remember even when he was drunk all the time he hated to be late... or rather, hated it when it was my fault we were late.
Uck!... Enough already. I had to get on for just a few minutes to tell you something.
There are two terrorists living in my house. One is named Simon and he's black and white, furry, walks on all fours, and is completely evil. You can see it in his eyes... when he looks at you with his eyes all squinched into slits and the greenish yellowish light shines out of them... his ears twitch and his tail rakes back and forth like an irritated and completely coniving snake.
The other is younger than Simon, has thick creamy white fur with light tan tips on his ears and in rings along his tail (which is so thick and long it reminds me of a possum's tail... I keep expecting to find him hanging from the chandelier by his tail one day) and his name is Earl. Earl is Simon's student in evil doing. Earl used to be calm and gentle and all he ever wanted was love and petting... now he's learned from Simon that there are other things a cat can do with his life.
Here is a list of the top 10 lessons being taught (and I know this because I've glimpsed the tiny lesson book that Simon hides under the couch in the living room... and Earl is spending a lot of time under there... he must be studying... well, that and tearing down the under-pinning of the couch).
(1) As soon as the people leave for work, or wherever they go to leave us alone for extended periods of time, we must sleep. This is to conserve our energy so that we can be awake all night while the people sleep.
(2) If our food bowl is empty, at any time, evilness is justified. Flipping the bowl upside down and moving it to the exact center of the kitchen floor is a start. Splashing all the water out of the water bowl and spreading it all accross the kitchen floor is also effective.
(3) Getting on top of anything with "stuff" on it and knocking it onto the floor will always get results... the people may yell at you, but they will check your food bowl and if it is empty will usually fill it.
(4) Dead mutilated bugs are effective too... but only if you leave them where the humans are sure to either see them, or step on them with bare feet. Again, there will probably be more yelling... actually screeching... mostly from the mom person, which usually results in the dad person laughing at the mom person, and then the checking of our food bowl.
(5) If the humans close a door, effectively not letting us in to the room where they are, throwing ones body against it repeatedly will almost always get a reaction... usually they will let us in just to get us to stop making noise.
(6) Locating the Chihuahua dog and doing a flying through the air maneuver where you land, just long enough to bonk her with your paw and then bounce away will cause the dog to YIIIPE loudly. This is also effective when trying to get the attention of the people.
(7) Any human body part that is hanging... off the couch or bed, or even a foot placed on the floor while the human is sitting in a chair is fair game. A running start is required however, and we must bite quickly and make a hasty exit in order to avoid the human's reflex action which, if not avoided, will usually result in our being catapulted some distance.
(8) Whether we've been fed or not, and whether we are stuffed beyond the ability to move well or not, any human in the house that has any kind of food is to be targeted and watched closely. If no tasty treats are offered, refer to #7 and/or #6 for your revenge.
(9) Once the humans retire for the evening and are snug in their beds attempting to fall asleep, it is our duty, as terroristic cats, to chase eachother around the house, banging into anything we happen to be near, yowling loudly when one of us catches the other. Allowing the humans to fall asleep without the irritating evening entertainment is forbidden.
(10) It is our sacred obligation to make sure we wake up our humans at least one time each night. It is a well known fact that humans function better during the day, and there are less chances of them forgetting us or ignoring us if we wake them abruptly from their sleep in the middle of the night. We may use any means necessary to accomplish this goal, including, but not limited to #'s 3, 5, 6, 7 and 9.
Those are just the beginning... I'm sure there are more devious ones still to come... that is, if they live long enough to learn and practice them.
Although I love my little furry friends, and I'd do anything for them, I may have to separate them... bad associations and all that. Either that or I may have to have a kitty intervention, or send them to kitty boot camp or something. You know, like they do for wayward children on those tv shows... Maury and other "tell all" shows. Maybe I'll threaten it and see if they shape up first. I'll let you know. 23/09/2006 My Virtual PetI've adopted a virtual pet... he's really cute, and his name is Pipin the Penguin. You can click on the link if you want to feed him... you can adopt one of your own too.... there are plenty to choose from.
