Source of Photograph.....
My Phoebe isn't much of a huntress. She was taken from her mama at just 6.5 weeks, you see, and has been indoors ever since. You'd think she might have picked up a hint or two from watching Eddie, hunter extraordinaire, at play, but no. I guess her toys don't seem enough like prey to bother with learning how to plot their capture. She'd much rather just chase them around than have to worry about strategy and pouncing...
She's wonderful company, though, and she never lets me forget it. Who'd want to hunt, she says, when you can follow the human around and chat, and then get fed for no apparent reason?
In the bathroom last night, preparing for bed, we were discussing the pros and cons of being woken at 4:00AM when a huge, flickering shadow appeared on the wall. A moth. A huge, hairy moth. For the purposes of this story, it was the size of a small eagle (I'm sure there are eagles out there somewhere which are only a few inches long - even if they aren't hatched yet). It was easily the biggest moth I've ever seen, in all honesty. And I am utterly terrified of moths. I screamed. My husband came running. I screamed again: "Don't open the door! It'll get out!" He left when he discovered I wasn't actually being murdered, anyway. "It's only a moth," he said. Bastard.
Meanwhile, I was panicking, trying to figure out how I was going to get it back outside (understand, please, that moths are the only creatures capable of turning me into a blithering idiot). I could turn off the lights and open the window, then maybe it'd fly back out - but turn off the lights? Then I wouldn't be able to see it! What am I, nuts? I could... try and sneak out of the bathroom and come back in the morning, but then it'd still be in there, only hidden... shudder. And besides, I couldn't go all night without peeing!
I turned around, and there was my sweet little inept Phoebe, with 2 inches of hairy moth sticking out of her mouth. Two more crunches and it was gone. I have no idea who was happier... it would've been me, hands down, had she not looked so damned proud of herself afterwards. She slept in the bathroom last night, waiting for another one to come along. And she's been sitting in there for most of the day, watching the walls.
Personally, I hope it doesn't happen again for a long time...but if it does happen, next time I'll know who to call. And it won't be my husband!
Copyright © Krista Toupinhttp://www.flippyscatpage.com/ataleofcourage.html
Its all my fault, since she was a baby I let her at least taste what I was eating to see if she liked it. Now I get The Stare if I dare eat a favorite and not offer a sample, let alone eat something that smells intriguing and let her make up her own mind if it is fit for her to eat.
The image below is what The Stare looks like from my end.
How can I say No? Especially looking at that face. Her name is Latte well, actually her name is Caffeine Latte Da Cappuccino. When she was little (and we thought she was a boy) her coloring was dark cream with spirals fading to white. Definite tabby markings in the swirls, but basically her coloring looked like an espresso as you stirred in the cream. She also had startling blue eyes when you could see any color.
I had a time, trying to make sure she was eating. Our older cat was NOT happy about this intruder and guarded the food dish jealously. Latte was so little and weighed nothing and was also very picky about what she would eat. I watched her NOT eat for three solid days, because she did not like what was in the bowl. She wasnt starving, she had to be sneaking food when I wasnt watching, but she was quickly approaching the age when she needed to be spade. The vet would not perform the surgery unless she weighed 5 pounds (2.27 kg). meanwhile, she was howling out her come hither moan, day and night.
I frantically fed her anything she would eat, hoping to put the weight on her so she could stop moaning and howling over her lost loves beyond the window. During this time, I am ashamed to say, I got her hooked on ham, bacon, chicken, expensive cheese. This kitty has an elitist palate when it comes to cheese, she took me by surprise the day she ate more Stilton than I did. Finally I got her a few ounces over the required weight and the vet took it from there. No more howling, no more moaning.
To this day she comes to sniff my fingers, lips and plate to see if what I have is good for kitties, too. If I dont offer at least a sniff I get The Stare. Latte will sit and watch me until all the food is gone, and The Stare turns into glare if I have not responded.
