Source of Photograph.....
We had moved to a new town, into a new-to-us house and we were all set up for retirement. The only thing needed to make our home complete, was a cat.
We visited the local Humane Society. The facility was located in an old house and most of the rooms contained typical furniture -- of a bedroom, a living room, etc. Each room had 10-12 cats living free, not in cages, but roaming around. The "prospective parents" went into a room and the door was closed. Cats were given a chance to interact with the visitors, sit on their laps, wind around ankles, or otherwise sell themselves into a new home.
The last room in the house was filled with storage boxes, which created different elevations on which cats could perch. At the highest level sat a thin, gray cat, with his ears pulled back, looking fearful of everything around him. When my 6'4" husband walked up to this cat, they were eye-to-eye. Suddenly, the cat's paw reached out for my husband's shoulder and he leaned up to give him a kiss. He was completely won over.
The cat was named "Shadow" and he looked like a waif. It was explained that he had no claws. I had never heard of such a thing and I was horrified. Of course we decided to claim Shadow as our own.
Shadow quaked all the way home in the car. Although he was wrapped in a towel for warmth, he was thoroughly miserable. We decided we would have to give him endless, unconditional love.
When we reached home, Shadow suddenly perked up and became "Inquisitive Cat." He checked out all the rooms. He drank water and ate dry food. He used the kitty potty. Then he diplomatically sought out my husband and sat in his lap.
We had watched Shadow's exploration. He seemed lean to the point of being scrawny. His whole underside was bare of hair as though he had been shaved. And when we felt his stomach, we discovered what seemed to be hairballs, even though he was a shorthaired cat. From the way he scratched his ears, we feared he also might have ear mites.
Within two days, we had Shadow at the vet's. When I complained about someone shaving a cat's stomach, the vet pointed out that it was Shadow, himself, who had licked all the hair off, probably out of nervousness at being around so many cats from which he could not defend himself. He said that also explained the hairballs. When I asked how someone could remove a cat's hind claws, as well as the front ones, the vet explained that the previous owner had probably had a blood disease like hemophilia, and could not take the chance of an accidental scratch from a cat's claw. Suddenly, we realized that the homey environment of the shelter, which was so comfortable for most cats, had been a severe disservice to Shadow.
We doctored Shadow's ears, fed him well, and nourished him with lapping, talking and petting. Within a month's time he was growing beautiful hair all over, with a lovely silvery sheen. He gained weight and began to look like a normal cat. We renamed him "Silver Shadow."
One day, I heard a galumphing sound coming down the hall. Shadow burst into the room at full speed, ran through the bedroom, and made a U-Turn in the adjacent bathroom. He ran at full tilt back into the living area and made another U-Turn. Again he came back into the bedroom lickety-split, and jumped onto the bed where I was sitting.
This post was modified from its original form on 31 Mar, 15:25
He carefully walked up to me, put his nose on mine, and I would swear he smiled. Then he curled into a ball and began a loud, contented, purr. Silver Shadow was home, finally!
Copyright © Elizabeth Tackaberry
August 29, 2001
Please stay tuned for the next installment.....
Source of Photograph.....
This cat tail is about Treacle, a cat I owned when I lived with my parents, and who we sadly lost in October 1997 due to a hit and run driver.
Treacle and her sister Toffee came to live with my family at the age of 8 weeks. Treacle appeared to be part Abyssinian, as her coat was a ticked tabby, and she had the long tail, and tufted ears.
This story takes place a few weeks after they joined the family.
My mother is a great cook. Every weekend she bakes cakes and buns for afternoon tea. This weekend was no different, and she had baked rock buns, biscuits and a large rectangular sponge cake.
The baking done, she left the cakes on wire cooling racks, and went off to do other things.
On returning to the kitchen, she was met with the sight of Treacle standing on top of the rectangular sponge cake. Not only was Treacle standing on the cake, but she had also eaten all around the edge, and also a big hole in the middle.
So there was this tiny kitten, now with a big fat belly. On being lifted off the cake, she proceeded to belch at my mum, before disappearing off to go and sleep. As she was so cute she wasn't told off.
We did suggest my mum just cut the nibbled bits off, and called it Special Treacle Sponge, but she chose instead not to have sponge that weekend. From then on the kitchen door was always shut while cakes were cooling.
More stories about the cats to follow.
Copyright © Kate Morris
September 20, 2002
Apart from the "That's exactly what I meant to do" look you usually get, there are several others, one of which I received this morning:
Scenario - wake up, three cats surrounding my head, looking down at me (forget alien abductions and "grays", alien dreams are hungry cats projecting torture dreams at their people..), because, my fault, they'd eaten all the food overnight.
Get up, wash, cats are now "as one" with my ankles, presenting major tripping hazard. This continues down the stairs. Then the casual saunter into the kitchen, as if to say, "well, we were going here anyway... Oh? Breakfast? What a co-incidence, well, if you insist mate...."
Feed cats. Open venetian blinds in living room, start to watch "Big Breakfast" on TV.
Black & white blur past settee. Scrabbling sounds. "Oh-no," I think, "What now?"
Coffee Bean is trying to squeeze through blinds, to get an inch closer to the window, watching the birds. Venetian blinds are not happy, cords straining, me remembering the cost of the blinds (£120, three years ago. Blinds are being used like the climbing frame in Full Metal Jacket.)
I shout: Coffeeee!!! NOOOO!!!
The Look: Body stops movement, head turns insolently slow. A cat grin: "Well, I'll stop for the moment, if that pleases you..."
Grab shirt, wallet, rucksack. Now late for train. Exit house, lock door, walk down path. Look back:
Little white paw seen through blind, pulling it apart. And then, I swear, she winked at me.....
And tonight, instead of the venetian puzzle I expected, everything was normal. Coffee Bean sitting on the back of the settee, a smug look on her face, MESSING WITH MY MIND....
Copyright © Ezzhttp://www.flippyscatpage.com/catlooks.html
May 15, 1998
OK, this story should confirm everyone's stereotype of me as one of those kooky residents of the San Francisco Bay Area: last night, I attended a Pagan cat ritual.
Pagan humans, that is, not Pagan cats. They had a ritual focused on cats and cat-adoration. I found out about it from a friend, who is more tied into the Pagan community than the cat-loving world. As for me, I'm agnostic and not a Pagan, but I'm kind of a hanger-on, as Some Of My Best Friends Are Pagan. You couldn't possibly question my cat-lover cred, though.
So when I first got there, I looked around and saw what appeared to me to be the absolute worst of the cat-loving world - a bunch of middle-aged women, dressed down in that sort of "cosmic" way that Berkeley folk tend to do, with lots of color, especially purple. A few guys, too. I wasn't sure what I was in for. But it turned out to be quite nice, and appearances can be deceiving, because I definitely warmed up to the people once the cat stories and photos started circulating.
There were the usual Pagan ritual components, which some of you will recognize: calling in the directions and the relevant deities - Bast, of course, plus Sekhmet, Freya with her chariot pulled by cats, and even Kali riding on a tiger. (I wasn't so sure about that last one!). Then we "raised energy" by having a group meow and purr.
After the formalities, we called out the names of Rainbow Bridge kitties we have known and loved (including, for me, some cats whom I have never actually met, but have known through this NG). And then we called out names of living cats we currently know and love. I had quite a list. Then came the recitations of poems, favorite sayings, and songs. (I sang a very silly song called "Kitty Ditty".) Folks passed around photos of their cats. You have no idea how much all this cheered me up. I had arrived, all cranky from work and driving, to a bunch of cat stories and pictures. Automatic pick-me-up!
Oh, and someone actually brought her cat to the ritual. Not something you'd generally expect a cat to enjoy, but this cat was very mellow and just hung out in his cat carrier. His human had removed the door, so he could have come out if he'd wanted to, but apparently he felt safer and more comfy inside. He was quite friendly, considering that a bunch of confirmed insane cat-lovers descended on him!
Last, were the cat stories, which were very entertaining. All in all an interesting evening.
Copyright © Joyce W.http://www.flippyscatpage.com/catritual.html
October 4, 2007
Source of Photograph.....
At first I thought it was a cute trick of his, but not any more. He has been banned from the bathroom shower....