 Has everyone had trouble getting in to other spaces to comment? I have. I can get in to some, but others just let me read but won't let me leave a comment... a couple will let me write it, and then when I hit the button to post it, the screen freezes and either just stays there and never does anything, or it kicks me out of the space completely. What's up with that?
Well, I've got another apartment to paint (ick!), which, though I don't much like doing it anymore... I guess it's mostly because I'm not used to so much physical exercise all in one day... at least the money is not too bad... if I can get it done quickly enough. B and I went over there yesterday to tape it... has anyone used that really great blue painters tape? I discovered it the first time B and I decided to take on one of these paint jobs, and I won't use anything else ever again. It's wonderful! Goes on easy, tears easy, comes off easy... even if you have to leave it there for a few days, you can still get it off easily and it doesn't leave any marks or glue behind.
I've got some new "tools" too... yay! I don't have to tape the ceilings anymore because I have this great edger with a roller-wheel-guard thing so that I can just glide it over the walls at the top edge and the bottom edge and the rollie thingies keep it from actually touching ceiling or baseboards, so no paint gets where I don't want it... yippee! No more up the ladder to paint ceiling edges just as far as I can reach, then down the ladder to move it to the next spot... and then up the ladder to paint again... and down to move it a few more feet over.... sheesh! That not only takes a WHOLE lot longer, but it's murder on my low back and my feet.
I also have a handy dandy corner-er too... fits on the end of the paint pole so all I have to do is dip and glide that puppy over the inside corners of the walls, from floor to ceiling, again, without having to get up on a ladder to get the parts I can't reach by hand... it even swivels up and down so that the paint goes on from ceiling to base boards in an even coat... you have to go up and down a few times to make sure the paint is in the very inside of the corner, but it's still tons easier... I'm just so dang lucky! :)
I think B may be starting to get a little... ummm... well, not thrilled, about me not having to get up at the crack of dawn every morning for my job... as he often has to do for his. I want to feel badly about this, but heck, I've paid my dues. I spend every year since I was 18 years old working a 9 to 5 (which normally was an 8 to 6, realistically) and dealing with bosses and office politics. Finally I've got an "easier" (in some ways) job, and I'm proud that I'm good at what I do.
He's spent most of his life being intoxicated and barely holding on to a job, and then when he had a good one he'd end up in jail or so plastered for an extended period of time that he'd lose it... how does he expect to have any kind of position where he doesn't have to work regular hours or do manual labor? I've often suggested he go back to school part time and get some kind of certification in something easier... heck, he could be a surveyor, or go to school for computer whatevers... there's stuff out there. He doesn't want to, so what am I supposed to do... get a job I'll hate because I have to have regular hours and get up early every morning? Besides, the job he's on now is getting better all the time... he's gotten two raises and he's being given more "supervisory" responsibility, which means it looks like he's going to get ANOTHER raise and work less hours, but still make decent money because they're giving him bonuses now on jobs he gets done quickly or that are bid high enough.
The job I have has many draw-backs... I have to stop whatever it is I'm doing if the phone rings in order to answer and talk to whoever it is that needs information or help getting someone out of jail... if they do need me to get someone out of jail I have to drop whatever it is that I'm doing, or leave where ever it is that I am, or wake up and get out of bed, and go to the office and do the job. I do this 24 hours a day, five days a week (used to be 7 but I have 2 days off now).
Other draw backs are that I don't always make really great money for this... because not only do I do that, but I also do all the forms and letters, all the filing, all the court appearances, dealing with attorneys, district attorneys, solicitors, judges, detention center personnel, deputies and police officers, I do the skip-tracing of those who don't show up in court, I do the reports for the office, and I clean the office too.
I don't have any benefits, other than that they pay me for one week's vacation per year... and I've been there for 8 years now, so that's not much either. They don't take taxes out for me as I'm considered an "independent contractor"... just so they don't have to take out taxes.... by the definition of the IRS, however, I'm actually an employee... though I don't say or do anything about that because... well, because I like the GOOD stuff about this job.