Tonight I was sitting and munching a small piece of fried ham, a leftover from our breakfast. I promise, I did give the fur beast her portion earlier. Finally, unable to resist the glare from her fuzzy face, I headed to the kitchen for a small piece of deli ham, chopped up to her satisfaction. She gobbled up every bit and is one happy kitty.
Of course, now that I have performed my duty I am being ignored until she decides its time for a nap and I must become a human cat bed. Any minute now.
Copyright © Elizabeth Youmanshttp://www.flippyscatpage.com/iknowbetter.html
June 12, 2007
In this garden picture which was taken in 1992, Boots is wearing his summer coat as he lounges in the shade of the green beans. He was still the neighbor's cat at that time.
This picture was taken in 1996 and shows Boots in his winter coat, lounging on the same desk from which he saw his nominal owner coming for him. However, he's much more relaxed in this picture than he was that night.
This last week when I was so worried about Boots health, I found myself thinking about how he came into my life. Ive been meaning to tell this story to the group for a while, and I guess now is the time.
Boots moved in with a new neighbor in about 1991. I have a large, fenced yard that is popular with all the urban wildlife, but especially with cats, so Boots and his buddy Kim Chee found my yard as soon as they were allowed outside. They had ID tags, and I let the neighbor know that they were spending lots of time in my yard, in case she ever wondered where they were. Kim Chee was a gutsy cat - the kind that will walk right into a strange house. Boots was shyer, and definitely my favorite. Over the next couple of years, we got to know each other, and one day I discovered him sleeping in my basement. He had taught himself to use the cat door, and was apparently hanging out at my place during the day. Eventually, he got up the nerve to come upstairs. After that, he spent most days and even nights at my house, although I didnt feed him, and he always went home for breakfast. He acted like my cat, and seemed to not find it strange that he had to eat elsewhere.
One day in the spring of 1994 I saw a for sale sign on his house, so I got up the nerve to ask the neighbor if there was a chance I could have him. She said no, and I began to dread the day hed be leaving. On the day they moved, he spent the whole day in my yard, ignoring her calls. I hated to do it, but I phoned her and told her he was in my yard, and she said shed be by to get him in the evening. I was out when she came, and Boots was in the house, looking out at her, but of course not interested in going out through the cat door to get to her. So she left, and came back the next morning for him. It was a very dark day for both of us, but I resigned myself to his leaving.
About two weeks later, on a Wednesday night, the phone rang. It was my neighbor, saying that Boots was not doing well: he was depressed, not eating, spending all his time in the basement alone and ... would I like to have him after all! Of course I said, Yes. When? And she said How about right now? So I cancelled my plans for the evening and she brought him over. She opened the cardboard cat carrier in my living room, he looked out, realized where he was and went into overdrive - meowing, rubbing my legs, standing up on his hind legs to rub against my knees - absolutely not a depressed cat. It was a great moment for Boots and me, and must have been a very sad one for her. Im still amazed that she could make such a selfless decision. But she was absolutely right about what he wanted. And hes never wanted to be anywhere else since.
Copyright © Marcia Marvin
September 12, 1999
Darla, you've been a very
very naughty little girl
You can't get angry when your cat catches birds. That would be sorta like giving a kid a hatchet and telling him not to chop anything down......But the other day, I was sitting here reading the newsgroups and was suddenly jolted back to earth by the sound of a bunch of angry Blue Jays. No mistaking what it was, as they all seem to gang up together when one is in distress, and what a racket! It was coming from somewhere in the back yard, so clad in full armor, prepared to 'slay the dragon' (iow: take the bird away from the cat) I threw open the door, and before I could get one foot out, in comes my sweet faced little Darla with a gargantuan Blue Jay in her mouth. And that Blue Jay was giving Darla every cuss word in every language as loud as he could, and Blue Jays are pretty loud. In about a half of a nanosecond, there were 5 or 6 other cats gathering around to cheer Darla on. But I was swift, and tackled Darla immediately, sort of squeezing her and in a threatening voice told her "DARLA, GIVE ME THE BIRD". (by the way ....David Yehudah, I'm not talking about the finger) Of course, that didn't work, and the bird, who was visibly shaken, totally pi**ed off, but seemingly unharmed was just squawking like crazy right in tune with the half dozen or so Blue Jays outside the window. It was more than a little bit un-nerving.