My cats love for me to fill the small disposable cups with water and set them in the walk in shower to drink from them. Recently, Feisty (who is one year old) has had a habit of tipping them over and watching the water go down the drain. Fine, I can handle that.
But yesterday as I was eating my breakfast and trying to get going to my volunteer work, I heard a sound coming from the bathroom. Feisty had picked up one of the cups and dropped it on the floor OUTSIDE the shower! I scolded him and wiped the water up. Later on in the day there was a bigger cup with water in the shower. Feisty managed to get that all over the bathroom floor, too!
After those two incidents, I had to close the shower doors and will not let any of the cats in there. He is not too happy and neither are the other six cats that they can no longer drink their water from a dixie cup.
Copyright © Barbara Polans
July 12, 2007
Breakfast in Bed
Our cats are very thoughtful. This morning they woke us at 5:30, just to make sure we were not late for work. There was quite a bit of weird activity and movement around the room. When I got up, I almost stepped right on the reason for the excitement. Someone managed to catch a meadow vole. It either squeezed through the mesh of the cattery, or got in when we had the basement door open.
Very thoughtful. Tim brings me tea every morning, but I haven't yet trained him to bring breakfast. Perhaps the cats were setting a good example.
I offered to share the vole with Tim, but he declined. Jealousy is not a pretty thing.
- Cat Mom
Here is a picture of Jennifer (orange tabby) and her boyfriend Sherman (as in Tank - a big boy at 23 pounds). Every day Jenny and Shermy curl up together in their favorite papasan chair for a nap. Shermy is Jenny's favourite boyfriend and a bit of a fuzzbucket. He washes Jenny's face and cleans out her ears. We have dozens of pictures of these two.
Copyright © Leslie MacDonaldhttp://www.flippyscatpage.com/breakfastinbed.html
June 14, 2004
Source of Photograph.....
Often, with the many types of domesticated felines (hereinafter referred to as "Kitties") occupying our houses and streets, people are left to wonder about the heritage of their respective family pet(s). I too have occasionally wondered this.
Then one day I made a small discovery that caused an hypothesis to develop. Whilst I was dutifully stroking the Manors obligatory resident feline, I noticed that while performing Madame Robyns third instruction (of a list of petting duties left for me to perform while Madam was off searching for Araucana chicks [a bean?], purchasing chick starter [???], and perusing perennial seeds), that using a simple manipulation of the "kitties" ears, then observing the subsequent reaction, one could most accurately determine said subject "kitties" ancestry.
To test this hypothesis, I gathered up all of the stray "kitties" I could find (much to Madame Robyns delight..), and developed a testing model. Then, for comparative purposes, I gathered up as many stray dogs as I could find.
This is the original "petting instruction number three", as written and left by Madame Robyn for me to perform:
"#3- Put my little pookaboo on your lap facing you, then fold his ears down so they lay flat on his head, then bend down, rub his nose with yours, and say in a squeaky voice `oooo... you look part Lab to me..'. Then stick your tongue out and pant like a dog."I modified this instruction slightly for the scientific test.
The preliminary results:
- If Lovey simply sits there and looks at you, then kitty is indeed part Lab.
- If the cute kitty jumps down and picks up a milk bottle cap and brings it to you, it is part Retriever.
- If the little devil runs to a secret hiding spot and gets a toy, it is part Poodle. (note-at least 4 hours must have passed since kitty last saw the toy)
- If kitty does as above, then prances and jumps around the toy, this indicates part Border Collie.
- If the thing jumps up and pushes its chin against you, leaving drool, it is part Mastiff.
- If it does as above, but has long hair, it is part St. Bernard.
- If the damn thing just sits there and does nothing, but then suddenly jumps when you get up and follows you to the bathroom, and everywhere else.., while yowling.., it is part Dalmation.
- If kitty bites you and won't let go, the little bastard is part Terrier.
- If the whelp launches full force off of your groin and runs away, it is part Greyhound.
- If the rotten thing launches off your groin, runs around like crazy, bounces off the wall, chews a bloody phone cord, AND it has long hair that it leaves everywhere, it is an Angora Rabbit!
This is all the stupid testing I am
Any other P.fDs wanna carry on?
Fraternally yours, Shel. Pfd.
Copyright © Shel, P.fD
May 4, 1999
Source of Photograph.....
Cat condo - 'kat 'kän-(")dO n. - a length of cylindrical cardboard anywhere from 12 to 48 inches tall with 1 to four portals cut into the vertical surface, attached to a 20 x 20 inch piece of plywood and covered in some variety of carpeting material guaranteed to clash with whatever interior decoration you have done.
Useful for redirected a speeding cat by allowing said cat to propel itself off of at any angle with an increase in velocity. Cat condos with two or more portals are also capable of redirecting a speeding cat 180 degrees with negligible loss of velocity.
Often used in feline guerilla training for setting up and deploying a wide variety of ambush techniques.
Copyright © Eric Speas
November 6, 1999
Read Eric's other story: Good Kitty
marmalade cats at Chartwell
Source of Photograph.....
The following story appeared in the London Times on 23 May 1998
Winston Churchill and marmalade
cats at Chartwell
Jock the cat will live at Chartwell for ever, says Sue Corbett
Ms Leighton with Jock III
Never have so many owed so much to a cat.
Stately homes left to the nation seldom have a permanent resident, bar the odd ghost, mouse or housekeeper. One National Trust house, however, goes out of its way to ensure it is always occupied - by a fat marmalade cat.
"Sir Winston requested in his will that there should always be a marmalade cat named Jock in comfortable residence at Chartwell," explains Victoria Leighton, part of whose job description is to look after the current incumbent, six-year-old Jock III. "We have to be careful where he goes, though, as his claws could do a lot of damage. We try to ensure he keeps to the garden, where he sits happily in the catmint or any patch of sunshine."
Sir Winston Churchill was silly about cats - particularly marmalade ones, which would sit next to him on a specially reserved chair. None of his spoilt marmalades were fond of the other furry creatures of Chartwell, though. Churchill reported to his wife in August 1954 that her Siamese cat Gabriel "gets on very well with everyone except his yellow rival", with whom the relationship could best be described as "an armed neutrality".
The great wartime leader was capable of dividing his favours, however, and was to be observed working at his memoirs with a budgerigar perched on his head, a ginger cat on his lap and a poodle asleep across his feet.
A ginger cat with white chest and paws was an 88th birthday present for Churchill in November 1962, and was promptly named Jock, after the private secretary Sir John Colville, known as Jock, who gave it to him. This cat was such a favourite that he is even seen sitting on Churchill's knee in his grandson Winston's wedding photographs. Jock was only two when Churchill died in 1965, but lived on until 1974 at Chartwell and is now buried in the pet cemetery there.
In compliance with Churchill's wishes, the National Trust - which inherited Chartwell on his death - has since acquired ginger cats called Jocks II and III.
Another good reason for barring Jock III from the main rooms may be the goldfish in what was Churchill's study. "When Sir Winston was at Downing Street," says Mrs Leighton, "some children knocked at the door to give him some goldfish they'd won at the fair. He soon became an expert and kept them ever after. So we maintain that tradition, too."
Denied the goldfish, Jock III has to content himself with tins of catfood and the occasional mouse from the garden. "He's certainly a mouser," says Mrs Leighton, "but I'm thankful to say he doesn't bring them indoors."
The public can visit Jock III at Chartwell, Westerham, Kent (01732 866368).http://www.flippyscatpage.com/churchill.html
You must be a cat or a cat-lover
to understand it
How do you explain to other people the sorrow and grief when one of your cats 'disappears', and how do you explain the immense relief and the joy when at last you find her?
You are a female cat, 'Mambo', aged one year/4 months, neutered, vaccinated and pampered, and you have a very adventurous temperament - completely different from your sister's, who is a real 'Susy Homemaker' - you like to make expeditions in the neighbourhood. We all live in Brussels, and the environment here is the following: old town houses close the entire block, and inside of it there is a maze of gardens, yards, small buildings and wild vegetation areas, each one surrounded by the typical European high impenetrable brick walls. Cats adore to climb on the walls - with the help of trees, high bushes, compost-boxes and so on - and use these walls as a kind of roads criss-crossing the entire block. Sometimes problems arise: you slip from the wall down, or - in the emotion of the hunt - you forget that you must find your way back home, and you find your feline-self deep in a foreign garden, yard or hole, in the middle of nowhere and unable to climb again on the brick- roads... Cat mobile-phone is not yet invented - what are they waiting for??? - and you, cat, are in anguish, fear and necessity.
