Rocky auditions

We have a new member in our family, Rocky, an 11-month-old Chihuahua/Mini-Daschund mix.

The girls accepted him immediately.  Max and Angus, not so much.

This is how I imagine it would have gone if Max had been in charge of the decision of how to expand the family.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ruminations on futility

Futility - when you spend $15 in Canadian Tire for a fancy cat scratching contraption

and you set it up next to the chair that the cats like to scratch, in order to entice them into scratching something other than the chair (classic transference theory)

and the cats totally ignore it for three days and then start to use it -- to stand on to give them a better vantage point for shredding the chair.

It's hard being the less intelligent species in the house.

Angus update, and how not to take two cats to the vet's

Well it's been a year since we welcomed Angus inside and out of his life as a wild kitten living by his wits. That tiny, scared, kitten has morphed into a large, skittish cat who loves having his belly rubbed, but only by family. He has learned to trust us. He loves me, tolerates the girls, and disappears if anyone else comes into the house (with the exception of Arlene, whom he lavishes with offers of his belly to rub, and my mum, whom he'll sit on.)


And about that 'large' part -- when you pick him up, he feels like a fur-covered bowling ball. While he was a small kitty a year ago (see below in comparison with Max):


He is now rather more, um, portly:



All in all, he's settled in well, though the Evil Ninja Assassin Cat has had to change his fighting tactics due to Angus's superior weight. The ENAC will now execute several pouncing maneuvers on Angus instead of engaging in a prolonged wrestling bout that he will lose. It's funny to watch. Definitely a case of old age and treachery being better than youth and skill...0r youth and portliness.

A couple of weeks ago the two cats had to go to the vet's for a check up and their vaccinations. I now have two cats. I only have one cat carrier. "No problem," said the receptionist at the vet's office*, "swing by before your appointment and we'll lend you one." And so I did. As I was leaving, the receptionist gave me this piece of advice: "Put the more difficult one in a carrier first."

She was wrong (or maybe not -- I assumed, wrongly, that Angus would be the difficult one). The advice should have been: "Put the smarter cat in a carrier first."

I came home with the vet's carrier and put it down on the floor of the living room. Then I went down in the basement to get my cat carrier. What I didn't do was to close all the bedroom doors. Angus, attracted by the enticing scents of all the other cats who had ridden in the carrier, followed his nose right inside the carrier. Bingo! I closed the carrier.

Max was sitting on the couch, not far away. He looked at Angus in the carrier. He looked at the empty carrier. Then he looked at me. I could see the comprehension blooming in his eyes.

Instantly, he took off at top speed into my bedroom, under my bed and lay down in the exact centre, where he was out of reach. I had to use a broom to get him to come out from under the bed, and then it was pure craziness as I tried to catch him. All that was missing was the Benny Hill theme music. It took me nearly 15 minutes, and a couple of scratches, before I had him safely in the cat carrier.

So here are your public service announcements for putting multiple cats into multiple carriers:

1. Close off all avenues of escape.

2. Put the smart cat in the carrier first.

3. A little vodka wouldn't go amiss. (For you, not the cats.)


Both cats are healthy, and have been vaccinated.

And Angus? Although he's gotten bigger:


He hasn't really changed all that much.

:)

*I can't say enough nice things about the West Carleton Animal Hospital in Carp. The staff and vets are kind and caring, and the cost of veterinary care is more than reasonable. If you're local, please consider going there.

Dear Angus

I realize you are still getting used to the whole 'living inside with people' thing, but there are a couple of things that we need to talk about.

First of all, humans are animals who rely on sight rather than smell to idividuate amongst family members. In other words, I know what you look like, I do not need to sniff your butt in order to recognize you. So, really, you don't have to push that part of your anatomy in my face when I'm reading on the couch, however helpful you feel you are being.

Also, though I am ecstatic that you know how to use your litterbox and use it often, I need to tell you that it is not necessary to spend 10 minutes piling all the litter in the box into a scale model of Mt. Fuji before pooping right on the tippy top of the mountain. And afterwards, you don't really need to ensure that every last grain of clumping kitty litter has been piled on top of the evidence. Your enthusiasm is charming, but it's creating a lot of extra vacuuming.

Max is your friend. Please don't lurk on the arm of the couch and then launch a flying kamikaze attack on him when he's only trying to get to the kitchen for a bite to eat.

And, last but not least, we *will* feed you. Always. I know you still worry about where your next meal is coming from, that's to be expected in a former feral kitty. But we will always make sure you have something to eat. I hope you enjoyed the rotini with pesto that you knocked off the counter last night.

Sincerely,

Alison

P.S. Thanks for not destroying the Christmas tree. We were worried about that.