Then I tried prying the bird out of Darla's mouth, but feared that she might clamp down harder on the poor thing, so I decided to take an entirely different approach. I sat back a bit, and started petting Darla and telling her what a big hunter she was, and how clever she must have been to take down such a mighty bird. At which point I'm pretty sure that bird re-directed his string of cuss words at me, but my method worked like a charm! The bird flew off to another part of the house, Darla, quite pleased with herself, sashayed over to be food bowl, and I jumped up and ran after the cats who were all headed in the direction that the bird went. I caught up with them in the hall-way right next to the master bedroom door where I could see two more cats headed out to see what was going on. I quickly shut the door, then with lightening speed, started grabbing cats, one by one, and tossing them in the bedroom, closing the door after each one which became harder and harder with each cat.
Finally!! I had them all contained, except Darla, who was no longer a threat. I guess she figured her work was done. At this point, I was able to focus my attention on the bird. He was still cussing, probably because Darla had relieved him of a few tail feathers, and ruffled up most of his others, and I could see that he meant business with the next anything that touched him, so I found a large paper grocery bag, and after a couple of minutes was able to coax him inside. I took him out back to his still squawking buddies, and let him go. He flew off, not real gracefully, but pretty good, all things considered. Now, the cats take turns sleeping in the 'bird bag' which is in our bedroom on the floor in the corner, and my sweet faced little Darla, I could swear is walking a bit taller.
Copyright © Bonniehttp://www.flippyscatpage.com/darla.html
August 26, 2000
Source of Photograph.....
Has anyone else ever noticed that cats love novelty but hate change? For example, my cats love it when the bedding gets removed and washed (lots of pouncing and tunneling), but they're concerned when the furniture is rearranged. Similarly, they love having a new object in the house--like a shopping bag, box, or chair--but they don't like having a new person (like a house guest) in the house. They love having something different in their food dishes, but they don't want the dish moved to another location. The big kitty likes to tour the garden as long as I'm holding her, but she gets upset if we go out of the yard--which is evidently too much change. (She was a maltreated stray.)
In contrast to liking novelty, the big kitty also has her rituals, which she insists be observed. For example, when I leave the house for even a short period of time, there's a ritual "greeting" which initially involves a lot of meowing. If I come in through the basement, she jumps on my shoulder, kneads my arm, and then scentmarks me. If I come in from upstairs, I'm supposed to go into the powder room so she can jump up on the sink and scentmark me. If I'm trying to lug in groceries and don't immediately stop to do the greeting, she gets very upset. Even if I've brought her a food treat, like a slice of deli turkey, she still wants to do the greeting before she eats. The kitten, on the other hand, goes for the food.
Kitties are funny guys.
Copyright © Cadillac Womanhttp://www.flippyscatpage.com/novelty.html
May 23, 2001
I thought you would get a kick out of my Tabby cat "Tabitha" This happened last Thursday the 29th of January, 2004.
My little hunter brought this plaything into the house at 2:00AM about 2 months ago and promptly lost it.
There have been sightings by my two young boys in the middle of the night but never any sightings by little miss hunter.
Thursday morning I was in the kitchen and I heard a scratching sound and so did Tabitha (aka "Little Miss Hunter") she jumped on the counter and that is where the day long siege started. I couldn't make out where the sound was coming from and neither could she at the time.
When I got home from work that night Geoffrey said "hey look, Tabby is on the counter" and that is the scene before you. The toaster was on it's side, the coffee maker was pulled away from the wall, the blender was pushed around and there were paw prints and mouse turds everywhere. Tabby was beside herself and still trying to get into the toaster. I looked into the toaster and seeing nothing shooed her off the counter and told her to try a little harder next time and not let it escape.
