Happy Birthday, Gus!

Seriously, is there a cuter cat on the planet?

Today is Gus' birthday.  He's three-ish years old. 

Jim and I always like to do something special for the animals on their birthdays.  For the dogs, we go out for a Culver's hamburger, followed by Dairy Queen.  For the cats...not so simple.

What do you give the cat who has everything?  Hates riding in the car?  Gets everything he wants?  Hates affection?

We instituted a rule that you couldn't give a cat a hard time on his birthday, so in Gus' case, no making fun of his disability.  Not that we do...ummm...

We also decided that since Gus hates affection, we wouldn't pick him up at all on his birthday.  Or pet him unless invited to do so. 

Indiana is playing her part and allowing Gus to snuggle with her whenever he wants, which has been quite frequently the last couple of days.  What a kind sister. 

But Q*bert just literally attacked Gus as I am typing this.  Apparently he didn't get the birthday memo. 

So Happy Birthday to my favorite orange cat.  You are evil, but luckily so incredibly adorable.

Quality Time

This is Q*bert

(Sigh)  I meant to get this post up yesterday, but I got busy.  Then when I wrote it up this morning, Blogger lost it.  Maybe it's not meant to be?  Oh well.  Take two.

What I wanted to tell you about the first time, was about Sunday, where Jim and I slogged around in our garden, prepping it for plants, for 4 hours.  I hate garden prep.  I hate weeding.  I kind of hate watering.  I dislike picking (especially beans--ugh).  I like eating fresh produce.  So, I take the good with the bad.  I normally prep my garden by myself, so it was great having Jim around this year to help.  And we had another really good helper--Q*bert.

Q is now obsessed with the outdoors.  It's his first summer with us, so we didn't know what his routine would be like.  As it turns out, he spends every waking (and sleeping) moment outside.  He comes in to eat.  If we call to him, he'll come running, so we can still spend time with him when we'd like.  It's pretty fun to call his name and see where he comes running from.  Usually, it's from the garden or from under a bush by the fence.

So while we were gardening on Sunday, Q was with us, chasing bugs and possibly a few rodents, rubbing against us as we kneeled to pull weeds, attacking my gloved hands, and even stopping to poo in the soil before being distracted by a spider and running after it instead. 

Having Q*bert with us in the garden made an unpleasant task that much more pleasant.  I was reminded of how lucky we are to have so many furry children and of how much they all enrich our lives.  It would be a sad, lonely life indeed without them.

The Naughty Counter

Q*bert, not being naughty

We have one counter in the kitchen where the cats are not allowed.  One surface in the entire 2000 square feet of our home.  And it's not verboten because we're mean.  In the middle of this counter is the stove, which, because we eat, is hot multiple times per day.  So restricting access to this counter is really an attempt to prevent little burned feline toesies.  We're actually being nice.  Around here, we refer to the restricted counter as "The Naughty Counter." 

Mr. Squiggles "gets" The Naughty Counter.  So does Gus.  Samson knows he's not supposed to be on it, and only jumps up there post-dinner to steal food.  (And as soon as we walk in, he jumps down.  SO NAUGHTY)  But Q*bert...ahhhhh, Q*bert.  I do love you, dear cat. 

Q*bert jumps up on The Naughty Counter an average of probably 20 times per day, and that's honestly being conservative.  Q only jumps up on The Naughty Counter while we're preparing animal meals, which is not only naughty but really, really annoying.  There have been meals where he's jumped up probably 15 times during one preparation period.  As you can imagine, this slows the process down considerably.  Stopping every 30 seconds to pluck a cat off of the counter becomes really counterproductive.  And he jumps into the middle of the 8 bowls I have spread around me, and he tries to steal morsels of food out of the bowls.  Sometimes he's successful, and as you're lifting him to the ground, he takes his little paw and shoves the food back in his mouth so it doesn't fall out.  This kills me every time.  But cute or not, it's still reaaaaaaallly annoying.

Last week, as I was lifting Q off The Naughty Counter for the dozenth time, I looked into his eyes, and it occurred to me that he does not understand what I am doing.  He does not understand the cause and effect.  I could see it in his face.  Here I am, thinking that, after a while, he'll eventually understand that when you jump on The Naughty Counter, you get lifted off; therefore, we are not meant to be on The Naughty Counter.  But I understood in that moment that Q will never make that connection.  I am no longer hopeful that eventually he'll get it.  Because he won't.  My future involves thousands and thousands of struggles over food.  I will lift that cat off of the counter three times a day for the rest of his life.  And you know what?  Now that I've accepted that, it doesn't seem so bad.  Is it annoying?  Sure.  But it's now a part of life.  And I'm pretty sure this means the cat has won.  Well played, cat.  Well played.