The good stuff is... I don't have to be supervised all the time... no one is over my shoulder constantly, and the office is basically "mine"... the owners are rarely there... mostly just to empty the safe and ask me a few questions. I can take off for several days (without pay) whenever I need to... they gripe about it, and I have to give them a little notice, but I don't lose my job. I don't have regular hours either, and I'm not "required" strictly to have to spend time in the office... not for specific amounts of time. When I need to do something or write a bond, then I have to be there... otherwise I don't, and I still get paid my weekly "salary"... it's called commission for technical reasons, but I get a set amount each week, whether I write a bond or not, and then I get additional bonus money after I bring in a certain amount of money each week (meet my "quota", basically). During busy times that bonus can really add up, but when it's slow I can barely make the bills on my salary "commission".
I think the worst part of this job is that because I'm left to my own devices most of the time, whenever something goes "wrong", whether I'm part of it or responsible or not, I'm the one that gets blamed... although I have no real "power" there to make any decisions of any kind... I even have to call one of my bosses to get ANY bond approved before I write it. I used to be able to write bonds up to $10,000.00 without prior approval... then it got lowered to $5,000.00, and now it's ANY bond. I think that's because the bosses spend so little time there that it's the only way they can keep track of what's being done. I rarely get told I can't write something that I've called them on... I weed out the bad ones and only call on the ones I know are good and worth writing anyway.
Well, I've got to get going... should have left already. Have a lovely day, and happy blogging! 19/07/2006 EarlI've mentioned my baby kitty, Earl, before, but he's starting to become a real fixture and member of my kooky family, and I thought I'd give him a little time on my blog and share his loonacy.
Earl, according to the vet, who is the most wonderful vet anyone could ever have by the way, is part Siamese... as is aparently evidenced by the brownish tint to his ears, under his eyes, and his brown striped tail. The rest of him is white... not stark, but very white. He's very beautiful and his lovely sky blue eyes are very expressive.
I have had affectionate cats before, but Earl definitely takes the cake in the loving department. He greets me at the door when I come home from work, or where ever I may happen to have been. I talk to him, and call his name, and he knows... he's very in tune to my moods.
Picking him up is like picking up a limp noodle... he just let's go... his whole body goes limp and he's just dangling from my hand... his head lolled to one side, legs just draped... from floor to my body. Then I hold him close and his eyes get squinty as he immediately begins to purr.
Not just a normal kitty purr either... he makes an art of it. His purrs grow in strength and begin to almost pulse as he gets petted... there's a kind of extreme satisfaction that you can literally feel coming from him. His purrs accent his movements also.
Earl is an active participant in his getting loves. I'll pet down his back and he pushes up against my hand... I'll pet his side and he butts his head against my body and then lays himself along me. I pet him on the head and he raises his head up and slides his face along my nose (marking me I suppose)... each action accented by a louder and more forceful purr. He'll settle down against my chest, his little head under my chin, and one paw layed against me, in a kind of "hugging you mom and don't you dare go anywhere" move.
Once Earl has had his dinner, he becomes the pin ball kitty. He will bounce off every piece of furniture, window ledge, table or chair leg, etc in his quest to expend energy. During this time he can seriously get on our nerves... between his bouncing he will get hold of whatever toy he can find and begin batting it around the floor... slamming it against the walls and under things, and then frantically trying to squish some part of himself under whatever is hiding his toy so that he can retrieve it. There have been times when he just can't seem to get it by himself, and he has no difficulty trying to get me or B to assist him in his toy retrieval. He will meow loudly... jump up on to us... try to get us to follow him to the hiding place... whatever it takes.
B has become his buddy, and at the same time, his corrector. I bought a water gun the other day and gave it to B so that he could shoot Earl whenever he tried to tear up my furniture. B is overjoyed. He now has a new past-time... hunting Earl. Don't feel too badly for Earl though... I think he does things purposely to get shot.
For an example... this morning B was out on the front porch with Precious, the Chihuahua, checking out the neighbors across the street... they were getting their Direct TV hooked up, and the guy doing it was a bit comical to watch. B left the front door open, and Earl, who is actually a house kitty, and I want to keep him that way, was curious. As far as B was concerned, this was a wonderful opportunity to "get Earl" with the water gun. B comes back inside and sits at the breakfast bar, armed with his pistol... and he leaves the front door open. I'm watching all this with amusement and interest.