I stood the toaster back up and cleaned up the area. About 5 minutes later just as I was leaving the kitchen I heard that same scratching sound, I turned around and saw the mouse sticking It's head up out of the toaster and look around to see if the coast was clear. After finishing laughing I promptly took the toaster outside and let the little survivor go, anything that could survive that long in a house with a very deadly hunter walking around deserved to go free.
I really liked that toaster. Anyone got a toaster they don't need?
Copyright © Scott Lampkinhttp://www.flippyscatpage.com/amouse.html
February 4, 2004
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It's 2:00AM at the Arcamaxchef household and everything is peaceful and quiet... well, almost everything that is, with one major exception: Oscar is hungry.
It all starts out innocently enough with him climbing onto the bed. When he had all four legs he could easily jump up on the bed. Now with only three legs he has to climb. He is very strong and has no trouble with the climb... we won't talk about the effect of the climb on the sheets, comforter and mattress.
Once on the bed Oscar's first maneuver to get my attention is the head-butt. He slowly and deliberately bumps his head into any body part that is exposed from the covers: arms, shoulders, head, face, etc. At this point I am still pretty groggy but I can defend myself by turning over and covering the body part that has been targeted.
The head-butt attack is rebuffed and I slowly slip back into sleep until, until.....YEOWWWW!!!! Oscar attacks my feet. You see, I like to sleep with my feet out from under the covers and when the head-butt attack is unsuccessful, Oscar pretends that my feet are giant mice and pounces on them.
I am not as groggy now but can still defend my sleep by simply pulling my feet under the covers. This is not how I prefer to sleep but at least it keeps my feet from becoming Oscar's late-night snack.
With my feet safely under the covers I now try to get back to sleep. There is one problem: Oscar is still hungry.
Oscar finally pulls out all the stops with his most successful maneuver... the "In Your Face Starring Contest With Extra Purring". Now I don't have a chance. He gets directly in front of my nose, almost touching his nose to my nose, and stares into my closed eyes. For added measure, he purrs as loud as he can. I don't know about you but the effect of someone starring directly into my face when I try to sleep is very disconcerting. Even if I keep my eyes closed I know he is right there... looking at me from one inch away. Plus the purring and occasional licking of the chops is almost deafening in the otherwise quiet night.
By now I am pretty much awake and begin the process of worrying about locking up, turning off, turning down, letting out/in the doors, oven, AC, dog, etc. I give up and go downstairs to feed Oscar. Of course, Oscar is right there with me at every sleepy step down the stairs, trying his best to get tangled up in my feet. I get his high-dollar "good for urinary tract" food from the closet and head for his bowl.
I expect that you all knew from the very beginning of this story that his bowl was half-full of food his entire time. That's right, my cat has spent the better part of an hour and my precious sleepy time in order to get a "top-off" of his food bowl. He eats a few bites and then usually beats me back up the stairs. Oscar is soon fast asleep and snoring while I lay in bed and continue to worry about my kids' future, my real job, the environment, taxes, world peace, the economy and other pressing issues. Oscar is not on the list of issues.
June 15, 2001
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A kitten is so flexible that she is almost double; the hind parts are equivalent to another kitten with which the fore part plays. She does not discover that her tail belongs to her till you tread upon it.
How eloquent she can be with her tail! Its sudden swellings and vibrations! She jumps into a chair and then stands on her hind legs to look out the window; looks steadily at objects far and near, first turning her gaze to this side then to that, for she loves to look out a window as much as any gossip. Ever and anon she bends back her ears to hear what is going on within the room, and all the while her eloquent tail is reporting the progress and success of her survey by speaking gestures which betray her interest in what she sees.
Then what a delicate hint she can give with her tail! passing perhaps underneath, as you sit at table, and letting the tip of her tail just touch your legs, as much as to say, I am here and ready for that milk or meat, though she may not be so forward as to look round at you when she emerges.
