Random Babble-0-tron

So, for those of you that have spouses on the road, be warned. My husband works out on oil rigs, and apparently he's exposed to influenza strains that are not Strain of the Year in the flu shots. Cough. Hack. Wheeze. Whimper.

Despite the cold, my dog is out in the backyard trying to herd squirrels. You can't tell a Corgi that squirrels aren't herdable. She just won't listen.

First thunderstorm of the year last night, so spring in Tornado Alley looks to be a real doozy. Felimid is usually oblivious to thunder, but last night, he crawled up into my arms and whimpered. It was LOUD.

The new kitten is fitting in well -- perhaps too well. Last night, he even had my anti-social Siamese playing tag with him around the house. When all four of the boys got going, I considered locking myself in the bathroom. That's a LOT of feline weight for them to throw around, since Oz is a huge huge cat, and Felimid is Jabba the Butt. Everyone but the crotchety "Scrappy Squirrel" Manx plays with him -- and she hates everybody. Cranky old girl.

I know, I know, another post from me without pictures? I'll fix that.


Tag swap at Scrapbook.com. The collar tags on the central cats are done in shrink plastic (and have a cat face on them, natch). The additional faces added are cut from a large cat collage stamp, and attached with foam strips.

More tag swap stuff. I need to get pictures of the last two sets.

Any "No Reservations" fans out there? I adore Anthony Bourdain (perhaps it could be called an obsession, after all, I own all his books, including the Mafia fiction), and he's way too entertaining on TV.

Last night, however, the show was rather emotional. Tony visited New Orleans, discussing the aftermath of Katrina. The only other show that had been this tense before was the Beirut episode. Even seeing Tony finally sit down to talk to Emeril, who has been the butt of SO many of Tony's jokes, wasn't as entertainingly fun as expected. Very serious show, but worth a watch.

Dog:2 Human: 0

So, I took Zoe with me for gas. While I was paying ... that little stinker climbed into MY seat and was HONKING THE HORN at me.

The cashier absolutely LOST it when he looked out at the noise ... and saw a DOG in the driver's seat honking the horn.

You know the rule: Once is an accident. Twice is a coincidence. Third is deliberate. FOUR TIMES she honked at me to hurry up. Oy!!

The guilty barker ...

And our Sonic drive-in is The Awesomeness. We went there after playing on the Pet Playground by the gas station (it's REALLY neat, has a bunch of pet-washing stalls with lots of options, like even skunk stink removal, and is set up specifically to wash pets, plus two HUGE playgrounds, one for small dogs, one for larger dogs, set up like obstacle courses with a big old-style handpump and water bowl. Very neat), and the server brought out a packed MilkBone with Zoe's cup of water. Neato!

Look at those pathetically sad hound-dog eyes!

I swear, I LOVE taking this dog places. Because of her mix (Half Corgi, half Blue Heeler), she CONSTANTLY gets comments, and the staff at all the local pet stores just flip out over her.

Dog:1 Humans: 0

Had to go to the store to get more stuff for the party this afternoon (teenagers, eeesh, bottomless pits). As I start getting out of the car, my cellphone rings from home.

"Mom, can I give the dog a bath? She's GROUNDED!"

Oh lord. "What did she do this time?"

"Well, there's this hole that she and Nugget (the dog next door) have been digging in, and now she's all muddy after going through the hole into their yard and JUMPING INTO THEIR SWIMMING POOL!"

Yes, my Houdini Corgi got into the yard next door to go swimming.

It took both kids to give her a bath, and EVERYTHING in the house is currently damp and smelling of wet dog.

She's exceptionally proud of herself.

Oy.

I HAD to call the DH after I got off the phone with the kids to giggle the story to him.

Went to the neighbors once they got home to let them know about the swimming, and the hole in the fence. THEY thought it was funny, and couldn't believe Zoe managed to get through that hole. Stubborn little Houdini girl.

She was less thrilled with me putting her in the car afterward and taking her to the Mobile Vet at the feed store for shots and tags. -I- was thrilled that everything they did only cost me 70 bucks, where it's 100 just to walk in the door of my regular vet, without shots, tests, and meds.

New Addition

Gratuitous Pet Pic --
Our latest addition to the [s]zoo[/s] family:
ZOE

This is Zoe, the newest member of our household. They THINK she's about two years old or so, but they're not sure. She was a rescue dog, and was really scrawny when they got her. She had some weight back when the husband found her through the rescue group. Of course, we immediately had to toss her into a tub to deal with the fleas and ticks that were making the poor baby suffer.

Zoe is a Corgi/Blue Heeler mix. You can't tell in this shot, but she's got a lovely pure black saddle over her back, and she's got quite a curled fluffy fail.