Your poor human, the one you proudly owns (although some are stupid enough to think they own) you... - and who takes care of you, this one is almost sick of sorrow and worries the whole day and night. No matter that there are still two cats at home. He will not accept the entire European feline population in exchange of YOU. At this moment, you are his little precious "One and Unique". After a sleepless night calling you with voice and with the tink-tink-tink of your favorite catbites in a tin, he prepares a leaflet with your cat's picture (blessed colour printer!), asking everybody to help you find your way home. He spends the entire morning and a good deal of the afternoon distributing it throughout the neighbourhood, asking everybody to allow him to enter into their yard or garden - which always is 'back' - and trying to convince mistrustful old ladies that in spite of his dark hair and moustache he is not going to murder, rob, or rape them...
Well, after many hours of hard work, he finally hears your anguished meeeow (stupid humans, with their poor, weak hearing capacity, not to speak of their null smelling sense!). He has to enter different gardens and yards - again a please-please-please plea to the owners to locate exactly that you are, finally, somewhere in a school ground, between a sports pavilion and a nuns' convent garden wall. School is closed at this time and nobody answers. The nuns, god-bless-them, are always at home, and they allow your human to enter their garden, climb on a decorative column to reach the wall, make some circus exercises risking the good state of his bones... and there he is! You are crazy of joy because he is in front of you and over you... but a glass roof of the d&$# sports pavilion separates him from you. This was, actually, what stopped you to reach your home: you tried to get out of the hole full of bushes and wild vegetation, and you slipped down on the glass roof like on ice. Your heavy human can't walk on the roof. This would mean probably to lost him forever, and who more would know how and when to pet you exactly how you like it? Good luck, he becomes a sort of Indiana Jones when he feels that you, 'his' adored cat, are in danger. He takes his coat out (he would have taken his trousers if necessary!), crawls a little over the glass roof, and let the coat hang until you can reach a sleeve and catch it with your claws. The following is very easy: he pulls the coat out of the hole and there you go, hanging from it with your little claws, like a fluffy Christmas tree decoration...
The rest has been relatively easy. Just three things to do:
- Bring you, cat, at home, bundled in the coat because your nerves were in a terrible state and you couldn't even think of being transported on your human's arms the sidewalk along. This was a hard work, because you tried to escape and your human had a recent-broken arm and he was suddenly and painfully aware of it.
- Receive food, water and a lot of pet and sweet words from your human family and lick-lick-lick of your fellow cats at home, which will grant you a wonderful, restful and peaceful night.
- Send your human on the next morning to a flowershop, to offer the nuns a beautiful flower bouquet for their chapel.
Chuckie in the lap of luxury Chuckie-Butt, as he is affectionately called, derives his name from the infamous doll of those slasher movies. If you ever encounter his claws, you will know why. A small, feral kitten abandoned behind a row of garages, Terri and I trapped, fed and generally domesticated him.
He is a talker, more vocally expressive than many people I know. Chuckie's job is to prevent other cats from infringing on his turf. Unfortunately, he is often frustrated in this endeavor by Terri, who loves and welcomes all cats.
So here I sit with my strong coffee, reading the cat newsgroups as my wife blissfully sleeps away the Saturday early morning hours. CharlieCat sleeps on the bed behind me in the office/guest room, his 4 AM alarm clock duties fulfilled. Chuckiebutt stares intently out the window above the kitchen sink.
I love the fragile silence of the wee morning hours for reading and writing. That's why I left the dishes soaking in the sink last night, so I could get to sleep earlier [grin]. I'll get to them as soon as I'm finished with the newsgroups. No, really. I will.
Suddenly, without warning, a supernaturally loud CRASH! from the kitchen. All hair standing straight up, I head out of the office door into the hallway to the front of the house. A furry black shape travelling just under Mach 1 streaks past me in the dark, nearly knocking me over. It disappears into the back bedroom where my still-unconscious wife has apparently lost her hearing.
Through the living room into the kitchen, dim light provided by a couple of partly-concealed nightlights. Whooops! A pool of water on the waxed linoleum floor catches me by surprise, sending me sliding toward the refrigerator. Skating was never my strong point. Colliding with the refrigerator, arms windmilling, I strive desperately for some traction. There ain't none, so I surrender to gravity and take my place on the wet floor. At this point, I picture my mate turning over comfortably under the covers.
Recovering from the concussion, I find and flick the light switch. Water. Everywhere. Floor, walls, window, counter, cabinets -- even the refrigerator, for Pete's sake. Soapy, dish-soaking water, slippery and cold. Did I say "everywhere"? Allow me to amend that to "everywhere but the sink".
It's easy to deduce what happened. No Holmes or Watson needed. Chuckie--who's been putting on a few extra ounces lately -- must have slipped while trying to negotiate a turn on the narrow sill. He's such a water sissy. He must've thought he'd landed in Hell. In his frantic escape, he managed to turn over the dishpan, the drying rack, and the spice rack, spreading the wealth of his misadventure all around the room. Everything must have happened all at once, because I heard just the one crash. I can just see him skidding all over the place trying to get out of the kitchen.
I found Chuckie quietly drip-drying himself next to my wife on the bed. He made a tiny "peep" sound as I gathered him up off the soggy spot.
I just take it as a sign that I'm supposed to do the dishes *before* retiring. My wife will be very happy to find a clean kitchen on her awakening; she'll be less so about the wet comforter on the bed. Funny how cat owners learn to find the silver lining, though.
I am very grateful for not stubbing my sore toe on any of the heavy pots lying on the floor.
Copyright © Keith Keberhttp://www.flippyscatpage.com/swandive.html
February 27, 1999
Source of Photograph.....
Interesting illustration of moggy psychology.
I was walking up the road (suburbs,
round Wolverhampton, UK. Not a posh
area) when from under a garden hedge came a lolloping squirrel. You know
they run..? Boing, boing, boing...
Not in a hurry this animal even though he was followed by a lolloping new teenage cat on the block.
Squirrel ran over the road (no cars)
- so did the cat.
Squirrel bounced up to wooden telegraph pole - so did the cat...
Neither of them bothered about me standing watching with interest.
Squirrel, most unadvisedly, I
thought, ran up the telegraph pole.
So did the cat, slowly, and carefully.
Squirrel paused and waited, and let kitten-cat catch up.
What a kind squirrel.
When the kitten was about three feet from the ground the squirrel ran down the pole like greased lightning leaving the kitten holding on for dear life and wondering 'where did it go?'
Squirrel disappeared into the
shrubs, laughing its head off.
Kitten began to descend, very, very slowly and carefully and you could tell it wasn't at all happy about it.
Kitten reached the ground and realised what it *really* wanted to do was give itself a jolly good wash and if it was all the same to me, please don't mention that squirrel to any of my friends, okay?
I left, grinning.
Copyright © Veronica Wumpus
November 8, 2001
Source of Photograph.....
That morning her people had put her outside. She was so excited! There were so many things to see and smell and do she didn't know where to start!
She was aware there was a lot of activity around her home with all the people coming in and out, but she had too many things to explore to take much notice. She walked all through the building where her people lived but all she found were closed doors.
She decided to go outside the building. She had stood in the window many times looking out and now she was there. She chased a few squirrels, played in the leaves and even tried climbing a tree for the first time.
Just when she was beginning to think she never wanted to go inside again, she heard a loud growl and turned around. There was a large brown thing coming at her! She hissed and took off running with the brown thing right behind her. It was almost on top of her when she came to a tree and used her new found tree climbing skills to escape. Whew! That was close!
She was scared and wanted to go home.
Outside wasn't fun after all. There were too many bad things outside. She went to the door where her people lived but everything was quiet and still. She stood there for a long time but no one came. It was getting dark. She was hungry and cold and wanted her nice warm blanket! She hid under the stairs and shivered. For the next few weeks, each day was a frightening struggle to survive.