H.D. Thoreau [1817-62]
from Journal, 15 February 1861
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Recently my husband Gene and I traveled throughout Europe. We rented a car as we always do and drove along the back roads, staying in quaint, out-of-the-way inns. The only thing that distracted me from the wonder of the trip was the terrible longing I felt for our cat Perry. I always miss him when we travel, but this time, because we were gone for more than three weeks, my need to touch his soft fur and to hold him close became more and more intense. With every cat we saw, the feeling deepened.
We were high in the mountains of France one morning, packing the car before resuming our trip, when an elderly couple walked up to the car parked next to ours. The woman was holding a large Siamese cat and speaking to him in French.
I stood watching them, unable to urn away. My yearning for Perry must have been written all over my face. The woman glanced at me, turned to speak to her husband and then spoke to her cat. Suddenly she walked right over to me and, without one word, held out her cat.
I immediately opened my arms to him. Cautious about the stranger holding him, he extended his claws, but only for a few seconds. Then he retracted them, settled into my embrace and began to purr. I buried my face in his soft fur while rocking him gently. Then, still wordless, I returned him to the woman.
I smiled at them in thanks, and tears filled my eyes. The woman had sensed my need to hold her cat, the cat had sensed that he could trust me, and both, in one of the greatest gifts of kindness I have ever received, had acted upon their feelings.
It's comforting to know the language of cat lovers - and cats - is the same the world over.
Copyright © Jean Brodyhttp://www.flippyscatpage.com/afrenchcat.html
Source of Photograph.....
Oh my silly-boy Spencer ... What a positively KER-A-Zee MEOWMIE you have!
Okay, so Spencer has this little tunnel that he plays in. Its about 4 feet long
Now, when I make the loud sound "TOOOOT TOOOOT CHIKKA CHIKKA CHIKKA CHIKKA TOOOOOOOOOOT TOOOOOOOOOOOT!", Spencer comes running into the room, dodges into his tunnel and I drag the tunnel with HIM IN IT, all through the house, yelling "TOOOOT TOOOOOT ! CHIKKA CHIKKA CHIKKA TOOOOOOOOT!"
If my neighbors could just see me!
Then we play BIRTH CANAL (hahahahahaha!!) I pulmet the tummy (tunnel) all around with one crazy cat grabbing & clawing at my hands outside the tunnel, turning it left, then right, every once in a while yelling out "EIGHT CENTIMETERS NOPE! NOT YET!". Then if his butt sticks out of the tunnel I yell NOOOOOOOOOO BREACH! PUSHM BACK INSIDE
Then FINALLY I pull the tunnel back to reveal Spencers silly little face and yell out ITS A BOY!, and Spencer jumps out and runs around the house! HILARIOUS!
Oh ARE WE NUTS HERE or WHAT???!!
I am so happy to have my sweet cats to make me laugh.
Copyright © Kara Di Stefano
July 28, 2008
Source of Photograph.....
As I read through all the stories by you crazy fanatical cat people who let your cats control you, run your lives and make you cater to every whim and desire of these furry mysterious creatures. I can't believe that some of you let them do this to you. It's like some of you are slaves to your cats. I could go on but I have to go feed my two cats the special treat I give them at night. Their night time snack is a mixture of 2 different kinds of the best canned foods. Of course I give each once his own special mix. My Coon gets 3/4 of Iams Beef mixed with 1/4 Fancy Feast beef for the chunks and sauce he likes. And for my little black one he gets a mix of 1/2 Iams chicken and 1/2 Fancy Feast sliced chicken with just the right amount of juice. I use the little paper plates they like so it is a clean plate every time. If they finish fast I did not give them enough so I have to give them a little more. When they are done I pet them and brush them where they like so they will be content and digest their food good. If they don't want to play I will watch where they go them I will follow them to see where they are going to lie down and I will fluff up the area to make it as soft and comfortable as I can for them. Then I take a short break and bring each one a couple of treats. Whisker Lickins Beef flavor for my Maine Coon and for the little black one a few of the Pounce Tuna flavor. These are both crunchy to clean their teeth. Then I will pet them before I go sit down but I will still keep an eye out in case they have any other needs. But first I have to check the litter box to make sure it's clean so it will be fresh the next time one goes to use it, and I will also check to make sure they each have their special dry food that each one likes so it will be there in the morning, and while I am there I will give them some fresh water after I let it run for a while so it is cool the way they like, but if it's a hot night I put a couple of ice cubes in the water dish to keep it cool.