She's an angel. A loving sweetheart. A few loyal and loving and DETERMINED sweetheart. The cats aren't so sure about all this. Now, they're reacting better to her than they did to us bringing our last cat into the house for the first time. They all went hostile on Largo, and stayed that way for some time. With Zoe, they only seem to hiss and get defensive and make warning noises if she gets into their faces. Doesn't stop Zoe from trying to give the kitties baths anyway. She really seems to love the kitties, hell, she loves anyone that will pay attention to her, and when the cats give her the "hiss off" routine, her ears droop and she gets puppy eyes and WHINES, looking to me like I can explain to her why kitty doesn't want to snuggle.

She's always following one of us. Usually, it's Thing 2, who has decided Zoe is HER dog. But really, anyone wanders off, and Zoe goes to find them. Anyone on the constant move, Zoe is right there at their side.

Once the cats adjust, I'm going to have to sleep in my chair -- there won't be enough room for me on the bed with everyone snuggled around the dog playing protector. Sigh. At least my chair is comfortable.

Still can't sleep right.

Got the phone call this morning from the animal hospital. Zam's ashes are ready for us to pick up. Sigh.

I still keep looking for him, expecting him to be there. It hasn't entirely registered that he's gone and not coming back, but there's a big empty space, not just in the house, but inside me.

I'm not the only one. Ozymandius is having serious issues. Zamboni was his play partner. Felimid is too fat and lazy to play chase, and Harley just runs and hides. Now he chases the Things around the house when they're wearing skirts or anything that dangles. I'm going to have to buy some new toys to entertain him.

Now, when -anyone- leaves the house, Ozzy sits and HOWLS. I went through the grief-stricken kitty hysterics three times this morning, when DG left, and when each of the Things left for school. Add this to my inability to sleep, then the phone call, and getting back to sleep was right out.

Ozzy just started the mournful howling again. Thing 2 left to go to a friend's house.

He's become Velcro cat. Follows us around the house, pounces immediately, Must Have Lovings Now. Poor Oz has become completely neurotic and paranoid with Zam gone.

Double sigh. We just got a sympathy card in the snail mail from the animal hospital. They did good by Zam, and the card is just another example of how well they try to treat both the pets and the people that love them.

Is it September yet? I think I've had enough of August already.

Goodbye, my friend

Stick a fucking fork in me, I'm done.

Zamboni went from his normal loving Maine Coon self to hiding. One night, he was normal kitty. Next day, after not seeing him all day, I hunted him down to find him hiding under Thing 2's dresser. He was yellow. Skin, eyes, mouth. Overfuckingnight. Don't ask me to spell the hepatic whatever.

We took him to the vet immediately. He'd been there since Thursday, I think. This last week has blurred with everything else going on. He wouldn't eat at all, he was on an IV, they were having to force feed him. He wasn't improving, but he was at least stable.

Until today. When DG went in to see him, he was just laying there and drooling. DG knew something was really wrong when they took him straight to a room instead of to Zam's cage.

I know DG made the right decision in having the vet go ahead and put him down. Zam was suffering, and the vet thinks there may have been a cancer involved, or some other problem they hadn't found yet, because this sort of mass liver failure usually attacks older cats.

What sends me into total hysterics is that DG didn't come home and get me first. I didn't get to say goodbye. I'm mad, I'm furious, I'm hysterical. This was MY cat. I know that he didn't want me to go through it again after Blackthorne, but dammit....











The vet will send his ashes home to us. I need to find the perfect container. If anyone has any ideas, please help, because right now I can't think straight at all.

It's Texas, y'all ...

... and even the freakin cats are armed.



Felines are clean beasts, and they even know to keep their hardware cleaned properly as well.



Nothing like a nice long catnap after a day huntin them damn dawgs! Them Maine Coons don't tolerate none of them strays a'trespassin on their turf.

CAT for sale

I'm not sure whether I should laugh, or gross out.

Zamboni moved slowly out into the living room, and hunched in the position that indicates that either A) the carpet is looking at him funny, or B) he's about to yark.

Another turn, and he saw me looking at him.

He turned a little again, looked up, and yes, I was still looking at him.

He gave me the Evil Cat Eye, the one that says "I hope you're a mouse in your next life so I can eat you, bitch."

AND HE TURNED HIS BACK ON ME so I couldn't watch him throw up.

DG, your cat is SO weird.

Of course, now someone needs to clean the hot cat barf off the carpet.

Meowowowowowow

Ever hear a Maine Coon complain?

They do it so well. And loudly.

Siamese have a thing about the weird voice as well. The two breeds have relatively distinctive sounds.

Zam walked over towards the door, cocked his head. Looked confused.

Turned around.

"MREOOOW? Mroooooooooow. Mrow. MREEEEOOOOOOOOW."

Walked around a bit more. Stopped and MREOOOW?d at the floor.

Then at the ceiling.

The Mother Ship has been trying to communicate again, only, Zamboni seems to have his wires crossed.

I want a salad. A big Olive Garden salad.

Sigh.

Why is Harley sitting on the table, staring at me?

Or is she staring at the scary thing only cats can see that's lurking behind me, waiting to ...

Uh. Harley? You can stop that now.

But it looks so CUTE ... so long as you don't look into her ... eyes.

Yeeeees maaaaaster ....