Crazy old lady warning signs

This morning I caught myself having a long conversation with Angus, conducted entirely (on my part) in high-pitched baby talk. He meowed back very sweetly. I said a lot of things like, "Oh him is a pretty, pretty boy, him is!" and "Oh, who has the cutest little fuzzy tummy?"

Can unfortunate flowered blouses and tea cups full of gin be far behind?

Hero/Sidekick

Batman and Robin

Lucy and Ethel

Timmy and Lassie

Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson

Radioactive Man and Fallout Boy


Evil Ninja Assassin Cat and Henchkitten

I'm not a cat lady, honest. I'm stopping at two.

Pulling into the driveway one evening after work about two weeks ago, I saw a small furry creature streak across the lawn and into the bushes near my front door. It was small, but it didn't move like a squirrel. The girls and I went over and peeked into the bushes, and a tiny brown tabby kitten looked at us fearfully for a fraction of a second and then took off running into the neighbour's yard.

Over the next few days, I saw the little guy twice more. Once I caught him peeking at me from the hedge separating our yard from next door. And once, alerted by Max staring fixedly out the sliding glass doors, I saw him up on the barbecue, which I had forgotten to close after using it the night before, licking the grill to get at the last remnants of stuck chicken. Both times he fled when he saw me.

We live in the country, sort of, and so do coyotes:


martens:


and fishers:

Oops, sorry:


All of which (except for the guy who married Carrie Underpants Underwood) would look on a kitten as a tender morsel about on par with popcorn chicken. Not to mention the fact that winter is coming, and we live a block away from a very busy road full of potential kitten-smushing traffic.

I was not going to let that happen.

I started leaving a bowl of cat kibble out on the back deck near the sliding glass doors, and soon he would show up for a quick bite and then would disappear. With some help and direction from my friend Lori, I read up on feral kittens, and began to plot the kitten's capture. I started putting his food inside a cat carrier, and calling to him when I put the food out for him. Last Sunday, when he was in the carrier eating, I slowly slid the glass door open, put my hand out, and closed the cat carrier. The target was acquired.

He's been given a clean bill of health from the vet, except for worms and ear mites, which are to be expected in a feral kitty, and he's been medicated for both. He needs to stay in isolation (in my ensuite bathroom) for another week before being introduced to Max. How the Evil Ninja Assassin Cat is going to react to having a henchkitten is anyone's guess. I am sure we will hear from him in the fullness of time.

Here he is, peeking out from behind my clothes hampers:

and here he is with one of my giant shoes for scale:


When we first caught him, he was too scared for me to check whether he was a boy or a girl, so Leah and Rachel and I made a deal: if the kitten was a girl, they could name her, if it was a boy, it would be called Angus. I've wanted a cat named Angus ever since I read Angus, Thongs and Full-Frontal Snogging by Louise Rennison. It turns out he's a boy.

Leah doesn't think he looks like an Angus, but I don't know, I think he kinda does:

Moonlight sonata

The spring night was magical.

Warm breezes, scented with a hint of the barely open lilac blossoms on the bush outside my open bedroom window, swayed the filmy pink curtains softly to and fro.

The just-past-full moon lit the yard and turned everything silver and black -- the lawn, the trees, and a raccoon hurrying by on some solitary errand.

Stars blazed and wheeled in the night sky, a Van Gogh canvas come to life.

Coyotes yipped and howled down along the river, the sound of their revelry carried up the ridge and through my window on the night wind.

And I was awake at 2 a.m, 3:17 a.m, and 4:03 a.m. to enjoy all this freaking nocturnal beauty because the freaking cat kept jumping up on the bed and standing up on his hind legs to look out the window, sniff the breeze, and growl at the passing fauna -- while using my head as a conveniently positioned standing platform.

And using his claws for balance, of course.

Lair of the evil ninja assassin cat

I am ignoring you, Large One.

You have no respect for my majesty. You do not respect the killing edge of my fangs. You do not respect the razor kiss of my claws. You pick me up and toy with me as if I weren't the manifestation of bloody death. You shall pay. Oh, you shall pay.

You think I'll overlook the many wounds to my dignity simply because you bring me a terrain de jeu...a play structure...a cat tree? Surely you jest. My disdain knows no bounds and words cannot convey my sarcasm.


I will not lower myself to set paw on this.....this....abomination.


Though it is plushy and soft. And it has many enticing levels where one may keep an eye on one's prey.


And the small fur mouse is intriguing.

I will ignore it totally!

Yes. Totally!




Except it has a mousie.



And a lair! I've always wanted a lair, it befits my assassin role. No one can see me in here. I shall swoop out and inflict death from above. Fear me, mortals!



And the rope thingie. To practice my martial arts and improve my lightning reflexes.

Alright, human, I shall accept your paltry gift.

Behold! The lair of the evil ninja assassin cat!

(Thank you, Natalie, the ENAC loves his cat tree - Alison)