Anything's a cat toy

The other day I came home & sat down at the computer in my study to write. Suddenly realizing I still had my bra on, I took it off and dropped it on the floor to take with me when I left. A bit later I come out of the writing zone and hear something odd. When I looked down, I beheld my cat Renee slaying my bra!

Lying on her side and with her front paws wrapped around it, she was biting the daylights out of one cup while eviscerating the other with her back feet. My phone was nowhere near, so I couldn't take a picture. I just watched her for a bit laughing then took it away from her and put it up.

Life would be so dull without cats.

This is Renee, slaying a catnip toy in the same manner.
Post-catnip:

Dear Tribble, 1998-2014, rest in peace.

Another sweet cat has crossed the Rainbow Bridge, and a gentle, loving soul has left us. Yes, I do firmly believe animals have souls. I have looked into too many pairs of feline eyes to doubt that.

Tribble was a quiet cat, a real snuggler with a nice loud purr. Back when he shared my bed instead of my husband, he liked best to have his head on my pillow so he could purr into my face. I had to hold his paws to keep him from making bread on my neck because that hurt.

He never met a stranger. He'd come greet anyone who came into my home, and if you'd pet him or give him a treat, he was your friend. He asked no more - but sometimes he demanded. My husband got himself trained! He started giving treats, and at last every time he'd go into the kitchen, Tribble would follow and stare at him with the unblinking intensity of a hunter. If treats did not appear, he's meow in a loud, harsh, tomcat voice - the only time he meowed at all.

I heard him hiss once, in his entire life. Hester smacked him for no reason one time when he was just walking by her, and he gave her a look that said, "What's your problem, bitch?" and hissed at her. And kept walking. He was one laid back cat.

Tribble had me trained too, but then I'm easy that way. If, when he was in my lap, I spent too long knitting, he'd grab my wrist to make me pet him. I never minded. Sometimes he'd grab with both paws. He was a love to cuddle.

Of the litter of three tiny kittens I adopted in El Paso in 1998, one is left - Kira. Chakotay died of cancer at age 9, and now Tribble has passed of simple old age. His loving kitty body just wore out.

I hope they have nice laps wherever he is, and I hope I get all my cats back when I cross that bridge. I couldn't find the source of this quote, but my friend Krys told me this: Those of us who share our hearts and lives with creatures whose lifespans are so much shorter than ours have great courage.

I can't imagine living without cats.

A TALE OF THREE TOMCATS

Come little children and sit by my knee;

I’ll tell you a tale of my tomcats three.

First there is Bandit, my shy Siamee;

Then Muffin, the tiger, all orange and white;

Lastly there’s loverboy, black Starry Night.

When I got three I made one oversight.

 

If one can’t find mischief, the other two can.

They sail past my fragiles like a catamaran.

They’re making a fuzz-ball of my new divan.

Star chews my hair while he purrs oh so loud,

Bandit does yodeling while pacing around,

And Muffin picks fights with the whole naughty crowd.

 

Bandit sheds cream on the dark brown stuffed chair.

Star likes the white chair to leave his black hair.

My blazer of blue looks like orange mohair.

Yet sometimes, when Muffin curls up by my knees,

And loverboy purrs without even a please,

And soft murrows come from that loud Siamese,

I know bad things and good things both come in threes.

 

 

Written in 1981, about the three cats I had in my first apartment. They were a lot of fun and aggravation.

 

 

Not much of a blogger, huh?

Funny, I write in my personal journal a lot more than I blog. Frankly, I'm too private a person to post most of what I journal, and my outside life is kind of dull. No big events to discuss, nothing driving me to a rant - although some things are getting close.

The weather has been kind of a big deal here in Duke City. We had drought for 8 months, and now it's raining a bit. And at last the landlord found a roofer who could actually fix the huge leak in the bedroom closet. Thank God. I was getting tired of having to rewash all my clothes every time it rained.

My two elderly cats, Kira and Tribble, littermates who are 15 years old, are having tooth problems. I don't think there's much that can be done, because they'd have to be put under anasthetic to fix that, and they're too old to do that. Plus Tribble has a congenital heart murmur. I'm pretty sure he also has arthritis. Kira, on the other hand, is still the zoomer she's always been.