I Made Four Trips to the Vet's Office Yesterday

Mr. Squiggles did eventually figure out how to get into those treats.  Again.  And Again.  And Again.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

5:20 am:  Wake up.  Eat breakfast.  Feed the dogs but not the cats, because Q*bert is going in to see the vet, because his paw is massively swollen.  He still feels fine though, so there are four really annoyed cats who don't understand why the dogs are being fed but they are not. 

8:20 am:  Feed the other three cats, because Q*bert is outside, and we'll be leaving in a few minutes.  After all the complaining at 5am, I fill the food bowls and no one cares. 

8:40am:  Get Q into the vet.  Because we adopted/found 800 cats last year, and took them into the vet the before they had names, there are a million nameless files to sift through to figure out which cat is which.  Mr. Squiggles has two files.  Confuse poor Lynda at the front desk.  Finally get correct cat names with correct cat files. 

9:00am:  Marathon Starbucks get-together with friend Amanda.  Spend hours talking animals and life.  The happiest, sanest part of my day. 

12:45pm:  Sitting in the Starbucks parking lot, making a cell call to vet to check on Q.  Get put on hold.  And hold.  And hold.  Fifteen minutes later, decide to hang up and just drive the two minutes back to the office to check on him in person.  Realize this would have been a smarter decision fifteen minutes ago.

12:50pm:  Find out Q is currently in with the vet, getting his paw fixed.  No other info, but they'll call when he's done. 

1:00pm:  At Razzle-Dazzle Doggie Bowtique, picking up food, because the house is somehow devoid of everything all at once.  Get a call from the vet that Q is done and will be ready to be picked up in just over an hour.  Would we prefer liquid medication or pill form?  Finish picking up two bags of Freeze Dried Stella and Chewy's, one bag of Frozen Stella and Chewy's, one bag of Northwest Naturals, one case of Wellness canned cat food, one case of Tiki Cat canned cat food, 7 cans of Weruva dog food, four small cans of Wellness canned turkey cat food, and one shaker of appetite stuff that Samson goes nuts over (not because he needs it, but simply because we got some free samples and he really loved it).

1:40pm:  At home.  Discover Indiana is outside, stuck under the deck.  Crawl under the deck, calm the freaked-out dog, and push her out from under the deck.  Have 20 minutes to unpack the pet food purchases, wolf down some trail mix, feed the dogs and cats, and get out the door to pick up Q. 

2:00pm:  Headed back to the vet.

2:15pm:  At the vet's office.  Q is pretty alert for having been sedated, and I am handed a large bag of medications.  Thankfully, most are from an order placed earlier in the day for Indy and Isis.  There is no info on what happened to Q's foot, but the doctor will talk to me about it at my 4pm appointment later that day.

2:40pm:  Back at home with Q.  He is annoyed with me for his ordeal, but is more hungry than mad.  Feed Q and sneak his antibiotics in with the food.  He doesn't notice. 

3:00pm:  Oh my gosh, 20 whole minutes before I have to leave again.  Spend 10 minutes on the chaise lounge looking over some music scores.

3:10pm:  Start wondering where Sam and Mr. S are, because we have to leave for the vet in 10 minutes. Sam is in the kitchen, but Mr. S is nowhere to be seen.  He's never outside.  Well, hardly ever.  Except now.  He'd better be close by.  Oh, good, he's on the porch, just hanging out.  Hmmm...Samson just crawled into the small cat carrier.  Was going to put him in the large one, but, hey, a bird in the hand.  Close the door and decide to leave a few minutes early.  Pluck a happy Mr. Squiggles off the back porch and shove him into a cat carrier.  He is inexplicably not so happy any more. 

3:15pm:  Realize preparing the car for two cat carriers would have been a good idea prior to taking said carriers to car.  Decide to wing it.

3:20pm:  Back to the vet.

3:40pm:  Arrive early to fill out paperwork but run into a family I know from doggy physical therapy.  Spend time reassuring Mom about her dog's recent kidney disease diagnosis and talking to the adorable daughter instead of filling out paperwork. 

4:00pm:  Appointment time, but we're just getting into an exam room now.  The doctor will be running late (as usual) but this time it's sort of my fault, as my cat's paw played a role in her delayed schedule. 

4:01pm:  Wonder whose brilliant idea it was to bring the two smartest cats in the house in at the same time. 

4:02pm:  Pluck Mr. Squiggles off the counter for the third time.