But some of the things you cat nut people do. My two cats will never control me like that.
Copyright © Teddyhttp://www.flippyscatpage.com/catnuts.html
June 13, 2001
Source of Photograph.....
He was a little over three and a half months old, and still small enough to sit in the palms of your hands.
Even as a tiny kitten, his panther-like body and long legs were vividly evident--those tremendous paws completed that vision. People would look at his paws and tell me he was going to be a HUGE cat. I'd laugh and tell them it was just because his paws had 7 toes.
The time came for his first round of shots and so off to the vet we went. Happily, he perched on the back "shelf" of my two-seater car and watched out the window while we drove the 12 or so blocks to the vet. Once inside, he was instantly curious about the fish tank--so much better than the one he had at home.
After attempting to weigh him (he was much more interested in escaping to view the fish), into the examining room we went. The nice lady vet came in and that incredible jet-engine motor sounded loudly as she cooed and petted him while we chatted.
He wasn't exactly thrilled when she checked his ears and mouth, and less so when she touched his tail . . . in fact, the motor stopped running and an odd high-pitched noise started--the vet and I both held back our laughter at his attempt to growl menacingly.
Suddenly, without warning, the tiny fuzzy black ball erupted into a tornadic fury of teeth and claws. He caught my arm with back claws as he literally twisted head over end and caught her thumb with his teeth. With both of us trying to hold him down and prevent further injury, she called for help and first one and then a second assistant came running posthaste.
It took three of us to hold him still so she could give him the shots (I don't think she ever managed to get his temperature). It was amazing how strong he was. All four of us bore wounds in short order, and there were huge sighs of relief when we were able to let him go. He made a beeline for me, climbed up my sweater and huddled under my neck.
I was close to tears, feeling awful because he was so scared.
I asked the vet if they are all like that and she smiled reassuringly at me and tried to nod. She couldn't quite bring herself to do it though, and finally lost the battle with her conscience, shook her head laughing and said, "no he's actually the worst I've ever seen".
Thus began the first in a long line of vets whom kitty graced with his teeth. At one point or another he managed to bite every single one, up to and including the radiologist near the end.
I've come to believe it was simply his version of "I am kitty, hear me roar".
Early on in the examination, the vet looked at me and said "How old did you say he was?"
When I replied, she shook her head and said "No, he can't be much more than 8 or 9 weeks."
I laughed at her, petting him, and let her know he'd been living with me for seven weeks already.
Who'd have thought that within that tiny little kitten rested a lion not to be tangled with . . .
Onyx 4 -- Susan and vet 0.
A frightened feline that was lodged in a tall tree for a week, was finally hosed to safety with a high-pressure fire hose. Locals held an outstretched sheet and made the catch as the cat, soaked and hungry but unharmed, was hosed out of the tree by fire fighters last week in Yonkers, New York, USA.'Everyone was cheering,' said artist and animal rescuer Greg Speirs, who was among about 50 people assembled beneath the willow tree. The cat had previously ignored people who banged cans of cat food and climbed ladders that proved to be just out of reach. It took two shots with the hose to do the trick. 'As soon as the cat landed it jumped out and ran into the woods,' Speirs reported to the New York Daily News. 'Some kids helped us bring the cat back, and a man said he would adopt the cat right on the spot,' Speirs added. 'You can't come up with a nicer ending than that.
The Daily Mail reports a true story about a cat who has made itself a home in a pigeon's nest up a cherry tree in Reepham, Norfolk, England. The tortoiseshell cat, pictured, has been there for a week or so.
Miss Wendy Hobbs, in whose garden the cat is living, feeds the animal regularly when it comes down to terra firma. After it's meal it climbs back into the tree. Previously the cat had been seen travelling on the milkman's float.