One day the weather turned especially cold. She decided to go to all the doors in the building and cry as loud as she could. Maybe someone would let her in or at least give her some food to eat.
Finally, at the top of the stairs, a door opened. It was a woman who bent over to pet her. She stood on her back paws and rubbed her little head against the woman's face. The woman went inside and came back with a bowl of food and a warm blanket!
While she ate the food, the woman stroked her little head. When she was finished eating she snuggled in the blanket the kind woman gave her. Everyday for the next week, she came to the woman's door and waited for her food. And everyday the woman brought her a bowl and petted her while she ate.
Finally, one day the woman picked her up and brought her inside! She was so happy! It was warm and cozy and she rubbed the woman's ankles purring. If only the woman would let her stay she would never go outside again!
She began to explore this new place. In one room she found a tree! She couldn't believe her eyes! It wasn't like the trees outside. This tree was smaller with low branches and shining things all over it. It had shining boxes all around it. She walked around the tree sniffing. The woman wasn't in the room and she wondered if she would get in trouble if she climbed this tree. Her curiosity got the better of her and she started up the trunk. She went out on an upper branch and sat there feeling very pleased with herself.
The woman came back in the room and started calling her. Would the woman get mad at her for climbing the tree and make her leave? She got scared. Oh why did she climb this stupid tree?
Just then, one of the shiny balls fell off a branch. It hit the floor with a crash and the woman jumped. She sat very still and hoped the woman wouldn't look up. Just when she thought she was home free, the woman was face to face with her in the tree. She just sat there and purred to let the woman know she was sorry.
She was so afraid of being put outside. She let out one tiny little meow and the woman, who had been staring at her with her mouth open, started to laugh! The woman reached out and took her off the limb. She snuggled in the woman's arms as the woman stroked her smooth little head. The woman then said something that somehow let her know everything was going to be all right.
"Merry Christmas, little one!" the woman said. She blinked her big yellow eyes and purred.
Copyright © Ann Hudson
December 17, 2001
Source of Photograph.....
Some ask how I can remember all my cats names... it's not too hard.
Let's see, Twinner (the Mamma). Her kittens: Cow, Spazz, Shyly, Runt, Hisser (who is Twinner's step brother but when five weeks old decided she was his mom, they are inseparable) Wide Diamond, Squirrel, Pauline, Cheeto (named after the food, my son thinks those calico markings are delicious), Trouble and Tribble the Tabby Twins (how alliterate!) who much like the television tribble always seem to wind up in your arms purrrrrrring. Ugly (poor fellow) and Stripe. Then there is Wish... Twinner's mom and her two sons Tux (the cell phone addict) and Bear. All are related, without line breeding... calicos, tabbies, Norwegian forest cats... a big happy family. We love cats... or couldn't you tell?
Obviously NOT big enough the cats decided.
Recently my significant other, our three year old son and I went on an eight day road trip. We left a good friend in charge of the cats. His mission? Feed, water, count heads and pet. Luckily he isn't allergic, this is a gregarious, chatty and quite affectionate crew. (Ever slept with this many cats? Neither have I, they take over the bed... I get the throw pillows in front of the computer.) We called him on the third day, worried about our furry family.
"How are the cats?" Significant other asks.
"Good good." Was the blase reply....
"All accounted for?"
"Yep I did a head count this morning on the porch." (We built the cats a two story kitty condo right in front of the front window, they LOVE it).
"They were all there?"
"They were all asleep when I got there. On the porch. So I stood on the porch and did a head count. Kitty kitty kitty kitty possum kitty kitty...Huh? Kitty kitty kitty kitty possum kitty kitty...what the....and there it was. About the size of Cow (who is around 12 pounds and growing), a possum, curled up and sleeping with the cats!"
We burst into gales of laughter. Concerned, I asked about the youngest kittens (seven weeks old). They were among the crew sleeping with the frozen petrified possum. Obviously they were taking care of the critter!
We haven't seen our cats new possum pal yet, but we know he's there!!
Copyright © Jacquie Bates
January 10, 2002
To Worm a Cat
Source of Photograph.....
Has anyone ever noticed that the directions of the package of worm medicine for cats goes something like "simply give the cats the pills... pink ones first week, fawn ones next week, and pink ones again for the last week.." Just simple little instructions. "Give the pills to the cat."http://www.flippyscatpage.com/theremustbe.html
The little pink pills went down nicely last week in tuna, so I had high hopes this morning. The fawn pills, may I add, are flat, round pills of about 1/3 inch diameter.
They give you a nice l'il dosage chart, which shows that, for instance, my fat 12 lb tabby Frodo needs five fawn pills on the second week, and my slim 9 lb Siamese, three. It helpfully suggests that the fawn pills in particular be given after a day's fasting.
My usual technique of giving cat pills consists of encasing the pill in a stuff blob of butter, sneaking up on the cat, and abruptly poking a finger down the cat's throat from the side, pushing the pill ahead of the intruding finger. This provokes dirty looks from the cat, but gets the pill down without a great deal of hassle. You can imagine how that would simply not go over with 5 huge, nasty pills that would never fit down a cat's throat. Cut them in half and we have 10 repeats of the finger-poke thing? My cats are smarter than that.
As you can see, I had a problem on my hands.
I mashed the pills into a fine powder and adulterated them with a small amount of tuna. They had a nastier smell by far than the pink ones, and I worried slightly. I put Frodo "Fat Boy"s plate down first. He dashed at it, frantic for food after a day's separation anxiety. He skidded to a stop a foot from the plate, shot me a despairing look, and set up a renewed wailing for something to eat. Random, sequestered in the bedroom, had much the same reaction when he was presented with the doctored fish..
OK, so I was going to have to be helpful.
I tried Random first, placing him between my legs and speaking nicely to him... I opened his mouth, took a fingerful of adulterated tuna, and stuffed it way at the back of his mouth. I then tipped his head up and spoke gentle, encouraging words as he attempted to run backwards through my leg, and spit tuna at the ceiling.
At least a tenth of a teaspoon went down, the rest flew about the room, making nasty splats on my sweater, my lap, the floor. I would have needed the jaws of life to get Random's mouth open again, and strange bubbles of saliva were leaking out the corners of his mouth. He looked forlorn. I left him in favour of "helping" Frodo.
In the kitchen, Frodo must have overheard Random's culinary review of today's entree, as he approached me suspiciously, hoping I was hiding real food somewhere in my pockets. My attempt to quell his appetite with the poison-laced tuna were met with violent struggles, and similar huge ropes of saliva and loud gakking noises.
I've given up temporarily. I am surrounded by drooling, glaring cats, and I am thinking of pureeing the tuna mix and perhaps running an IV tube with it...
Copyright © Elaine Miller
April 14, 2000
Source of Photograph.....
My in-laws have a cat named Cletus, a very beautiful Snowshoe, but mean! We were all over at their house playing a boardgame, and my sister-in-law, Heather, brought her two kids, Toni and Corey. Both of the kids were playing on the stairs, and Toni came up to us crying because someone stole her glasses. The only part we all caught was "...he stole my glasses and I try to get it back from him and he scratched me". We all thought she was talking about Corey, but he came down and said that Cletus did it. Toni repeated her story, and this time, she said that Cletus took off with her glasses. I went to check under the beds, and there he was, under the bed with Toni's glasses. I got her glasses and gave them back to her, and picked Cletus up, he looked at the kids and hissed. My mother-in-law said that he's like a mean little kid.
Then there's Sabrina. She had given birth to a litter of kittens on Ash Wednesday on 2001. For Easter dinner, we made a turkey, and naturally, we didn't eat it all. A few days later, Frankie (my husband's grandmother) went into the kitchen to make her a sandwich with the leftover turkey. She turned around to put the turkey back in the fridge, and when she turned back to her sandwich, the turkey was gone from her bread. Sabrina had stolen the slice of turkey and wolfed it down.
Copyright © Jennifer Stafford
November 20, 2002
Nighttime Fun With Mischa & Mojo
Source of Photograph:
I am allergic, as well as addicted, to cats. Our bedroom is supposed to be off-limits to Mischa and Mojo to give my immune system a bit of a break every now and then. The cats do not approve of this.