4:03pm:  Cats are weighed.  Mr. Squiggles has gained 3 1/2 pounds and is almost back to his pre-missing weight of 10.5 pounds.  Samson weighs in at a whopping 13.5 pounds, which is amazing because he's a skinny guy.  Just huge.

4:10pm:  Vet assistant comes in to procure cats for blood draws.  Samson volunteers to go first but changes his mind when the vet assistant touches him.  He freaks out, and there is 13.5 pounds of cat legs flying everywhere.  Decide that Mr. Squiggles with go first.

4:15pm:  Mr. S is back, and it's Sam's turn again.  Vet assistant is less than enthused about grabbing a squirmy, sharp creature.

4:20pm: I hear a cat yelp.  Ooops.  Vet assistant returns, wordlessly opens the door a crack, hands me my cat, and, just as wordlessly, closes it again.  One fewer person on Sam's "friends" list.

4:40pm:  Finally, the vet.  Find out that Q basically pulled out the nail of his "thumb," and it's infected.  She gave him a little gas, squeezed out the pus, cleaned up the wound, and is putting him on the highest dose of antibiotics.  Time for exams.  This vet's never met Sam before, so we go over some of his greater virtues, and he's a big, loving blob of Maine Coon for her.  Unhappy about a liver palpation, he hides under the couch while Mr. Squiggles is examined.  Find out that Mr. S is probably mostly blind in his bad eye.  His teeth, while bad, don't need to be seen by a dentist just yet.  Mr. S is sweet and loving, and melts against the vet's leg while she examines him.  He is okay with having his liver palpated, unlike Sam.

5:00pm:  Vet gets tools to lop some tartar off of Samson's tooth.  This could go very badly, but he's actually pretty good for it, and the procedure is successful.  Mr. Squiggles takes advantage of our focus on Samson to jump onto the counter and steal treats out of a bag.  The vet and I both think this is pretty cute.

5:05pm:  Time for rabies shots.  There is much confusion over how many cats need the rabies shot (Samson got one in '09, but apparently, our state, in its infinite wisdom, makes owners revaccinate Animal Control adoptees after the first year, even though it's the same darn shot and is actually good for three years, not just one.  Grrrr.)  So two shots it is today.

5:10pm:  Time to put cats back in carriers.  Samson goes in easily, but Mr. Squiggles resists.  Realize this is because he has both pooed and peed in the carrier.  Clean up the poo and pee and shove cat in.

 

5:11pm:  At the counter, ready to check out.  Have to wait for another client to check out first.  I know this client as well (we met at a dog show years ago, while her dog was undergoing treatment for cancer).  I kill time by getting kisses from her adorable yellow lab. 

5:15pm:  My turn.  I have several more medications to pick up.  Then I remember that the doctor and I never talked about Indiana's urine culture test results.  Front desk manager Lynda talks to the vet, finds out the tests came back negative for bacteria (a good thing), but since Indiana is still leaking urine (a bad thing), she'll be going on some supplements to help that.  Have to wait for the assistant to bring that up.  Finally check out.  My total is over $1000 for the day, but I've gotten something for five of the six of my animals, so I guess it's not too awful...I still have a minor heart attack though.  Ask if I'm the highest total for the day and am told no.  Am sort of surprised, but not really.

5:16pm:  Lynda has to fill out rabies vaccination paperwork for the two cats, who are being really good and quiet.  So we're in no big hurry.

5:20pm:  Out to the car!  Toss the cats in and get out of here! 

5:45pm:  We're home!  Both cats whine and cry on the trip from the car to the utility room but have been oddly silent during the ride home.  Both cats bolt out of the carriers as soon as I open the doors.  Immediately grab the smelly towels from the carriers and wash on the hottest setting. 

5:50pm:  Call my Mom to catch up on both of our days.  I care about her day, but I also really want to just whine about my own.  Am exhausted but happy when Jim pulls up early from work.  Crap.  Now I have to feed us both.

6:40pm:  Making dinner for me and Jim, eating dinner, then feeding the clan.  Everyone is happy and well, and I'm glad that my day is finally over!

I'm a Bad Mom

April Fool!  That's actually a cat, not a plant!  Fooled ya!

Isis had to go to the vet today.  She has a growth on her gums, which, as it turns out, is just a fleshy swelling, common in older dogs (but most commonly seen in Boxers).  The only potential problem is that it might overgrow the tooth, at which point she could chew on the growth, causing it to bleed.  So, for now we're keeping an eye on it.  It might stop growing.  It might shrink.  We also might have it removed...