Miss Hobbs, an animal lover, is keen to return the moggy to its rightful owners.Ornithologists say they have never seen the phenomenon of a cat nest before. There are unconfirmed reports that 'twitchers' have detoured from their bird watching vigils on the nearby Norfolk Broads to observe Mrs Hobbs cat's nest.
This is a true story about a cat who baffling his owner by wandering off at night before expecting to be collected by car every morning at exactly the same time and place.
Sgt Podge, a Norwegian Forest Cat, disappears from his owner's home in Talbot Woods, Bournemouth, every night. The next morning, the 12-year-old cat can always be found in exactly the same place, sat on a pavement about one and a half miles (2.4km) away.
His owner, Liz Bullard, takes her son to school before collecting Sgt Podge. She said a routine has now become established, where each morning she takes her son to school before driving to collect Sgt Podge from the pavement between 0800 and 0815 GMT. It is thought Sgt Podge walks across Meyrick Park Golf Course every night to reach his destination. Ms Bullard said, 'If it's raining he may be in the bush but he comes running if I clap my hands.'
All she has to do is open the car passenger door from the inside for Sgt Podge to jump in.Back at home, Sgt Podge has breakfast before going to sleep by a warm radiator.
This post was modified from its original form on 24 Mar, 7:30
A ginger kitten used up one of his nine lives when he survived a 70mph trip; hidden away inside the chassis of a car. The driver stopped his car when he heard loud miaowing coming from the rear of his motor as he drove to work in Sankt Poelten, Austria.
Mechanics spent three hours dismantling the car until they found Gussie, who belongs to a neighbour, huddling inside the chassis. He was hungry and a bit dirty and frightened but he seemed very relieved to be free. 'He wouldn't stop purring,' mechanic Leopold Wohlmertsberger informed us.
(Judging by the picture, Gussie does not look too exhausted say Will and Guy)http://www.guy-sports.com/humor/stories/story_cat.htm
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My longhaired mutant calico, Jessi, is normally a complete dope. Nothing is important to her except for having a lap to lay on. If you hold her by the front paws and rotate her onto her back, she'll put up with it secure in the knowledge that she's about to have her tummy rubbed. When you put her back, she 'automatically levels out' and gets comfortable again.
With one exception. Since kato entered the household she's is *extremely* sensative about her tail. Touch the end of it and she'll swing around and visously attack every time!
Enter the new kitten Gizmo. Jessi was laying on the recliner when Gizzi hopped onto the arm and started harassing Jessi's tail. Jessi swung around and started smacking Gizzi. Then Jessi noticed that Gizzi slid a little every time he got smacked. Jessi then put all her energy into one last smack and Gizzi slid right off the arm! Jessi then got comfortable again and pretended nothing happened.
It took me several minutes to stop laughing!
Copyright � The Central
October 23, 1999
Source of Photograph.....
In October, 1998, Jon Weaver posted the following to the rec.pets.cats.misc newsgroup:
"I know that its a morbid
discussion, but I have been trying to find out the 'average' life of
I know of cats who have lived for 15 years if not more, but it this an achievement or the norm.
I know that they are many variables where a cat could meet an untimely end (i.e. accident or illness), but if a cat was perfectly health and lived out its whole life.. What age would/should it live until?
Any info appreciated (By email if possible)
To which Henry R. Christensen replied:
What's the average life of a cat? Well, of the cats I've known, it consists of getting themselves born, then enjoying everything they encounter. This consists of wondrous things such as:
- dust in a sunbeam
- gossamer on a gentle breeze
- their own reflection in their water dish
- the tail of another cat, especially if that tail is hanging
over a window sill
- being anywhere where another cat wants to be
- knowing how long the dog's chain is
- jumping from the window sill just when you thought you had the
bathroom to yourself
- attacking your feet whenever they move under the sheet
- drinking from the faucet just when your ready to rinse after
- using your head as a stepping stone to the top of the drapes
- looking indignant when your head is not available for the
descent from the top of the drapes
- unwrapping Christmas presents as soon as they are deposited
beneath the tree
- leaving tongue prints in the butter
- adopting dust bunnies
- occupying any open drawer
- placing dirty sox in the litter box
- playing with Q-tips
- never admitting anything is their fault
That, Jon, is the average life of a cat. And a wonderful life it is as it makes the life of the cat's person well above average!Copyright © Henry Christensen, 1998
Source of Photograph.....