"Some Assembly Required"

DG has discovered words more horrifying than "Some Assembly Required."

"Made by Mattel."

Thing 2 wants her toy. DG sets out to accomodate the Thing.

Half an hour later, he's still trying to remove ... THE PACKAGING. I've seen less restraints in S&M clubs. This might even require power tools.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Zamboni is in cardboard heaven. Boxes! Everywhere! Oh bliss! He has snurfled and flopped and writhed in them all, even the ones that are impossibly too small for him to do it.

Zamboni is a fruitcake. With nuts.

I'm getting "swish and flick"ed by Thing 1.

Thing 2 is trying to make me walk the plank. Aaargh, Matey!

Harley has gotten distracted from her mousey by DG's Eddie the Eagle. She keeps tryin to steal the puck, eh?

Felimid, having grown tired of trying to set the new land speed record, has settled into a perch of dominance over the heathens below. Of course, getting there almost shattered the patio door, since his massive bulk sent the 5' tall cat tree a'rocking.

Oh god, the Things are eating more chocolate.

Oh god. I just discovered that Thing 1 knows most of the words to "15 Men on a Deadman's Chest." I do not want to know how or where she learned this.

No, Mommy does not want to walk the plank.

No, DG cannot come search my treasure chest.

No, Mommy is not going to explain that one to you.

Kids, cats, sack the wives...

Thing 1 leaves for school. Mommy is asleep. Thing 2 is asleep. DG left 15 minutes before she did, will be back after he finishes walking heathens across the street.

Thing 1 does not close the door entirely.

The wind is blowing, it is very cold.

When DG returns an hour later, the door is wide open.

Zamboni is missing.

The other two cats, being far more intelligent, realized that it was way too cold and wet to even consider a trip outside. They are in bed with me, where it's warm.

Through sheer luck, nothing other than the cat is missing.

DG leaves to search for stupid.

Almost an hour later, he's found ... peeking out from the porch next door, dry and cold, but safe. And sheepish. And whining.

Thing 1 will get a talking-to.

Zam is home.

But don't think this will change his mind about the next escape attempt.

---

Thing 2 walks out of their bedroom with a blue plastic steak knife in hand and a maniacal grin on her face.

Thing 2: "Wookit me, I the doctor an I gotta CUT KAIWEY OPEN to see whats wong wiff her!!"

Me: (knowing that Daddy and I both have had surgery and this is a semi-logical conclusion) "Honey, doctors don't always have to cut someone open to find out what's wrong."

Thing 2: "Good ones do! CUT CUT CUT! Kaiweeeeey, come heeeereee!"

Run, Thing 1, Run.

When Cats Err

Zamboni is a very large cat. Zamboni is a very large very FLUFFY Maine Coon cat.

Zamboni decided that while he was sniffing at the table, it would be fun to sit in Thing 2's forgotten waffle plate. Full of syrup.

Now we have to catch the Elusive CactusTailed CowCat, complete with bits of paper and string for camoflague, to either bathe or shave.

Important Notes:

Cats and syrup don't mix.
Thing 2 needs to be retrained.
Laughing your ass off with a sore throat is a Bad Idea.
Bathing a Coon is JPG worthy. Drowned rat, anyone?
Zam has a opossum tail under all that fur. Eeeeww.
Zam does not like baths.

WOW, can he yowl indignantly. Wow, he's loud. Wow, he's mournful.

He even has Harley and Flea seriously upset. Harley tried to come over and give him a consolation bath while I was holding and drying him. Poor kitten about gagged on the mouthful of fur. Zam doesn't particularly allow the other cats to groom him, so this was quite an experience.

All three are now hiding under my futon, plotting the demise of DG.

Painting With Cats

Using hot water to clean a metal-edged paintbrush means ... never having to feel the deep slices in your fingers until it's too late to realize you're being cut.

Ow.

I think I shall be writing a new list entitled: "How to Paint with the Assistance of Your Cats."


Get paint can ready. Find your work tray, and the can opener.

Steal can opener back from cat.

Open Can. Prepare to transfer paint.

Get cat out of paint can.

Get paint foot and nose prints off the furniture. Chase down and clean cat.

Pick up spilled gallon paint can. Find second cat.

And third cat.

Bathe. See instructions on how to bathe cat. Figure out how to get a gallon of paint out of a longhaired cat.

Shave cat.

Visit ER.

Tear out carpet that received the rest of the paint.

Get new paint, try again.

Have everything ready and in one place this time. Make sure opener is on a leash so cat can't steal it.

Open can, transfer paint.

Remove cat's paw from tray. Clean.

Get bandaids.

Finally get paint set up. Get chair.

Fight cats for chair.

Get new chair.

Start painting. Get cat out of paint tray.

Follow the trail of pawprints. Decide you didn't need carpet anyway, and the floor might as well be painted too.

Clean cat.

Return to painting. Pick three pounds of cat hair out of not-yet-dry paint.

Find cat. Clean. Get bandaids.

Decide to try a power system.

Shave cat, after scraping it off the ceiling.

Move.