...because Isis' teeth are full of plaque.  And she's fat.  So I feel really guilty.  I can make a million excuses about why I don't brush her teeth more often or make sure she gets more exercise.  But the truth of the matter is, I get so focused on Indiana sometimes, because she is so high maintenance, and I neglect Isis.  I don't mean neglect as in "I don't meet her basic needs," because I meet her basic needs and then some.  But I don't focus on some of things of lesser importance (though still important), like dental hygiene and regular exercise.  I certainly don't love Isis any less than I do Indiana, but I suppose a person can only focus on so many things at once, and when Indiana has so many things of life-and-death importance to focus on, that leaves less room for "incidentals."  I feel really bad about that.  Isis has so few needs and demands.  I love her to bits.  And I feel like I've let her down. 

Pending blood test results, we may opt for dental surgery to clean her teeth and remove the gum growth.  That would give her (well, really me) a clean start, so to speak, where I could clean her teeth as often as I really should, so this never happens again.  And we've already started exercising her more, but now we know how often we should do it and for how long.  She's also starting a diet, and we've got a firm daily calorie amount to follow every day, which will be easy for us to do. 

So even though I know we can, and will, do this for Isis, I still feel really guilty.  I want to have given her more before now.  I hate that she often comes second to Indiana.  So sweet, so understanding, so undemanding.  She deserves better.  And I vow to do better by her. 

It's Always Something

Snuggle time with Q*bert

Yesterday, Indy had a really good day.  She had good energy, was eating well, and went on her longest walk yet this year.  The walk spurred her appetite, so she ate like gang-busters last night.  Today she got to go to Boommaw and Boompaw's house (that's Grandma and Grandpa), her favorite place in the whole word.  No sooner did I get Isis out of the SUV and into the house than I turned around and saw Indy in the driveway...instead of waiting for me to come back, as I told her I would, she got herself down the stairs out of the car.  I was simultaneously overjoyed and scared to death!  But she had gotten down safely, and I was happy that she was so eager.  I know she'll be tuckered out tonight, because she never rests when she's at Boommaw and Boompaw's.  Too much cool stuff going on.

The only bad thing is that I think she has a bladder infection again.  She has peed in the house twice now (something she never does).  She has a looooooong history with infections, especially in the last year, so I'm fairly certain this is what's going on now.  I took a urine sample in to the vet's office this morning for them to have a culture run to check for bacteria.  I also asked to start antibiotics ASAP, since the results won't come back from the culture until at least Monday, and I just know that it will suddenly turn bad on Sunday, when my vet is closed.  As it is, she's out of town this week anyway, but her staff is going to request the meds when she calls to check in.  So I'm crossing my fingers that we can get this thing nipped in the bud as soon as possible.  And that it's bacteria, and not something awful like a worsening kidney condition.  But it honestly doesn't feel serious.

On a personal level, I have been having trouble sleeping lately, which is a rarity for me.  Usually, I read for a while before bed, and once I turn off my light, I'm out almost as soon as my head hits the pillow.  But not lately.  I've been having difficulty turning my brain off, so it keeps cycling through all of the things I've been thinking about (i.e. worrying about) during the day.  That in turn makes me crabby and tired the next day.  So I think I've been a real joy lately.  I hope I can get the things that are worrying me sorted out soon so that at least my nights are left stress-free!  The darn cats haven't been sleeping with me lately either, so they're just no help.

Tomorrow, I'll be sharing Indiana's birthday party theme.  Be sure to check back--it's a fun one!



Grant Me Patience

Do you ever have days where you just feel like the next person to complain is going to drive you off the deep end?  I don't have human children, but I'm guessing it's the same whether your children have fur or not. 

Indiana and I prepare for battle against each other three times a day: breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  Some days she opts for peace, and that's happy.  Other days, we only battle over part of the meal.  And some days, oh my gosh, are a full-blown nightmare. 

Luckily, today, so far, is just a partial battle day.  She ate her breakfast well, which I was grateful for.  Then she took her pills, which went okay, but not awesome.  We already have to wrap her pills in liver sausage, and no more than two pills are allowed at a time.  And if you put too much liver sausage on it, she'll spit it out.  Or if you don't pack the pills right.  Or if she hears a squirrel fart out in the yard.  Whatever.  I haven't figured out all of the rules yet.  But Jim did discover that if she spits out the pills, then you can pick them back up, dip them in cat food, and she'll take them.  Which is true.  But it's totally gross.  Not only do I now have a handful of wet, slobbery liver sausage, but I also have to dip it into canned cat food.  And touch it again.  Yum.  But at least she'll eat it with no complaints.  So, there's that.