The Mowsie story reminded me of something I meant to write to you about. You must do this. If you think Mowsies are fun, well you gotta try this.
My cat, Amazing Grace, aka Mazie, is pretty unimpressed with catnip mice, and the run of the mill pet store stuff. She lived outdoors in her first few weeks of life, and this city stuff is just not her thing. Bored with catnip totally, but she will eat the silk tassels off corn on the cob until she hacks and has to take a break. Mazie thinks any and all flowers are her own personal salad bar, eats em any and all. She prowls the basement in search of any poor cricket that might be down there, you get the idea.
I have felt like I'm cheating her, keeping her indoors since she came to live with us. We live in town and it isn't a safe place for her to be out. But she's a brave little soul (or a dumb blonde my husband says) who isn't afraid of thunder, firecrackers, any of those things city slickers hate.
Since I know she longs to be outside, I've tried to make it up to her by buying any and every cat toy on the market. I have a huge stash that she looks at with disdain.
One day I bought a blue feather duster to dust mini blinds. It had real feathers, although they were an unnatural shade of blue. I put the sack of stuff from my shopping on the dining room table to unpack later. I heard all this rattling noise and I knew she was unpacking the sack. Usually she does this just to see what I have. If there are any pictures from the photo shop, she'll want to lick them, rubber bands and tags on clothes can be eaten, just a few of the ways she amuses herself. So I went to investigate.
She was working feverishly to get that feather duster out of the sack. So I just watched. She did get it out, and I realized she thought she had a "bird". Finally, something worthwhile here in the house she's thinking. She hurried away with it and proceeded to "kill" it. Jumped on it, walked away as if to ignore it, and sprung on it in a surprise attack. Over and over. It didn't lose too many feathers, I think she was just "playing" with it, working up to the big kill. Went on for hours. Finally, in exhaustion, she had to have that afternoon nap.
That night when my husband and I were almost asleep, we heard this tick, tick, tick sound on the stairs. I got up to check and saw Mazie carrying her "bluebird" up the stairs. The ticking sound was the handle hitting the wall on the way up.
Off and on she played with her bird for days. She'd put it in her bed, and all her favorite places. We'd find it upstairs or downstairs, always in new places. She even used it to express displeasure. Such as the time I was gone all day from early in the morning till late evening. When I got home it was on the throw rug just inside the door so I'd have to step on it or over it, as if to say "Where in the hell have you been?"
Until one morning when my husband George got up first and I heard him say, "Well, the bluebird is good and truly dead!" There were feathers everywhere, in all the rooms, and a huge pile at the bottom of the stairs where we'd see it first when we got up.
She later retrieved a few of the feathers from the wastebasket and stashed them in hiding places around the house, so I figured she wasn't quite ready to part with her bluebird. So I put a pile of the feathers in her toy box. Then began to find feathers all over the house, upstairs, in the basement, all over.
SO, I went off to the dollar store to buy another bird. Had to be a canary this time, they only had yellow feather dusters. She's been a little more reluctant to finally kill the canary. Still carries it up and down stairs and puts it in her bed. It's fun to see where it's going to be in the morning. And she still uses it to make a statement. If I let her food dish get low, she plunks the canary on it.
I gave my sister a canary for her cat Spencer and he growled and ran away with it..........and killed it within a half an hour. Feathers everywhere.
Just though I'd tell you, if you have a cat who doesn't care for ordinary cat toys, buy him/her a bluebird or a canary!
Copyright © Ann Davis
August 1, 2006
Please stay tuned for Part Seven.....