02:25. Frantic scrabbling and a series of plaintive meows announce Mischa's first visit of the night. She is convinced that one day she will be able to dig through that door. I get up, open the door and start stroking her all over. She doesn't like being stroked, except on her head, and I'm hoping it will make her go away. Meanwhile, Mojo has picked up on the fact that I'm up. I can hear the cat flap go and seconds later he's galumphing up the stairs. Mischa retires in disgust - that boy gets everywhere and ruins everything! I stroke Mojo for a bit, then go back to bed.
Mojo is now ready to play. We can hear the thumps and crashes in the study next door. Eventually the noise subsides and we drift back to sleep.
03:40. Mischa's back. More scrabbling and plaintiveness. I roll out of bed again. This time they're both outside the door already. I pick Mischa up - she really hates that and leaps over my shoulder to safety. She's off, if that's the treatment she gets. Good, I think, tell Mojo firmly "No!" as he's eyeing up the door and manage to get back to bed.
04:20. Attempt #3. This time I really cannot be motivated to get out of bed, so eventually my other half gets up and I can hear him having words outside. He usually tries the stroking routine as well. As he comes back, a dark shape darts between his feet and under the bed. Mojo's a lot quicker than a sleepy human. Neither of us is in any mood to play catch under the bed, so we wait ... we can hear Mojo moving about talking to himself, but eventually temptation gets the better of him, he jumps up on the bed, is grabbed and dispatched out of the room.
Mojo doesn't bother trying to tunnel through the door. He knows what door handles are for, and one day soon he will make one work for him. In the meantime, he practises by jumping up at them, crashing into the door and falling back down to earth. He does this quite a few times.
04:45. Mischa's back. My beloved growls "it's your turn". I am getting just a little frazzled, so I grab her, hold her up in front of me and tell her how unpopular she is right now. She starts grumbling, I let her go and she takes off down the stairs. Mojo is still at the top, looking expectantly at the door. I turn him round, place my hands on his ample bottom and gently propel him towards the stairs. This buys me enough time to get back to bed.
By now there are enough feline allergens floating round to set me off. My throat is tight, I can't breathe as easily as I'd like to, and as I lie there in the dark trying to get back to sleep I wonder, not for the first time, whether I am completely mad to inflict this on myself for the sake of having cats in my life. Just as I am finally drifting off into oblivion again, I wake myself and partner up with a series of explosive sneezes.
06:45. The radio alarm comes on.
07:25. I wake up and stagger out of bed, bleary-eyed. Mischa is now fast asleep in her bed, after a hard night making sure her humans are all right. I gently scratch her behind her ears. She rolls over and presents her lovely white chin for stroking and rubbing, and as I put my head close to her I can hear a very faint purr.
No need to get close to Mojo to hear him purring, he sounds like a lawn mower as I get round to his morning loving. He pummels my arm for a while, then climbs up, drapes himself across my shoulders and starts licking my left ear.
Completely mad I may well be, but there is no way I am giving up my cats.
Copyright © Peps Turler
September 30, 2002
Source of Photograph.....
China is a twelve week old calico Norwegian Forest Cat with long silky fur, gentle disposition, and the compulsion to re-check the level of her food dish CONSTANTLY. No joke, she already weighs about four pounds. She is daddy's baby, as true a love as you have ever seen.
This morning I woke up at 4:00AM and decided to make a latte and read (Waking the Moon by Elizabeth Hand today). While sitting at my desk reading I realised China was in the kitchen making a strange chittering hunting sound. The sound rose to a wail of panic. I decided it was time to see what had her scared and followed the sound.
Poor kitty was cornered in the kitchen by a big.....vicious........mandible clanking.....CARPENTER ANT. It stood in front of her, antennae waving imperiously. China was backed up against the wall. I grabbed a book (The Hand I think) and pushed the ant aside. China scooted past. Not one to give up a fight (she battled the milk ring for three days before the battered plastic ring waved a white flag and admitted defeat... and no shoe will ever defeat her) China pounced again. Ant retaliated, biting her on the nose. Her wail of panic was heartfelt this time poor kitty. The carpenter ant took a chunk out of her nose. Mom stepped in again and flatted the combatative ant.
Was China relieved? Hell no! She had to thrash two pairs of shoes, a musical ferris wheel (Devons) and a pair of innocent socks to repair her dignity and assert her fighting ability.
Copyright © Jacquie Bates
January 30, 2003
Source of Photograph.....
I wonder what goes on in a cat's brain?
My false credential carrying boy cat, Rhett Gonzales, has a toy that is with him at all times. He is 14 years old, but is very attached to this toy. He takes it with him when he goes everywhere. Of course he is a "house cat" and never goes outside. Once I have even found the toy in the litter box. One day last week his toy got lost. I figured he had taken it somewhere in the house and forgotten where he left it. I looked and looked but could not find it. He has two back up toys just like this one, but I knew if I got one of them out he would stop looking for this one. I always say "where is it? You better go find it" and he goes and finds the toy. I suspect he is getting a bit absent minded as we all do when we get older. He cried a day and a night looking for his toy. Finally, the next day he was sitting in the hall and it was as if a light bulb went off in his head and he ran into a bedroom. I followed him all the time saying "where is it" you better go find it" He ran under the bed and came out with the toy. He has not let it get out of his sight since then. I sure was glad because I could not go through another night hearing him hunt the toy. I was weakening.
Any one who says a cat is not very smart has never known a cat! You would never find eight cats that would pull a sled through the snow!
Copyright © Patricia Roebuck
September 7, 2006
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I just wanted to share the wonderful day I've had with my two little sweeties. I've been bonding with them a lot today, and I feel all soft and gooey about them right now.
I have had the week off work this week, which would usually mean nice long lie-ons, but of course not with Scampi around. I had set my alarm clock this morning for 8 am. It went off, and not wanting to wake up I pressed the snooze button, which has to be done with minimal movement as once Scampi knows that I am awake, she insists on petting and snuggling. The snooze goes off every five minutes and I think I got away with it a good few times without alerting her, until I woke all the way up and stretched my arms out. That was all the signal that she needed! Within seconds a soft little ball of white had burrowed under the duvet, nestled between my arms, revved up her motor and started bulldozer-ing me with her face. I really had to get up and get ready to start my day, but how can you ignore a purring cat? I ended up cuddling her for about 40 minutes! She was happy as a clam, which she shows by rolling onto her back and curling up her little feet.
Later, I was hanging some clothes on the line outside and Fussy was up on the ledge where I had my clothes pins, and she stole one and was batting it around on the wooden decking, and she was getting really into the game and sliding around after it. So I found a bit of wood and I was tossing it around for her. She would run for it, and then dive for it and slide along the wood and a couple of times she rolled over and over after it, which was just so funny to see! And then Scampi came outside and she wanted to play too, so I got a smaller block of wood for her, and they were both galloping around. Then we all came inside and had some fish!
It has been so good for them since it has been quite warm and rain free lately so they have the run of the place. Also Scampi has been allowed back outside again, I had to keep her in before she was spayed just in case!
It is so amazing how just having a bit of extra time with the cats can make such a difference. This would sound weird to non-cat people, but I know people here would know what I mean: I had been spending so much time at work and at night-classes that I didn't have enough time to physically play with them, and I could tell that Fussy was upset about that-she seemed distant with me, like she wouldn't sit on my lap and watch TV with me. But now she is back to her old self, energetic, full of life and wanting to play with me. I have made a late New Years resolution to spend more time with the cats!
Here's to everyone and their furry companions!
Copyright © Cait O'Connor
March 23, 2002
Source of Photograph.....
Never think cats don't have VERY firm musical preferences!
A commercial was just on in the show I was watching. My little kitty girl HATES the music for this commercial. When it comes on she just stares at it with a look of HIGH OFFENSE on her face and then looks at me like "WHY don't you turn that damn thing off?" and so then I fast forwarded through it. In case you are wondering what it is, it is the commercial for Betty Crocker desserts - Specifically "Warm Delights - Molten Caramel Cake" and the music in the background of the commercial is rather nasally Patsy Cline-ish sounding. Oh she HATES this type of music!
