sharpchick_2011: (Cat with lime)
None of my cats are fond of the vacuum cleaner.

Stoney and Emma view it as an armed attack.

Tigger doesn't like the noise, but he's not moving for it.

So this morning, as I started moving furniture around to clean underneath it, Tigger rode *his* loveseat.

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Emma rushed for her nearest safe place...

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If I can't see It, then It can't see me - right?!?


Stoney left the room...better safe than sorry, he always says...
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sharpchick_2011: (Troll)
I wonder if the ad execs for Academy Sports would shit a brick if they knew why I save their ads.

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They make excellent placemats for the felines when they eat canned food...

Such slobs.
We had to do some minor rearrangement to the decor for Frick (red crowntail male betta) and Frack (blue veiltail male betta) when they relocated to a 10 gallon divided tank.

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They were spending all their time flaring at each other through the divider.

To the exclusion of all else, including eating.

I do not have 20 minutes each morning to stand in front of the tank, muttering, Heads up dudes...bloodworms coming down...

Betta are pigs when it comes to eating, in my personal experience.

So when they quit eating, they are too stressed...
sharpchick_2011: (Moon)
Had a lovely, fun-filled Thanksgiving with my son, his girlfriend and all four kids. He has two, she has two, and when everyone is all together, it makes for an interesting time. We had ages from 8 down to 1 1/2.

We went out to eat at a family style restaurant where you could either have a traditional southern Thanksgiving plate or order anything you wanted, including breakfast.

I elected to let someone else do the cooking and washing up this year.

So, the kids all wanted breakfast. Three of them had pancakes, including McKayla, my youngest granddaughter.

I cut her pancakes up and then held her plate to the side so I could feed her. She kept doing that dodging thing toddlers do with food. I offered her stuff from my plate.

Nope, the head swiveled to the side, lips locked in defiant grimace. Adam looked up and told me he thought she preferred to feed herself.

I said with syrupy pancakes? You've got to be kidding...

Who knew a syrup laden pancake could be so well constructed that it would survive being flopped around in the air by an independent 18 month old without having parts of it flung into the laps of nearby diners?

I learn something new every day...
Came home in the afternoon to find that Tigger was having intestinal upset.

Which got worse throughout the evening and into the night, culminating in bloody diarrhea.

Naturally, on a holiday evening.

Left voice mail for the vet that we would be in promptly Friday morning.

No fever, no parasites, no detectable explanation at all. Same as with the idiopathic cystitis thing of two months ago, for which we are now injecting him every three weeks with Adequan.

For the rest of his life.

The only explanation the vet had was stress. Nonetheless, a round of antibiotics, to make sure there is not a bacterial infection.

And had to rest his gut, which meant no food until this morning.

His cohorts were not amused. I free feed the cats because my work schedule doesn't permit me to be around to do the scheduled meal thing.

To ease him back into food, today we are doing four small scheduled meals.

Which means for all.

Emma in particular is very put out, glaring at me as I took up the bowls. Emma snacks between serial naps. There should be something for her to snack on when she awakes.

Stoney has been following me around, doing the feline vocal equivalent of whining.

And I am trying to figure out what could have stressed Tigger out.
The Weather Channel has just texted me that the temperature will drop like a rock, and we have a 30% to 40% chance of snow showers for the next few days.

WTF? The Farmers Almanac said nothing about that...
The journey is good.

It has just enough weirdness in it to keep me from getting complacent.

Namaste.
sharpchick_2011: (Cat with lime)
They now number 3, which is down from 5 just two years ago.

That's what happens when you adopt several cats in successive years, and they start getting older.

Meet the feline pride of the cottage.
Emma is the oldest, but only a few months older than the next in line.

Most of the time, a visitor to the cottage - unless VERY well known - never even knows Emma exists.

Emma is not terribly social. She is not anti-social per se, she's just very selective about who she rubs elbows, knees, ankles or other body parts with.

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Emma will be 13 next spring. I adopted her from our local no-kill shelter when she was about 8 months old.

Emma's nickname is The Comfort Queen. That's because ever since she was a tiny little thing, she has spent her days scoping out the most comfortable spot - depending on season of the year, plushness of fabric, and attractiveness of scenery - planning her days around locations for her serial naps. Generally speaking, Emma is a very easy cat to be around.

However, one should not interrupt one of Emma's naps. When it is time, she will awaken, and nibble on some kibble, go to the ladies' room, or do her chores.

Her chores consist of checking out her other chosen napping locations to see if Stoney or Tigger are in them, and if so, chasing them out of said locations, even if she is not scheduled to nap there just yet.

The only solid guarantee you have of getting Emma's attention is to let her hear you lift the ring tab on a can of cat food.

I think Emma is beginning to show signs of a touch of arthritis, and have taken some of her favorite napping fabrics to locate them closer to the floor for her. She has not indicated any gratitude for this, but uses them anyway.