Earl heads toward the door. His nose is twitching in the air, his manner stealthy and stalking. He reaches the patch of sunlight laying at the front of the door and thoroughly inspects it as if it were something living... B is ready with his pistol... watching intently with an anticipatory grin on his face. Earl takes a few tentative steps into the sunlight and toward the open door... B is still waiting and ready. Earl gets close enough to the threshhold to warrant getting water-shot and B lets loose. Earl is surprised. He hops STRAIGHT UP in the air...all four feet must have launched him... he does a half twist turn in mid air and bolts under the lounge seat's ottoman. B is delighted. This is FUN.
One would think this was enough... both for B, and for Earl. Nope. Earl begins again... and B stays put, watching and waiting... again. Earl goes closer to the door, and he looks over his shoulder at B as if to say "ok... you won the last round... let's see who's quicker this time". It's as if he's daring B to get him again. Earl doesn't pussy foot around this time... he gets about 5 feet from the doorway and DARTS forward... all his kitty energy in force... determination on his face... he just KNOWS he's quicker than B could ever be. Ummmm.... he's underestimated B. Quicker than you could blink an eye, B has shot Earl, in motion, at least three times before Earl can reach the door way... so of course... Earl does a half hop, half twist, half flip and is headed under the lounge chair ottoman again. B is once again delighted.
Earl has some kind of super power. While in the air, doing his half twists and turns and flips he somehow gets leverage off of the AIR... he not only doesn't have to land to change position, but he doesn't have to land to launch himself in whatever direction he decides to take. Seriously. WHILE in the air he literally shoots off in whatever direction, getting a very strong and FAST head start to his destination. It's the oddest thing I've ever seen a cat do.
Our other son, the eldest cat of the family at this time, Simon, has not been home in two days. I'm a bit worried, and Earl is just frantic. I know that Simon has gone missing two or three days at a time before, and he comes home with an attitude... "feed me NOW, and don't bother asking where I've been... it's MY business, and I don't feel like sharing". Simon loves to hunt, and he loves to spend time outside.
Since Earl got here though, we've seen another side to Simon. He thinks he's part mom. Truly. He grooms Earl whenever he gets the chance... holding him down with one paw while cleaning him all over. Earl sits still for this for as long as he can, and then he complains loudly and wriggles himself loose so he can be pin ball kitty again. Simon sometimes will let him go, but more often than not he chases Earl down and body slams him wherever he finds him...holding him down again while he alternately cleans and then bites Earl. I think the bites are a warning system... as if to say "I'm in charge and I say it's time for a bath... and in case you get any other ideas... CHOMP... that's what you'll get if you try to leave again". Of course, Earl is young, and rebellious... he takes off again and has to be body slammed again.
Sometimes Simon will be sleeping... just minding his own business and deep in relaxation mode. Earl doesn't think Simon needs sleep... after all, he doesn't need much. So Earl will pause in his bouncing off the walls to pounce on Simon... biting his ears and his face... grabbing his tummy with both front paws while he bunny-rabbit kicks Simon in the face with his back paws. Simon will only take so much of that before he wraps his own paws completely around Earls body and hugs him close... and then proceeds to do his own biting and bunny kicking... Earl doesn't like that part. He starts to meowling loudly... Errrooowwwww.... maaaaooooooowwwww.... after a few minutes of this (which I figure Earl has earned all on his own) I tell Simon to let him go, which only works about 50% of the time, but usually distracts him enough for Earl to get away.
Well, my day must start, and Earl is actually in "down mode"... curled up on the comforter on the floor in "his room"... well, we share the room... me with my computer set up, and him with his bed and kitty litter set up... it works well actually.
I hope Simon comes home today. Not just because I wouldn't want anything to have happened to him, but also because Earl really misses him. I think Earl is convinced that I've somehow done something with Simon... he gives me these squinty eyed sort of summing me up looks whenever I go outside... as if he's wondering if I'll find Simon THIS time. 4/05/2006 SimonI have a cat... (just saying it that way makes the "I have a dream" phrase pop into my head... but it doesn't really apply here, my cat is NOT a dream, nor is he having any difficulties with racial issues... that I know of).