I succeeded on the April NaNoWriMo, finishing a 50K word rough draft on the sequel to Phoenix Hatching. This one will be called Phoenix Flying. There will be a third book called Phoenix World. The germ has planted itself. I also figured out why the mutas were made, and why they were made smaller and resistant to radiation. Nyah Nyah, not telling. Have to wait for the third book. I have too much revising to do, so I didn't do NaNoWriMo this month. I need to revise my own book, Annie's Doomsday Engine, and am editing 2 books written by a friend. Honestly, I love rewriting.

Having to churn out 50K words in a month really opened up something in my brain. Not slowing down to analyze bad sentences, deal with typos, or change anything actually helped me figure out the plot. I started with the characters and the beginning, with no idea as to where the book was going. I ended with a rough draft that needs a great deal of revising, but has a plot and a point. Amazing. Since I didn't know what my characters would do next, they spent a lot of time discussing it among themselves. and it worked.

Writer wannabe? Plot stuck? Google NaNoWriMo and plan for November. I highly recommend it.

Work, jobs, and time

Finally got a second part-time job. 28 hours per week, 3 days of split-shift. So now I'm not working full-time even between the two of them, but I'm working six days a week. No wonder I've skipped church 2 Sundays in a row - just too tired to get up one more day. It's rather a dull job so far, and the pay is low, but I think we can get by on it. The biggest blessing is my supervisor. She's terrific, and easy to work with. That alone can make or break working conditions.

I've been formatting the rest of my finished books for e-book processing, and have begun formatting the two published so far for print on demand. The latter is harder, but I'm getting the hang of it. I hope they look good when finished. I can order the cover for one immediately, thanks to an uncle who gave me the money because he really wants a print copy. The other covers will have to wait until my pay catches up with our bills. I had planned originally to have all five out this year, at least as e-books. It doesn't look like I'm going to make it. I haven't yet made back what I spent on the covers, and the artist was very reasonable. On Amazon, I activated the "look inside" feature, and now you can read the beginnings of both books. Maybe it'll increase sales. I've got a business card now too, with the websites to order my books from.

Plus, it's only a couple months now until Christmas. I've got to knit like a madwoman to get all the presents I'd planned finished. Spare time is hard to come by. Spare time without cats on my lap is even harder, and I love the cats too much to shoo them off. So far I've knitted a stuffed animal, 5 scarves, and 1 hat. I did a vest but wound up giving it for her birthday, so I've got to knit something else for Christmas. 5 more hats, some Barbie clothes, and a lace shawl are the remainder. Since I can't surprise my husband with anything knitted, he might get a box of yarn, a pattern, and a promise! Plus, for after Christmas, I want to knit two shells for myself, and finish some socks and a vest I started ages ago. They can wait.

I feel close to back to normal, though my taste and my appetite have changed drastically. My mouth is incredibly sensitive to heat, cold, and Mexican spices. Some foods I've always loved just don't taste good now. I drink a lot of milk, as it helps me swallow better than water. My weight is hovering around 170, and I'm in a size 16, and so far - 3 months now - I haven't gained any back. Dieting never worked that well. Of course now eating's more of a chore than a pleasure. Even when I'm enjoying something, I can barely eat half, even though I'm still hungry.

My husband is still in a lot of pain and can barely do anything. I'm so worried about him. He's lost so much strength and range of motion in his arms, and since he's in a wheelchair both are vital. But now that I'm employed again, maybe we've turned a corner.

Another sweet cat in kitty heaven

Neelix was an orange tabby tom, a muted orange, with green eyes and no white on him anywhere. His belly was the same gold with soft burnt-orange stripes as the rest of him. He had to live with my Mom, because he couldn't stand being in a multi-cat household, so I really only had him for five years though he lived fourteen.

I had a young black cat named B'Elanna at the time I got him, but like to have two cats. When I went into the cat pen at PetSmart, I had my eye on a gray and white cat at the end of the aisle. But as I passed the first cage, a golden paw grabbed my sleeve, and a scratchy little voice said, "Meow." I looked, and the leggy half grown cat stared me in the eyes. He had a tail longer than his body, and it was straight up in the air. I bought him and took him home. He was upset that there was another cat in residence, and she sure wasn't thrilled to see him. I've dealt with that before, and left them to work it out.

That night in bed, B'Elanna was at the foot as usual. Neelix got up and curled himself under my chin.