But during these times, I get so frustrated!  And then I feel guilty.  For eleven and a half years of her life, she never complained.  Not during chemo.  Not at vet appointments.  Not even when she had a biopsy without sedation.  So, if she wants to be picky now (and I'm sure she has a good reason, I just don't exactly know what it is), then I should thank my lucky stars that she's still alive to be picky and shut the heck up. 

But still, I'm human, and it's hard not to get frustrated.  Especially when one of your cats is inside wanting to go outside while another is outside wanting to come inside and instead of just GOING THROUGH THE FREAKIN' PET DOOR, they stand on either side of the pet door and smack at each other and make annoying (but kind of adorable and funny) spitting sounds at each other.  Or when you're trying to type up a blog post on your laptop but your cat, who was missing for over a year but miraculously came back to you via a friend and therefore has earned anything he wants for the rest of his life, ever, wants to lay in the middle of your lap, which is where your laptop is supposed to go, so instead your laptop has to go to your side, on a pillow, which makes your left wrist feel really awkward and uncomfortable, and it starts to ache after about two sentences, and you make a gazillion typos because you're at the wrong angle.  And it's 9am. 

It's going to be a long day.  But at least I have my family with me, safe and sound.  Alive for another day.  Except maybe for the cats at the door.  They're treading on thin ice.

Oh, Brothers

Remember the other day, when I talked about my cats' obsession with Stella & Chewy's freeze-dried treats?  Well, it's gotten worse.  A whole lot worse.

My cats are still obsessed.  They still lose their sh*t over it.  But now, every time I walk into the kitchen, be it for a glass of water, to put something in the dishwasher, or, heaven forbid, to cook, I have four cats flying in from all parts of the house.

Seriously, I set foot in that room, and I have at least one cat there, meowing and looking at me with a crazed, expectant look in his eye. 

When I am actually in the kitchen to cook, that's a problem too.  Because the cabinet where we keep the Stella & Chewy's freeze-dried treats (which I will, from now on, refer to as "crack"), is also in the kitchen, and the cats know it.  Every time that cabinet door opens, the cats come running.  Also, if I should pick up a food product that is in a soft, crinkly package (like shredded cheese or croutons, neither of which is remotely crack), they come running too.  Heaven forbid I should put croutons on my salad, because I have four cats meowing and running around the kitchen, convinced I am putting crack on my salad.  Guys, I'm a vegetarian.  Mom doesn't put raw meat on her salad. 

It really, honestly is very, very funny.  But also very, very annoying, because Mr. Squiggles stands around, meowing at me in this desperate, heartbreaking meow that he has, and Q*bert runs around at my feet, begging to be accidentally kicked.  Gus stands around looking confused (per usual), but Samson tries to figure out how he can get to the crack.  Can I open the door?  Did the lady leave any on the counter?  Maybe if I whine louder, she'll give me some.  Maybe she forgot.  I'll remind her again. 

I've created four tiny monsters.  Now if you'll excuse me, I think I need to go purchase some stock in kitty crack.

My Quirks as a Parent

(Besides being ok with cat butt in my face?)

I will admit to having some "quirks" as a parent.  Some of this is a product of worry, some of it is born of necessity, and some of it, well, it's because I'm weird. 

Because I do the same thing multiple times a day, every single day, I have to have things a certain way.  For example, when I prepare a meal for my pets, I am feeding 6 creatures at a time.  Their bowls must go in a certain place on the counter, and each animal's bowl has to be in the exact same place every time.  This is partly so I can keep track of whose food is whose (all six of my animals get different medicines/supplements), but it's also because I'm OCD about it.  For instance, it makes my brain explode when Jim feeds the animals and puts the bowls in different places.  It's ok that he does it, I just can't be around to see it.

Another weird quirk:  I am picky about raw food textures.  I like the food to be soft, wet, and easy to break apart.  Isis will eat absolutely anything (she's my only raw-eater right now), so I know she doesn't care about "texture."  In fact, she eats so fast, I know she doesn't even think about texture.  Yet, I will avoid certain brands and/or meats because of the texture.

I also can't stand eye boogers.  Every pet owner knows that all pets get them, and I am constantly picking them off of my pets.  Mr. Squiggles, because he has a cataract in one eye, has a constantly weeping eye, which means a constant supply of eye boogers growing on his face that I am forever picking off, leading to a frequently annoyed cat.

I never play loud music in the house (or car when the pets are with me), because I worry that it agitates the animals. 

I always tell the animals (especially Indiana) when I am leaving; I tell them where I am going, and when I will be back.  Every single time.

Likewise, when we put the animals in the car, we tell them where we are going.

I talk to Indiana like she's people, reasoning (and even begging) with her. 

We sometimes pronounce Q*bert as Cue-bear and speak to him in French.