She has her preferences as to what she likes to listen to also - We took a trip a few months ago and for oh close to five hours, I HAD to listen to David Byrne. If I put in any other CD during that drive she would start with VERY upset meowing and for some, even clawing at the sides of the carrier. So I'd put David Byrne back in. You could almost see her smiling! Never mind that I made several audio book CDs for that drive. Nope. It was David Byrne all the way.
We also have a special little kitty song that has rather evolved over the years. I will NOT sing it for you but lets just say it evolved from Mommy (that would be me) singing along with the radio while in the shower. She often seemed to enjoy some of it and would want me to keep going as I got out of the shower and turned the radio down. So as a good cat slave, of course I would continue. Well, I would make up kitty things as I went along and I started tossing in a line inviting her to sing along. Well whattaya know? She did! She does not sing along to Just Any Song mind you. Nope, its the line where she gets invited to sing along. And she contributes her lovely "meeeow" quite often - right at that point in the song.
I suppose its not JUST limited to what we would call music though - My other cat was so fascinated with the cluck cluck sounds that our Tivo makes that each and every time I would be using it - *PLOP!* right in front of the remote - Or rather between the remote and the Tivo. No, those signals simply do not transmit through the substance of -CAT-. So using the Tivo would then entail picking him up and moving him. However, this would be quite repetitive because as soon as I would start using it again (programming shows or what-have-you) *PLOP!* He'd be right back again. Eventually I found that at least with the new Tivos, you CAN turn off those sounds! I think he still misses them though. They were like music to his little ears.
Copyright � Susan F.
October 16, 2005
Floyd and Candy Report from Sheffield
Floyd and Candy here, reporting on life in Sheffield UK. We are seven-month-old brother and sister and have been housebound for over a week due to various nasty vet things! It's not fun when you are used to going out and terrorising the neighbourhood and when you have a mission to rid the whole of Sheffield of sparrows, mice and frogs! It's not that we don't like them you know, it's just that Daddy Charlie and Mummy Loz are not much good at hunting unless it's stuff in cans and we have to keep bringing in live offerings for their own good or they will never learn!
Daddy Charlie came up with a brilliant brand new game though to keep us occupied. Mummy says he likes his gadgets and has lots of useless ones, but this particular gadget is a thing on his key ring, which has a little red laser light.
He gets this little light to chase all over the floor and up the walls and although we should have caught on to the fact that we can't ever catch it, we still live in hope that one day we will. It's great in the dark too, you get lots of snaky red lines to chase.
Mummy and Daddy think we are a bit dim to fall for this game time after time, but we know what is going on really. You should see the look on their faces, bless them. Mummy and Daddy get so little fun in their lives and they really enjoy this game and besides, they need the exercise!
Copyright © Lorraine Scorah
November 10, 2004
When we first found Peppurr she was a small, fluffy grey ball that was being tossed around the yard by a couple of Magpies. From a distance I assumed it was a part of someone's car seat cover.
My daughter investigated and screamed "Mum! it's a kitten!" I raced over, feeling guilty that I hadn't had my glasses on and that I didn't check first off.
Here was this pathetic looking kitten, with eyes shut due to infection and what appeared to be puss running out of the nostrils and it's fur was crawling with fleas.
We hurried off to the Vet, The Vet stated that he had little hope that this tiny kitten would live out the next 24 hours. I said well, is there possibly any chance I could at least try to prevent this little thing from the inevitable. He gave her a needle with antibiotics, he also suggested that I use Saline solution to clean her eyes and upon further inspection he found she had ear-mites (which my then 5 year old pronounced Termites) and cat flu and to make matters worse, Ringworm.. which we later had endured all over our arms and the itching drove us crazy.
It was touch and go and the only way to sustain her was to give her some Acidopholous yoghurt. She would not take to anything else.
I spent that whole week like a Zombie as I had very little sleep, giving the ear drops, cleaning the eyes regularly and ensuring that the medication the Vet provided us was given ever hour. Her comfort was suckling on my ear-lobe I learnt to tolerate the ear aches from the loud purring.
After one month, she was much stronger. and her coat was shiny.
It turned out that giving the yoghurt helped fight the bacteria that was in her body in conjunction with antibiotics and her vision fortunately was not effected due to the eye infection she had. Her breathing though was due to the Cat flu..
We had her de-sexed after her breathing had stabilized.
And the Vet announced she was a miracle to live past that first day.
Even now, she rules the roost and has been the most wonderful addition to our family. The timing too, was a miracle.. 10 months earlier my eldest daughter passed away from Leukemia.
Caring for this kitten took our minds off our grieving and filled that emptiness we felt inside.
Peppurr has provided us with laughter again and sometimes, she looks at me and as though she knows what we endured those 10 months before we found her, she meows and reaches a paw out to my hand.. I really think this little darling believes that she is a human. I say to people, she is not our cat .. she is our Angel.
Copyright © Kaz Sommers
January 16, 2003
Source of Photograph.....
I have to preface this story with some background. "Mr 20" was a rags-to-riches cat, having gone from skinny dumpster diver to a 20+ pound magnificent specimen. He lived with his rescuer and slave, Desert Rat, AKA Des, now HOSTDes on the About Cats Forum, in the Arizona desert, and he got his name from becoming the 20th rescued feral in Des's colony. Mr 20, alternatively known as "T," went to the bridge in 2007, but his memory will stay with our forum forever. I'll let Des tell the story from here in her own inimitable way:
Mobile windshield replacement and repair is a big business here. Due to the construction and gravel trucks with uncovered loads, we are constantly having auto glass replaced. We can't get a pizza delivered, but can have someone come to our home on a Saturday to replace a windshield.
Its so routine to us that when Dennis arrived we just pointed him at the damaged windshield and forgot about him. Until we heard a cat snarl, a man scream and glass breaking. Both of us ran for the door, hub saying "badword, Rush is out" and me "badword, Bear's out". (Someday, we will settle on a real name for him). We found poor Dennis on the ground, covering his face with his arms and gasping for breath, with the wind knocked out of him.
As we were frantically asking "What happened? are you OK? should we call an ambulance" Dennis managed to get out "I was attacked *gasp, gasp* by a *gasp* orange bobcat *gasp, gasp* with a big tail"
Once we managed to get him semi upright and pry his arms away from his face (Ya want to talk about scared? I was sure major lawsuits were in our future), he calmed down some. He recovered really fast when hub handed him a new 20 dollar bill (hope he didn't get ink on his hands...)
Dennis was OK, his elbow was skinned and he had a bump on his head, but mostly was worried about what his company would say about him smashing our broken windshield. (something to do with quality of service - they just toss them in a bin at the shop)
It seems that not only did we forget to warn him that we had a porch thug, we also forgot to tell him to keep his van doors closed. Mr 20 is fearless about vehicles and WILL investigate any in his yard.
Poor Dennis was carrying the cracked windshield to put in his van, but when he got to the door he startled Mr 20, who responded with his feral scream and jumped out of the van. Dennis thought Mr 20 was leaping at his face, so dropped the glass, covered his face with his arms and tripped while backing up, knocking the air out of his lungs.
I'd guess we are out of that glass company's service area now.
Ronron and the Mysterious Invisible Yogurt
Source of Photograph.....
By Franny Syufy, About.com Guide
One day, I was enjoying a cherry flavored yogurt and thought I'd be nice and offer the cover to Ronron to lick. Ronron was sitting on the counter so I just dropped the cover in front of her. I didn't see how she managed it, but she ended with one front paw covered in bright pink yogurt. "Silly girl", I thought, "she'll lick it clean in no time". So I took the cover and bent to drop it in the garbage under the counter. When I stood again, I saw Ronron was still sitting with her paw all pink and watching me with big round eyes. "Ok, so she hasn't noticed her paw is covered in yogurt yet, no big deal."
She stood up and was about to jump off the counter when something happened. Did she sniff the yogurt? Did she feel her paw was heavier? I guess we'll never know, but she reacted.
Ronron started sniffing the counter passionately, looking for the yogurt she could smell but not see. I could here the lil nose go "sniffysniffsniffoo" and was already giggling. She was getting closer and closer to her paw, so I thought my fun was over, she'd find the yogurt, lick and, that's that.
Well that was overestimating Ronron, it seems, because when she reached her paw, she lifted it to sniff the counter under it. That made the yogurt move backwards and so she started sniffing in that direction. "Surely she won't do it twice", I thought.