I say that "I" have a cat because the cat lives in and around my house, but actually the cat, whose name is Simon, belongs technically to my hubby. Ok, a little bit of background here first, so you understand Simon better.
My hubby, who I call "B" grew up all his life in Georgia... North Georgia actually, and so is VERY southern. He thinks because he was raised all his life in a city... ummm, this city has only in the last 10 years more than quadrupled in size, and it's population right now is under 200,000... ok, a CITY... yeah. So, while I see him as growing up in the mountains of Ga... or at best a small town in N. Ga, he argues the point. Oh-tay butweet!
Although he grew up so close to nature, he never had a pet. Never. No dog, cat, hamster, gerbil... zip....zero....nada. Soooooo, he'd never bonded with anything helpless, warm and fuzzy, that gives unconditional love. Never realized that pets are animals, not people (no matter what attributes they seem to copy making them SEEM human) and have different rules and behavioral patterns... never realized how attached he could become to a pet. Until he met me. Not that I'm a helpless, warm and fuzzy animal that gives unconditional love.... uhhhh, well, ok, maybe I am, but in a much different way... that's beside the point, and another story entirely.
Shortly after my hubby and I got together... a little over a year ago now, we went to visit a mutual friend. This friend is raising two girls on his own, and we check in on him and the kids from time to time. As you can imagine, with two girls, there are always interesting projects afoot. This visit was unique in that we were taken out to the rear of their home to peek under the back deck where we saw several cats. The girls said to wait quietly for a minute so we stood there as requested. Slowly creeping, barely able to wobble-walk, sneaking out from below was a tiny... very tiny, scrawny, almost dead looking kitten. His fur was matted and dirty, stuck to his body by red clay mud, his face was so dirty you couldn't hardly tell that he is snow white with dark black patches... his tiny paws touched down gingerly with each step... cautiously... and he struggled up the shallow steps to the deck, one at a time, pulling himself up by his claws... where he began to mew pittifully. He was hungry, and the only food out there were hard cat food nuggies he couldn't crunch yet.
My heart broke immediately. I began to creep up on the kitty, and B (just my boyfriend at the time) looked on with a look of apprehension and wariness on his face. I convinced my friend to put out a saucer of milk and the kitten just about took a nose dive into it. His little nose was breathing milk bubbles and his chin was dripping it. He lapped up as much as he could as fast as he could, so weak that every so often he fell face first into the milk. I waited until I could see his tummy bulging out of his sides, and he had started backing away reluctantly... you could see the hesitation, you could almost see him thinking... "Will this go away? If I go take a nap will it be here when I get back? How can I make sure it is?" He kind of looked around, spotting me finally (I think he was so weak before that he really didn't take much note of what was around him). Before he could make a run for it (not that he was strong enough to do so despite his recent milk bath) I snatched him up in my hands.
My hubby said "NOOOO Edie... look at him... he's filthy... you don't know what he's got"... which I ignored after giving him a look that I hope conveyed how silly I thought he was being. I held the kitty to my chest... who cared about the dirt? He mewled a bit.... but I think he knew right away that I was ok because he snuggled up to my chest, and actually burrowed between my breasts (ok... HE did it... not me... and he was just a baby and he was just feeling my heartbeat and being comforted by it) and he fell right asleep. In fact, even after I pulled him away from me, to examine him better... this is when I found out he was a HE... he still slept. I turned him over in my hands... he slept. I checked out his tiny little frame, to see if he had ticks or anything, and found so many fleas that I could barely see past them... he still slept.
We got ready to go home, B complaining that we didn't need any more animals (I only had 2 chihuahua's at the time) but I refused to set the kitty down... he was coming home with me, no matter what anyone said. At the insistence of my hubby however, I agreed to give this tiny baby kitty to my mom, who had just recently lost her cat Squeeky.
Our friend told the kitty's story before we left. This tiny kitty was the only one left out of five kittens born to one of his cats. They were all abandoned by the mother to fend for themselves, and all had died of starvation... except this determined little guy.