Each of our animals has a nick-name that is so bastardized that we often don't remember how we arrived at it.  What we most often call each pet (right now--this changes too):

     Indiana: Bear

     Isis: Noodle

     Mr. Squiggles:  Butt

     Gus: PJ

     Samson: Turd

     Q*bert: the aforementioned Cue-bear

We have a pile of dog toys literally two feet high and three feet wide, even though neither dog plays with toys anymore.

Our house is covered with cat playthings, the bigger the better.  We have the Great Wall of China, a tank, and a huge pile of cardboard bricks with which we build a different fort a few times a week.

I think I'm going to end this post before you all think I've totally lost my mind.

Things I Love Today

I had a kind of rough day yesterday (any day that involves jumper cables, police cars with their lights flashing just for you, and a tow truck is destined not to be the best day ever).  My week is already really busy, with me spending all week volunteering at the IKC Dog Show (13-14 hour days, no time to sit down, one 5-minute lunch break,  babysitting an extra critter this week along with caring for my own (beyond time-consuming) clan, a rehearsal and a big concert on Sunday...yikes!  I'm already freaking myself out!).  Now I'm down one vehicle (please, please, please be done by noon today!), and I have to get myself up to Chicago late this afternoon to begin set-up.  *Takes deep breaths*

I'm trying to be zen about the whole thing, because I have control over so little of it.  So in honor of that, today's post is about things that are making me smile today:

I love that Gus tries to play with Mr. Squiggles, and because he plays too hard, it makes Mr. Squiggles mad.

I love Isis won't get into bed until after Jim and I have both gotten out of it. 

I love that Samson has started sleeping with us at night, finally, after being a member of our family for 14 months. 

I love that the minute I sit down on the couch, Mr. Squiggles heads over from anywhere in the house to sit on my lap.

I love that Indiana will always, always eat her freeze-dried patties with her liquid gold medicine.  Good girl!

I love that Indiana has been getting up  on the bed, all by herself!

I love that Q*bert has no self-control when it comes to food, and that he runs around crying like an idiot while we're preparing meals. 

I love that it's getting warmer outside, which means Indiana can sit outside as long as she wants.

I love knowing that I have a house full of kitties, happily sleeping somewhere, usually where I can't find them.

I love that in 5 days, my hell week will be over for another year!!

Having It All Figured Out

(Sorry for the graphic picture, but it's cute, yes?)

Some days (ok, most days), I look at my animals, and I am totally envious of their lifestyle.  They seem to have it all figured out.  Eat, sleep, play a little bit.  All their meals are prepared for them.  The biggest decision the cats make in any given day is whether to sleep on the heated cat perch or in the sunbeam on the blanket on the chaise lounge.  Rough. 

I, on the other hand, feel totally lost these days.  While I live a relatively structured life (7am, 2pm, 9pm feedings make life a bit inflexible), I still don't feel like I have my life figured out.  I am a Mom, that I know for sure.  But what else am I?  Singer, library volunteer, friend, daughter, animal cancer activist, wife, artist, environmentalist, everything else, nothing else.  Where do these things fit?  How do they fit?  Can I be all of them?  I'm 33 years old and yet I don't know what I want to be when I grow up.  Some days I think this is ok, but other days, I am itching for a change, for some big revelation.  I want to do something big, and I want it to make a difference. 

I also wonder sometimes what things I do for me, and what things I do for others.  It's ok to give of yourself, but sometimes those things are draining and don't belong in our lives.  Even while giving to others, we can give back to ourselves, but when it's only one way, we are getting little out of it.  I call those things "soul suckers," and I have made a concentrated effort over the years to rid my life of them.  Sometimes it's black and white, and sometimes it's not.  Sometimes it's black and white, but it's still really hard to give it up.  Maybe we feel committed.  Maybe we feel like we'd lose ourselves without it.  But maybe we'd be better people without it.  It's complicated and scary, and I spend a lot of time pondering it all.

But this I do know: my family and friends are the number one priority in my life.  Love is the most important thing in the the world, above all else.  Still, as human beings, we play more than one role, and our "job," as it is, is to figure out how to weave all of those roles together in the most effective, most peaceful way.  Some days it's easier than others, and we'll constantly be trying to figure it out.  I just hope I get it right eventually.

My Cats And Birds

(Notice the little naughty blob of orange on the bottom, left-hand side of the photo?)