Well not only did she do it twice, she did it a lot more than twice. She was walking backwards in circle, sniffing the counter and always moving her paw away before she could notice the yogurt she was looking for was there.
I tried to hold her paw gently to her face so she'd see her error, but she gave me such a puzzled look, I burst out laughing and she went back to her trotting and sniffing.
After a few minutes of this, I walked away. Soon Ronron was coming my way with a clean paw and begged for lovies. I'm thinking she just wanted a place to hide her red face...
Brother Gary and the Stalker Cat
My older brother loves animals and has always had them. He is rather a bit of a stand up comic in the family too. I had the whole family here for Christmas (seven siblings with spouses and Mom). Gary walked in the door and something clicked between him and FB. Now FB is my greeter cat. He loves to greet people and be right in the middle of a huge crowd and the center of attention. I found out that day that he also had a sense of humor.
Gary, my brother, said "hi" to FB and joked he was a big cat. FB sniffed the air and let out a HOWL. Not just your garden variety howl, but a HOWL. Gary must have jumped a foot in the air and said keep the wild cat away. FB had to have understood every word and all of us laughing, because he followed Gary through the house.
Gary would ignore him and FB howled for his attention and Gary cowered before him. Gary sat in the big easy chair and FB sat on the coffee table and argued with him. Gary cowered in the chair and begged everyone to remove the cat so he could get up. No one could help him because we were laughing too hard. I showed Gary what a big putty tat FB really was by picking him up and loving on him, but FB never took his eyes off Gary. He purred in my arms which showed me he was putting on this act all for Gary because FB HATES to be held.
So Gary decided to show how brave he was and asked to hold FB. He stood up and made a big show of rolling down his long sleeve shirt and asking for leather gloves. Then he reached for FB. I was laughing hysterically by this time and the whole family gathered around for the blood shed. Gary reached out for FB and.....FB licked his hand.
Randy was in shock cause he knew what violence FB can do. I slowly handed FB to Gary and all heck broke loose. FB laid in his arms and screamed a banshee scream. Gary screamed like a girl. The whole family is laughing so hard we had tears running down our face. Never a claw or tooth came out...just screams from both of them. Gary was afraid to let FB down and FB had no desire to get down...he had his victim right where he wanted him. Finally, FB jumped down and Gary jokingly announced he need a change of underwear.
Gary sat on the couch to recover and FB sat beside him and fell asleep with one paw on Gary's leg. They were the best of friends for the rest of the visit. To this day, my whole family laughs over the day GARY WAS STALKED BY A CAT.
- Cindy aka CANBZhttp://cats.about.com/od/funwithcats/a/bestandworst_3.htm
Coco and the Woodpecker
By Franny Syufy, About.com Guide
Before I had my deck screened, I would let Raleigh and Coco out on the unscreened deck when I was there to keep an eye on them. I discovered that Coco was very good at catching birds. She never killed them, she played with them. On a couple of occasions she brought the birds in the house, then proceeded to let them go so she could play with them inside. Needless to say I was not thrilled by this, but the first time it happened I was able to quickly shoo the poor finch back out to the deck. Not so with the downy woodpecker...
When Coco caught a downy woodpecker, the bird flew into the bedroom and tried to take refuge behind the headboard of the bed. This is one time that Coco and Raleigh worked together. One went for the bird from under the bed, the other from on the bed. They jumped on and off to try a side attack, very nearly knocking over a table and a couple of lamps while the poor bird flapped in terror. I had no idea how I could get the bird out without the house being destroyed.
Finally the woodpecker flew out from the shelter of the bed and clung for dear life to a door hinge. I momentarily thought "now what?" but then grasped the bird from behind to try carrying it out to the deck. I had a fear of being pecked the whole way, but since the bird was semi-catatonic with fear that did not happen. He flew away, seemingly OK. I rushed to the chiropractor appointment I was already late for and told everyone what had just ensued, to the amusement of all.http://cats.about.com/od/funwithcats/a/bestandworst_4.htm
Amanda, the Cheese Freak
Source of Photograph.....
By Franny Syufy, About.com Guide
I had adopted two kittens the beginning of this year. One of them, my female Amanda really likes cheese for snacks. She quickly figured out where I kept "her" cheese. I was talking to her one day when she came up and jumped in my lap. She knows what "cheese" is. I asked her if she wanted some. Of course she gave me her please mom can I have some before I die meow. I told to her to come on, so she hopped off my lap and headed for the kitchen and stood at the fridge and looked at me. I asked her again if she wanted some cheese. She gave me the same meow.
I opened the door (dummy me didn't close it) and sat the cheese on the counter, grabbed the knife and cut her off a piece. I turned around put the cheese back in the fridge and closed the door. I washed off the knife stuck it in the dish drain and looked down to see where she was. I didn't see her. I called out to her and told her I had her cheese. No answer and she was nowhere to be seen.
I figured she went into the den and was waiting for me to come back in there with her treat. I went to look for her. She wasn't there, so I looked down the hall towards the litterbox. Didn't see her there. I heard a noise in the kitchen and I went to see if she was in there and I looked over her. I looked around in there and saw nothing she wasn't under the breakfast table, on the bottom shelf of the microwave cart, or on my bakers rack.
About that time I heard a noise again. I turned around and listened to see if I could hear it again. I did. Somthing in my fridge was clanking the bottles together on my door shelves. I opened the door and saw Amanda. She wandered out of the fridge and looked up at me amd meowed. I caught out of the corner of my eye the cheese in the fridge. She had pulled the saran wrap off the cheese and had taken her a few bites. I sat her on the stool at the breakfast table and gave her the cheese I cut off for her. I grabbed a Ziploc bag and wrote on it cats only and stuck the cheese in the bag, put it in the fridge, checked to see if any cats were in it there, and closed the door.
I have never had a cat climb into the fridge before. I was suprised. I have learned my lesson though. Look before you close the door since I have a cheese crazy cat who will stop at nothing to get her cheese. That has been the only incident and attempt, so I think it's safe to say she learned her lesson too.
I came home from running some errands one day, and instead of running over to greet me like normal, the boys were staring intently at my treadmill.
Intrigued, I walked over to see what had their attention. I saw a little bit of fur between the treadmill base and the wall. I thought it was one of their fur balls - until it moved. Independently of cats.After jumping back about three feet, I couldn't see it anymore. After a little while, I thought that maybe it was a rat (too big to be a mouse), or maybe one of the boys was playing tricks with me. But I didn't see it again and the boys lost interest, so I just went about my business.
Fast forward about 4 hours, to dinnertime. The boys come in again, and suddenly they're staring at the treadmill again. Suddenly I hear squeaking. This is NOT one of their toys.
DH & I hustle the boys into the bedroom & close all the doors. Unfortunately our house is very open, and we're afraid it could get anywhere. But we go over to the treadmill with box in hand, and lift up the base - and then see that it's a baby rabbit.
And suddenly it went from "eww, there's a rat in our house" to "aww, there's a baby bunny".
We weren't quite sure what to do with it. We did manage to get it into a box. We finally decided to put it into my garden (when was the last time you put a rabbit into your garden?), where at least it could get sustenance. I posted here, and was told it probably could survive on its own. And sure enough, the next morning it was gone. At least I hope it survived!
There is no way a baby rabbit just wandered into our house on its own. There is a cat flap the boys use to come and go into their kennel at will, but it's a hop up to the flap - and I don't think a rabbit that small could push through the flap by itself (and why would it want to?).
My best guess is the boys somehow managed to snatch it from their kennel (they've managed a seemingly endless array of lizards, grasshoppers, snakes, and a couple of baby birds so far) & then tried to play with it inside - and it got away and hid by the treadmill for hours.
- Judy Litt (About Guide to Graphic Design)http://cats.about.com/od/funwithcats/a/bestandworstii.htm
Jaspurr Goes Swimming
Source of Photograph.....
While Bubba has always been an indoor-outdoor cat, we wanted Jaspurr, Joey, and our little latecomer Billy, to be indoors only. This has worked well until this summer, which has been incredibly hot in our area. We live on the California Delta, with a manmade bay in our back yard. Our adult son has made it a practice to take the cats outside with him in the cooler part of the morning, to enjoy the wildlife (ducks, geese, cormorants, great blue herons, and the occasional family of otters that cavort around our dock.)