I was driving, so of course I thrust the matted kitty at B and told him to hold it. He looked at me with disgust, but after a short time he stopped holding the kitten in his hands away from his body as if he thought it was going to infect him, and ended up cradling it to his chest. He stayed in the car, gingerly petting the kitten on the head with one finger while I went into the store to get soft kitten food and flea soap. I think he fell in love right then.
I had to bathe the kitty three times before I felt enough of the fleas were off of him that they wouldn't kill him. I mushed up the soft food and mixed milk in with it and put it into the dropper I had and fed him. We then took kitten and food and a little bed I'd made in a box over to my moms (her apartment is attached to my house... when I constructed the house I'd made it so she could have her own place, separate from mine... independent). Mom didn't want another cat yet... she didn't feel ready, but after seeing this tiny kitten she said she'd keep him a couple of days and then decide. I kindof pushed the issue, saying that I wasn't home enough to properly care for him... I felt she needed companionship whether she realized it or not.
After a couple of days, during which time mom named him Simon, she decided she couldn't take care of him properly as she wasn't feeling well herself, and she asked me to find him a home. Well, B decided he wanted him right then and there. He had "babysitted" Simon for mom once, and during that time Simon had already worked his way into my hubby's heart... he had played with him already, and he admired Simon's spunk.
Simon, at such an early age, was fearless. He would charge at you, bite you whenever he had the chance... and not knowing how sharp his little teeth were nor having developed any control yet, he bit HARD. This was something B understood. He made excuses for Simon. We had to understand... Simon had barely survived... Simon was used to being hungry so was naturally ALWAYS ravenous (my hubby fed him about 5 times a day). I'd try to explain that you have to start training a cat from the time it's a kitten... nope.
I wasn't allowed to correct Simon... I couldn't yell at him... not even when he ate my two tiny indoor rose plants... not even when he jumped and pulled down my phyllidendrum scattering leaves and dirt everywhere... I couldn't yell or correct him when he'd find his way onto the coffee table or the bedside table and steal any pen or lighter he could find and hide them under the bed or the couches. I wasn't allowed to reprimand Simon when, as he got a little bigger and a whole lot sturdier, he would climb my sheer curtains, or when he would leap from whatever vantage point he'd attained, all four paws with nails out, onto my back where he would cling until I could contortionize myself to finally get a hold of him and pry him off.
As Simon got older he began to get even cockier.... this did not phase B who admired his energy and his "balls". He would play with Simon... chasing him around the house, and then settling down on the couch to watch as Simon became "pinball kitty". He would litterally bounce off of everything in the house... jump off the bed and bounce off the chest at the bottom of the bed... bounce through the doorway... high speed trumpling to the love seat in the lounge... bounce off of the side of it to land between it and the ottoman... under the ottoman to zig zag to the window where he would batt at the blinds and their string... bound to the floor for another full throttle rush at the kitchen... take a nuggie of food... bound to the dining room table where he bounced of the legs of EVERY chair under the table... skid away from there through the archway to the living room... under the couches where you could hear him bumping and banging for a few minutes (no doubt re-arranging his collection of pens, lighters, used dryer sheets, bottle caps, cat nip pillows, small toy mice and whatever else he secreted away)... and then back out to find whatever leg of whichever human was closest so that he could quick as lightning wrap himself around with all feet... take a nip of the ankle... and then POOF... be gone again. If I would dare to try to arrest this frenzied insanity Simon would give me an evil look that said... "go ahead and try it lady... my daddy will set you straight".
I got him back though. My hubby took a trip that kept him away from home for about a month when Simon was about 8 months old. I took Simon to the vet. Yup... had him snipped... against the wishes of my hubby who felt that would be cruel. I felt it would be crueler to have a tom cat running wild in our neighborhood making kittens everywhere that we were not prepared to take care of. I also thought that it might calm Simon down a little. He was still a little terror and would "attack bite" whenever he had the chance. I think he felt that got him attention... My hubby said he only bit if he was hungry or wanted to go outside... I was not of the same opinion as Simon bit ME whenever he thought he could get away with it.