One of her less endearing traits is the thing she has about the vet's office.

She doesn't have to be the one who went. Anyone who comes back from the vet smells like *that place* and must be hissed at for a minimum of 48 hours.

If it is Emma who went to the vet, then SHE smells like *that place* and everyone - most especially me - must be hissed at for as long as she stays pissed about it.
Stoney is next oldest. He will be 13 next summer, and I adopted him at the same time I adopted Emma.

So here we were, with these two kittens, 5 and 8 months old, and trying to pick out names for them.

My son was 15 at the time and wanted to name the male cat Stoner.

I was not calling the vet to ask for an appointment for Stoner, so Adam had to compromise.

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Bless his heart...Stoney is one of the most neurotic cats I've ever met. I think his mother must have stood up during the birthing process and he whacked his little punkin head on the floor.

After almost 13 years in the same house, Stoney still jumps - staight up - if he is standing by the A/C unit when it kicks on. Then, he runs over to a vent and sniffs the air coming out of it, looking as if he thinks someone must be pumping mustard gas into the house.

When he was a kitten, he was so twitchy I took him to the vet to see if we could do something. One half a tab of Elavil (a tri-cyclic antidepressant) was prescribed, but it just zoned him out, and he would sit hunkered on the floor, not giving a shit that Emma was hissing at him.

Not giving a shit about anything. It was horrible. He had three doses of it, and I called the vet and said I was just gonna deal with a neurotic cat.

Stoney has two favorite games - one of which can only be played in the morning while I am in the shower. He runs from the living room, slides across the kitchen floor and rolls up the rug runner in the hallway outside the bathroom, so I am sure to cuss when I trip on it and he can have a good laugh.

The other is the flashlight game, and he never tires of it. I get out the flashlight and he chases the light around. He particularly loves to go around and around in circles, because I think he gets off on being dizzy at the end...whoa, what a head rush...

Stoney also has pica and eats anything that resembles a string, so no fringed rugs here, and I have to cut the tails off the toy mice...

Of all the cats, Stoney is the one who is the most concerned about the others, and will alert me if he thinks something is wrong.
Tigger is the last cat who was added to the pride, and he picked us.

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He was one of the dozens of feral kittens from the colony we had in the neigborhood before I convinced a trap/neuter/release program to work out here. One of my neighbors and I were feeding the colony. Tig would follow me up on the porch after I fed them, and started trying to run in the door with me.

I gave up, crated and vetted him, and brought him inside when he was about 3 months old. He will be 10 next spring.

Tig is the most gregarious of all the cats. He personally greets every visitor.

He's also a non-stop talker with me. He sits on the closed toilet in the mornings while I shower and talks to me while I am in there. If I do not answer him promptly, the shower curtain gets parted by a little orange head, and green eyes stare reproachfully at me.

I guess he's checking to make sure I'm still alive.

Tig is also the most dog-like cat I've ever had for a companion, and he comes when he's called, talking all the way.

Tig and Stoney hang out fairly well together, and at times, seem to compete with each other for attention, food or toys.
I cannot imagine not having companion animals in my life.

The journey is good.

Namaste.
sharpchick_2011: (Troll)
Since I live alone, I don't cook much any more. The bagged frozen entrees Stouffers, P F Chang and others make that you can throw in the skillet and heat up are great, and since they make at least two servings, I eat a good meal for about three bucks. And have left-overs for next time.

To be sure, nothing says Arkansas summer like a bacon sandwich with homegrown Arkansas tomato sliced on it. I leave the "L" outta that combo, because I am just not into L on any sandwich.

And it's gotta be Petit Jean bacon. If they are out of Petit Jean, after I give the meat guy a stern talking-to, I'll grudgingly settle for Wright, but it has to be think sliced smoked bacon - none of that sugar cured stuff.
Every once in a while, I do cook - usually something that will guarantee left-overs, which I can take to work for lunch, or freeze to reheat later.

My cats always like it when I cook. I have lots of feline company in the kitchen when I'm cooking.

Of course, they'd love it if it was a pure meat, all protein affair.

Except maybe Tigger, who still - after 9 years of living indoors - hounds me for his little dab of yogurt when I eat a carton before bed.

I'll admit it's my fault. The first time he watched me eat yogurt and got all curious about what was in there, I scraped down the very last bit clinging to the side of the cartion, and let him lick the spoon.

He was hooked. He knows the *sound* of me taking the top off a carton of yogurt and comes running from where ever he may be at the time.

And sits, vulture like, as close to me as he can get.

And stares.

He doesn't move a muscle until he can hear the spoon scraping on the side of the carton. He knows it's about empty then, and there is no way in hell he's gonna let me forget his bite.

Yes, I created a little orange tabby monster.
Speaking of left-overs, I still have 4 Dreamwidth invite codes if there are any LiveJournal escapees who need them...I understand things got hairy over there last week.

Just say the word.

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