Like every self-respecting cat, mine are fascinated by birds and squirrels. In the summertime, I often find them lying in wait next to the numerous bird feeders we have placed around the yard. It's pretty cute, but I'm unsure about how effective it is as a hunting method, considering the number of birds they're actually able to capture, which is proportionally very low. (Rodents are a different story)

In the winter, bird catching opportunities are limited, because it's not worth your time to go out and stalk one when so many are available for viewing from the comfort of your own home. Dawn is prime bird viewing at our house (apparently), and the preferred spots are in the bedroom or on the cat tower in the living room. I'm a light sleeper and usually wake up when the cats spot a bird, because Gus especially emits the strangest chirping noises I have ever heard. Chirping, clicking, I've heard it described many ways; it's an odd noise that some cats make when they spot prey. All I know is it makes me giggle so hard every time, which I try to stifle so as not to distract my cat. While I heard Q make these noises the other day, Gus is most consistent about it, and I love it every single time. He crouches low to the ground, twitches his tail, and makes very soft chattering noises, his jaw moving up and down. It's really one of my favorite things, ever.

There also is a family of squirrels living in one of the trees in the front yard. There is a perfect vantage point from one of the upstairs bedrooms, and we've (quite thoughtfully, might I add) supplied a comfy blanket for optimum cat viewing pleasure. I'll often walk upstairs to find Samson lying on the blanket, completely enthralled by this family of squirrels. Eyes wide an alert, tail twitching, he is the epitome of a happy cat.

I think I'd love to live as one of my cats for a day or two; It's gotta be pretty sweet.

Update on Indiana: I didn't write much about Indiana this week, because she's doing pretty well. She's been eating well, getting around pretty well, and generally acting happy. She's getting a chiropractic adjustment tomorrow morning, and we're working on getting her therapy pool ready to roll. She still wants to spend way too much time outside (and it's been hovering at or below freezing).

They Are Bored. I Am in Trouble.

(Sam taking advantage of Daddy when Daddy dropped a can of cat food on the floor)

My cats are really bored. The weather here hasn't been awful, per se. Just typical Illinois weather: cold, overcast, occasionally snowy, and, did I mention cold? My boys are pretty hearty. They'll go outside in all sorts of weather, and often I think they're nuts for even venturing past the pet door. But sometimes nature calls, and three of the four will only potty outside, so you gotta do what you gotta do.

Our temperatures have been hovering at or below freezing for a few weeks now, which, according to the cats, is not cool. They will go outside and do their business, but come back in pretty quickly and curl up in a nice, warm spot. Everyone knows cats sleep a lot, which they do. But cats also have to be awake at least a couple hours of the day. Going to the bathroom might take up, oh, let's generously say half an hour a day. And you gotta eat too, which is another, say, hour. (Mom and Dad take FOREVER to get meals made! You have to watch them like hawks.) That's about an hour and a half right there, but that leaves another good half hour or so of awake time...with no plans. What's a bored cat to do?

I'll tell you what a bored cat will do. A bored cat will tear through the house at top speed, for seemingly no reason. You will see a flash of brown in your periphery and think to yourself, "What the heck?" If you're lucky, it won't go any further than that, but if you're not lucky, another streak of brown and a streak of orange will also tear by, trying to figure out what's making the first streak of brown lose his mind. This usually leads to lots of hissing and growling, which requires me to get up off the couch, which I generally don't appreciate, thank you very much. (Mom likes to hibernate when it's cold too.)

Bored cats also like to stare at birds in the early morning hours. The best place for bird viewing is in the master bedroom, because there are two small-ish trees/bushes right outside two of the three windows. One window is a bay window overlooking magnolia bush and a redbud tree, and another window is a plain-'ol window, but it overlooks the redbud as well, plus it has a cat perch. Window number three has a cat perch but no tree, so it's the least desirable of the three. Two windows with good views plus three cats equals trouble.

Bay windows are large, you say. Surely two cats could share that window, you say. But you'd be wrong. Samson always claims the good window with the perch, and Q*bert always claims the bay window. Gus, as usual, is always late to the game, so by the time he's awake and ready for a window, the good ones are always claimed. Sometimes he'll take the crappy window, but if he's not in the mood, he'll check out Sam's. When he sees it's occupied (and Sam has no intention of sharing), he'll move on to the bay window. He peeks his little head behind the curtain, only to be greeted with a hiss and a growl from Q*bert. Common sense would tell you to say, "Oh, sorry, buddy. I didn't know this spot was occupied. My bad." And then walk away. But that's not how it goes down. It's much better to growl and hiss and stand your ground, waking Mom up. And since you're doing this just after dawn, Mom can't fall back asleep.

These events, and many more, happen every single day. It is pretty cute. But I won't deny that I am counting the days until spring arrives.

Apparently He Can Take It AND Dish It Out

(This photo is representative of me hiding my head in shame for forgetting I had already used this photo a couple of weeks ago. It's cute though, so it's worth repeating, right?)