The long and short of it is that now, Simon is about a year old, and he's finally settling down. B says I ruined him by getting him snipped... then he brags about how tough Simon is, coming home from a long nights cat fight with battle scars on him and bumps on his head. Simon will let us know he's decided to come home by hanging from his nails off the window ledge in our front door, mewing for us to let him in so he can eat. Now, instead of being a "pin ball kitty", he eats and goes into the computer room (HIS room according to my hubby) and settles down to sleep.
Although he's settled down a bit, there are still the signs of the rebel kitty in him. He'll lie in wait for my Chihuahua to pass him and then pull a "bat kitty" move on her by standing on his hind legs fully reaching up with his front paws outstretched, a wild look in his eyes... then leap at her, wrapping his legs around her and biting her on the face, ear, or neck... then appearing to fly away from her after she yelps... all this happens in the blink of an eye. She gets him back though. If he has the temerity to leap up onto the bed (where she sleeps with me and B) she jumps up barking and charges at him... I think he knows that's her territory because he will usually give her a haughty look over his shoulder while he jumps off the bed and leaves the room... slowly walking away with his tail held high... practically prancing out the door as if to say "I don't need your bed anyway, I have my OWN room".
He will actually allow us to pet him now... only for as long as HE decides, and he's very particular where, and how we pet him. It must be his face... not much on the ears or the body unless he's feeling especially mushy or needs mothering after an especially rough night out in the wilds of our neighborhood. He likes us to litteraly hold and smush his face... not sure where that came from, but he will forcefully slam his face into my hand from underneath... I try to pet him on his head... nope... face slams into my palm again... so I smush his face, rubbing his nose and the sides of his cheeks and under his chin... my whole hand engulfing his head the whole time... that's what he wants. I run my hand down his back... he growls (like a dog), bites me, and then slams his face into my palm again. Seriously odd cat.
Like I said... I have a cat. His name is Simon, and he is truly my hubbys "son". I could not have imagined an animal taking on so many of the attitudes and traits of my hubby, but Simon has done a really amazing job. The stubborn, quick, hardy, determined, loves to fight, rabble rousing, bad boy around town, coniving, sees all, gets his way all the time cat is a carbon copy of his "dad" in those respects. All Simon lacks now is a love of beer to be exactly like his "dad"... I'm sure he's working on it. 24/04/2006 My PreciousI think I've mentioned before that I have a chihuahua named Precious. She is a full sized Chihuahua... not a toy or teacup version. She is reddish brown in color, short haired... with big beautiful deep brown eyes... NOT bugging out of her head either, but normal in her little face. Her face is starting to show a little bit of age as her hair around her eyes and nose is getting white. She is extremely expressive and you can almost always tell how she's feeling or what she's thinking by just looking at her. She raises her eyebrows... tweaks her ears, actually smiles (for real) or frowns, and is not shy about letting you know how she feels or what she wants at any given time. This June 16th she will be 8 years old, which, from what I've been told, is about half life for a chihuahua. Unfortunately, her doctor has said that due to her heart murmur, and her being overweight, I can't expect her to live as long.
I've weighed this information against the "what can I do to prolong her life" information... ie... starve her so she can loose weight and live longer. I've discussed it with her as well, and she is firmly AGAINST it... food to her is paradise... people food that is. Who am I to deprive her of it? I don't leave mounds of it around for her, but treat her to nibbles of whatever I'm eating.
I've tried to deny her, but she gets in a huff... she'll actually snort at me... turn her back to me and walk away... eventually lying down in the nearest pile of dirty clothes or on the nearest rug or one of her big fluffy toys, with her back to me. If I call her name insistently enough she'll pick up her head, look over her shoulder at me sideways, kind of shrug me off, and turn around again laying her head down.
I can't take the role of her mommy much anymore, after all, she's older than I am in doggy years... and I can attest to the fact that she is definitely wiser. She knows her limitations... ie she won't keep running no matter what the incentive if her leg is hurting... she'll just mosey along and still get where she's going; she knows for sure that she does NOT want Simon the cat in bed with us if he's going to get any attention whatsoever, and no matter what you say to her she'll shoo him away; she will NOT go away when you're annoyed at the attention she is demanding at a time when you're deeply involved with something else if she needs one of three things... water, to go outside, or time to go to bed (and of course she KNOWs when it's actually time to go to bed... for both of us, and will insist until I too am fully aware that I've stayed up way past my own bed time).