Three months later, B'Elanna got run over and killed. Her story some other time.

Neelix loved to sit on my lap with his face up in mine, giving me kitty kisses, often with his paws around my neck. Sometimes he'd nibble a button on my shirt. I had to call a halt to that when he broke one! He was very friendly, and I was able to get him to tolerate a harness and leash, though I had to follow where he went rather than leading him.

The most special thing he ever did was at the library branch where I worked as the children's librarian. I did a program on cats, and brought Neelix. I had one little girl in my storytime group who had severe cerebral palsy. She was confined to a motorized wheelchair, unable to control any part of her body, unable to talk, nearly blind. Her mom said she loves cats but is allergic to them. With permission, I put Neelix on her lap. She tried to pet him but pounded on him instead. Neelix didn't flinch, just let her do it. He sat on her lap and touched his nose to her face, giving her kitty kisses for as long as her mom thought it was okay for her to touch him. It gave the little girl such a thrill, and I think that alone earned his place in heaven.

Later I got three kittens at the same time, and he did fine with them until I moved from a 1500 square foot townhouse to a small one-bedroom apartment. Even then, he was adjusting, until the apartment next to mine caught fire and my cats were traumatized. All four survived unhurt, but Neelix started spraying. All over. All the time. So Mom said she'd take him, and he settled into her apartment as only cat.

She enjoyed him, though she's not an animal lover. Her apartment has a tiny fenced back yard, the size of a patio, and she'd let him out on his leash while she watched him to make sure he didn't leave the yard. When he wanted out and she was too busy, he'd back up to something and look like he was going to spray it. Sometimes when he didn't get attention, he'd get up on a cabinet, stare at her until he knew she was watching, and knock off a nick-nack. Other times he'd get a toy and throw it at her. She thought he was very smart. Every night when she took out the trash, she'd clean the litter box. She'd announce, "I'm taking the trash now," and he'd go use the litter box before she cleaned it.

Smart, loving, handsome cat. Rest in peace, Neelix.

Thinking of cats past: Muffet

My arms remember the feel of cats past. My ears remember their purrs and meows. I can breathe in the memory of their spicy-musky scent. All of their antics, all of the fun we had is secure in my memory. No two have been alike.

Heaven for me would be a comfortable armchair, all the books I didn't have time to read - and my favorites to re-read. An unending supply of all my favorite snacks. And most important: all my past cats taking turns purring in my lap.

My first cat was a green-eyed shorthaired tom cat, inexplicably named Muffet. We had just moved to Hastings, Nebraska, and I was going to start first grade in the fall. Across the street was a ramshackle two-story house that always seemed to have dozens of cats running around. The back screen door was visible from our front yard, because it and our house sat on corners, facing different streets.

I had spent weeks watching kittens of assorted sizes running around that house, going in and out through a tear in the screen door. I'd go across the street to see if I could play with them, but they'd all run and hide. Sometimes it was like a river of cats going in that screen door.

After a month or so, I became determined to catch one. I hid around the corner of the house and waited. A little orange tabby stuck its head out, looked right at me, and went back in. Then a little black and white kitten peeked out, but only looked in the other direction. It jumped out and padded off the way it had been looking, and I tiptoed after it and caught it. I carried it across the street, went inside my house, and told Mom I found it on the porch and could I keep it.

Well, I would never have a career as a con artist. Besides the fact I've always been a transparent liar, my Mother had watched the whole thing through the picture window. Amazingly, she told me that if I asked the lady who lived there if I could have the kitten, and she said yes, I could keep it.

Pathologically shy, I looked down at the kitten who looked back up at me, and went back across the street and knocked on the back door. When the lady answered, I murmured my request.

She answered, "Why, of course! Are you sure you want that one? Come on in and pick another one if you want." So I went inside.

I will never forget that room. It reeked of cat pee. The only thing in there besides cats was a brown sofa, laying on its back, shredded. You could see the springs. There were cats and kittens everywhere. I looked at them and then back at the kitten who had settled into my arms and begun to purr. He had little white mittens and boots, a white chin, and half a white mustache on his little black face. The mustache gave him a rakish look. I thanked her kindly, and said I'd keep this one. She ushered me out and told me to come back anytime.

Muffet (where did I get that name?) and I had a seven year relationship. I'll tell some of his stories in the next few blogs.