Gus and Q*bert have never been good friends, though I think their relationship is improving, slowly. Very, very slowly. Anyway, they have this little game they play when Gus is trying to come in from outside. Q sits on one side of the pet door and Gus sits on the other, and they smack at each other through the flap. It's kind of funny, but they're not playing, exactly. Yesterday, things got a bit heated, and later that day, we noticed Gus had a huge scratch across his face--across his eye socket, to be exact. I was terrified that his eye got scratched, but miraculously, it didn't. I guess that's a benefit of having eyelids and knowing when to use them.

One of the scratches, the one above his eye, was bleeding quite a bit. He wasn't overly interested in letting me nurse him, so I had to wait until he got sleepy (which, for a cat, is guaranteed eventually). What he was interested in was catching a fly, scratching on his cat tower, and batting at Samson from the top of a chair. I really was marvelling at his resilience; wasn't he in pain? Why wasn't he feeling sorry for himself?

About five minutes later, he curled up in a chair and fell asleep on a pillow. I moved in to clean up his eye, and while he woke up enough to be moderately annoyed, he did let me wipe his wound off with medicated wash and put some honey on it. Later, when I checked on him, the honey had melted a little and was starting to drip in his eye (he apparently didn't notice), and he let me wipe off the excess.

I really was amazed at how strong he is. Even as a kitten, when he had a broken arm, he never complained or acted sick. He was more upset that he was confined to a crate than anything else. But now, here I was, freaking out about a scratch, and he just wanted to play and be a cat. So I took that as a cue. He wasn't going to die from the scratch or even lose his sight. He wasn't worried, so I shouldn't be either. There was time to let him be a cat, and when he was ready to really be a cat (i.e. fall asleep), I could move in and do my thing.

They're Plotting World Domination

I never gave much thought to owning four cats. In fact, we had five until sweet Grover passed away. Two were "impulse buys," and then Mr. S came back. So we had 5. Now we have 4. It didn't seem like a big deal. We have the time and money to care for four, and they all seem to get along relatively well. But the one thing I didn't factor in: cats en masse plotting world domination. Or at least their world, in other words, my house.

It's kind of creepy when all four are in the same room at the same time, all wanting the same thing, i.e. a meal. Three out of the four are really calm about it (I won't mention names, Q*bert), which some people might think is great. But having three cats calmly standing within a foot of you, silently watching every move you make...well, it's honestly just creepy. I can tell they're watching, and I know they're sitting there, silently judging me. "Boy, are you slow." "Why aren't you feeding me faster?" "What other ways are you going to ruin my life today?"

Q*bert, bless his heart, jumps up on the food counter at every opportunity, requiring us to stop what we are doing, i.e. feeding him, in order to put him back on the floor. This can happen anywhere from once to a record fifteen times (I kid you not) in one feeding. As you can imagine, this slows the process down considerably, further angering the judgmental clan behind me.

Then, when all four have finally been fed and are sated, they have to clean themselves. They usually all stay in the kitchen to do this. So you have four cats, silently licking themselves, cleaning and cleaning. This is creepy too, especially when I can glance at all four of them at once. It's like they're taking over my house. Which they are.

If I'm behind on feeding them (OMG YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO HAVE FED US FIVE MINUTES AGO), they all start circling around the kitchen, again with judgement in their eyes. It's a lot to live up to.

In the winter, when it's cold out, we lock all of the animals in before bed. Unfortunately, bedtime for us is right after dinner for them, and anyone who has ever owned a cat before knows that immediately following dinner time is playtime/potty time. My cats don't like to potty inside, so even on the coldest of nights, they like to head outside to do their business. Mr. Squiggles is a large and in-charge kind of guy, so if he decides to go outside (and some nights, eh, the living room rug is sooooo much better), he's likely to go out and come right back in. But not Gus and Q. At least Q will come when he's called. Gus never listens to anything we say, so we just have to hope that he decides to come back in before we want to go to bed.

Once we think all six animals are inside, I always do a head count. My biggest fear is locking someone outside to freeze to death. Yikes. The dogs are always easy to find, so that's quick. But the cats are more challenging. Usually Mr. S can be found in the same place, so he's easy to cross of my checklist. But the other three are harder to find. And once I find all of them, I like to go back one more time, just to be sure I've gotten them all, but by this time, they're all changed places and moved somewhere else. So I have to hunt for them all over again. It's real fun.

I do love my boys, and I am grateful every day for the laughter they bring me. I just have to remember that I am here to serve them. Now, if you'll excuse me, there's probably someone I have to feed.