She has been my constant companion since the day my ex-husband put her in my hand... she was no bigger than a pack of cigarettes. I would take her everywhere with me. I would place a wash cloth in my purse and wrap her in it. She would just lay in there (top open of course)... hidden from view... not making a sound (though she is extremely verbal now) and I would take her into restaurants with me, into shopping malls and grocery stores... everywhere I went she went. When she started getting too big to stay hidden, and I was told I "couldn't bring my dog in here" too many times I created a bed for her in a basket in the back seat of my car.
It doesn't matter how cold or hot it is outside... she begs to come with me. If I'm trying to be considerate of her, knowing I'm going to be running around a lot on a very hot day and not wanting her to suffer in the heat of the car (though I always make sure she has water and I leave the windows down for cross ventilation), and I leave her at home, I later suffer the consequences of her broken heart and her feeling rejected and unloved... she makes sure to tell me all about it as I walk in the door... and of course I apologise profusely... she always forgives me... always.
If she's in the mood to play she will bring me one of her many stuffed toys, her favorites being those with a "squeeky" inside them. She chooses carefully, and often times quite eerily, she chooses one that is somehow appropriate for either the time of year or the person she wants to play with (ie... she chose to play with her nutcracker doll and the teddy bear with santa hat on almost exclusively through Christmas; whenever she wants my husband... her "daddy" to play with her she chooses one of two stuffed birds he himself bought and gave to her some time ago; when my Aunt visits she offers up either of the small stuffed kitty cat toys that my Aunt gave her... etc). Yet, by the same token, if I am in the mood to play with her I can request a certain toy, and she will almost always get the right one and bring it to me... such as "bring me your ball" or "bring me your baby" (a specific bear w/squeeky) or "where's the squeeky?" and she'll always bring one that HAS a squeeky in it.
My Precious has seen me through a very rocky marriage... an absolutely horrendous divorce... lots of self pity parties and moments of insanity over the years. She was my friend when I was all alone, and remains my friend no matter who else is in my life or demanding my time. Thank goodness I have a job where I can bring her with me every day. She is sympathetic with her big brown doe eyes staring at me... slightly watery when she knows I'm in emotional pain. She is happy with me when I'm happy... her eyes bright and sparkling... and an actual upturned smile on her face. She stays close to me if I'm physically in pain, curling herself around or laying against whichever part of me that hurts... her warmth and the slight pressure of her weight against me bringing me solace and comfort... actually making it "better".
We have together weathered the loss of two of her children... they looked so much alike they could have been twins... OH... I guess they were as they were born on the same day... hmmmm. Her son Samson was killed by a nasty neighbor shooting him twice... the second bullet shattering his kidney and resulting in his being just too weak to survive the surgery. Her littlest daughter Cossette dying about a year ago due to a car speeding around the curve and hitting her at the bottom of our driveway. That was a particularly difficult time for us both as Cossette was the most loving, mushy, trusting, bold, thought she was a rottweiler, tiny little chihuahua that ever lived.
I know at some point in the future I will have to be without her... there will come a time when my little overweight but happy go lucky friend will leave me. I cry now just thinking about it. I expect at that time to have to be checked in somewhere where I'll rock back and forth in abject misery, crying for her... missing her and her special brand of love. I know there are humans in my life who will want to help me "get over it"... but how can they?
I wonder... is it wrong to become so attached to an animal? I can't believe it is, but at the same time, I wonder if it's very healthy. I don't have any children, so my animals have been my children. Corny, but true. I see her as more "human" than many people I've known in my life... and certainly more loyal. I'd dare to say, even more intelligent than some... at least in her ability to react to and respond to my ever changing moods.
Precious is my buddy, my child, my comfort and my friend. I'll adopt Scarlett O'Hara's approach to the day she may not be with me anymore... I can't think about that now... I'll think about it tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is another day. |
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