Because there is no way to effectively fence our property (also against our CC&Rs), Lance has created "water fences" on both sides of the back yard - simply hoses that spray water into the bay, beyond which the cats are reluctant to venture. (A good example of the old axiom about necessity being the mother of invention.) This system has worked well, especially after Jaspurr got his own sampling of another kind of water earlier this year.
Each year our feral ducks visit us to show of their new babies - tiny balls of yellow, brown, and cream fluff, that follow their mothers around in close formation, like cars in a miniature train. Obviously, the cats are fascinated by these tempting fluffballs, and Jaspurr in particular will lie for hours among the rushes on our banks, no doubt salivating in anticipation of a duckling treat for breakfast. Lance keeps an eye on him though, as do the mother ducks.
One morning, Jaspurr ventured out on the ramp that goes down to our boat dock, and lay there for 15 or 20 minutes, his topaz eyes huge as marbles, as he moved his head back and forth, following the ducks swimming and feeding just five feet below him. They would move tantalizing close, then as he crouched closer to the edge of the dock, they would casually swim away. Finally, one duck we've named "Top-Knot Harry," because of the plume of feathers he sports on the top of his head, moved almost directly under Jaspurr. The poor cat could contain himself no longer, and flung himself into the air, crashing on top of Harry, who careened out from under him, bouncing safely several feet away. Harry need not have been frightened though, because Jaspurr's attention was instantly diverted toward survival. He surfaced instantly (thanks to his built-in fat flotation device), and did a frantic catly butterfly breast stroke toward our rocky shore, which was about eight feet away. I had come outside just in time to hear the splash, and was terrified that the poor cat would drown, but he swam like the champ he is. Olympic swimmers have nothing on this cat! He proved his mettle on his virgin swim (although word has it that he's retired from water sports permanently). Today, he contents himself with lying the the grass, lusting after the ducks from afar.
Still, I suspect that on some very warm days he contemplates swimming with the otters. But that's another story...
- Franny Syufyhttp://cats.about.com/od/funwithcats/a/bestandworstii_2.htm
Bugs and The Great Wine Explosion
Source of Photograph.....
DH and I were strolling down memory lane decided to revist our ill-spent youth by buying a bottle of Asti Spumonte, a sparkling wine that sort of tastes like apples. We wanted it for dinner and DH decided to put it in the freezer...where we promptly forgot about it.When we got it out of the freezer, it looked pretty frozen. For reasons that can only be described as male, DH decided it to open the bottle just as Bugs, with his back turned to him, decided to eat some kibble half a kitchen away. Before I could yell, "Contents under pressure, you idiot!" DH popped the cork.
Which flew. Across the room. Hitting Bugs on the butt. With considerable force. He levitated four feet vertically into the air just in time to meet the stream of Asti Spumonte ice winging its way through the air. Mid-air collision: cat, half-frozen wine, DH trying to save cat.
Howls. From Bugs and DH, who catches Bugs, claws first, because they are now fully extended and working with piston-like energy in full getaway mode because DH has the bottle, which is making splurting noises and foaming in an alarming manner, in the other hand . Bugs uses DH's chest as a launching pad and races off in blind panic through the livingroom, showering flecks of wine ice everywhere he goes.
And where does he take cover? In our bed of course, under the duvet, rolling wildly to get the nasty-smelling cold stuff OFF his back. Which meant, of course, that he had to have a bath, because not only is he sticky, but we're concerned that wine just can't be good for brown cats. Although Tum, whom we caught lapping at the pool of melted wine in the kitchen, clearly did not agree, given the protest he made when we locked him downstairs for the duration of clean-up.
Anyways, Bugs, wet and completely disgusted, has banished us to the bench for a prolonged time-out with prejudice. Anybody like a glass of winecicle?
Project Orange and the Cat Smugglers
Source of Photograph.....
Franny's Note: This story requires a preface, because it is a small segment of a larger, international story that took place over a period of several weeks. The short version is that Project Orange involved the rescue of a cat by an About Cats forum member in Canada, and his subsequent adoption by Catherine, a forum member clear across the continent, in Alaska. The transportation details alone involved several relays, culminating in the long flight with Sasha, the daughter of yet another forum member. Are you confused yet?
Hang onto your hats! Francine takes the story from here.
Even though we were running late, we still felt like we were going crazy. We each made sure that Orange had everything he needed, Water with Rescue Remedy in it, a bit of food for the stop in Anchorage, his blanket, the paperwork and money for him, and of course, his litter and specially designed (by Victoria) collapsible litter box. I forgot to pack his bed, and give him one of the crinkly balls cause he loved them so much!!
We got to the border at about 10 after 6 or so and went over the bridge (there are two crossing points, a bridge and a tunnel) and got to the Customs booth.... and this is where the fun began.
Well, we were asked our citizenships, and since I was driving I responded "Canadian" and passed over all three driver's licenses, two Canadian birth certificates, and one immigration card (Dominic's).
"Purpose of your trip." (Immigration officers don't ask questions, they make statemtents!)
"We're bringing our friend to the airport."
"Can I see her airplane ticket."
"She doesn't have one, because it was done over the internet."
Sasha starts looking through her purse for the papers she printed last night... just as I see a picture of the papers lying on the floor (which I meant to pick up, or have someone pick up, but my hands were full with the litter to be packed, and no one was immediately around me). Rustling through her bag, Sasha discovers that she doesn't have the papers with her.
"I don't have them with me." I hear from the back seat.
"Why are you taking this trip"
"I'm bringing this cat to his new home." (Internal groan from Francine and Dominic as well. LOL It's the truth, but who is going to actually believe it?)
"What?" (Yes, that was actually a question.)
"I'm flying to Anchorage to bring this cat to his new home."
"WHAT?!" Then calmer: "Lean forward so I can see you"
"I'm bringing this cat to Anchorage to his new home."
"He's here beside me in the carrier."
At this point, he hands me back our cards, and puts an Orange (Yes ORANGE!!!) piece of paper on our windshield under the wiper, and says, "Pull over to your left, but don't get out of the car until you are told."
Now, I start thinking "Uh oh" because I have never been pulled over before! Wait, it gets better!
I pull over to the area, where there are about six guys standing around. One guy on the right of the car tells me to pull through, and when I get where I think he wants me to be, I stop. The guy on the left comes over, and tells me to back up, all nasty like (intimidation techniques I suppose... fazed me a tad, but not all that much because I KNOW they do this all the time; it's in their job descriptions! Anything to make you nervous and make you say something you meant to keep secret.)
So, were still sitting in the car.
"Any alcohol or tobacco in the vehicle?"
Then, very softly from the back I hear "I have my cigarettes." Wasn't exactly the place to tell Sasha that they are looking for cartons (and normally lots of them), not personal packs of cigarettes. I know by this point that Sasha is VERY nervous. Intimidation techniques work well on people who don't cross the border often; it's been six years for Sasha.
"Step out of the car please" (why they bother to say please when they are say things so strictly, I don't know....)
"Go into the building and stand at the counter until you are called on."
So I pipe up, after getting out of the car, and say "She has a couple of
packs of personal cigarettes in her bag," just to calm Sasha down a
bit, so SHE knows she's not hiding anything. If people think they are,
they get nervous, and even if it's not about the flight, the customs
officers might have thought she was hiding something about it, or lying
about it altogether!
So, I think Sasha was completely rattled by this point, but I was okay, 'cause I knew we had nothing to hide, and Dominic is "border savvy" as well.
"How do you know each other" (back to statements not questions again!)
"This is my boyfriend, and this is my friend."
"How did you meet each other?" (referring to Sasha and me). "On the Internet," I said. (I could tell he wanted to roll his eyes, but he couldn't.)
"And where are you going?" (to Sasha).
"I'm going to Fairbanks, Alaska," she said.
"What's the purpose of your trip?"
"I'm bringing a cat to his forever home" (Italics to bring your attention to the phrase. Please note that "forever home" is not a phrase that normal people would use, it's a cat lover's/forum phrase.)
"How in the heck is this cat going all the way to Alaska?" (The dumbfounded look starts to creep onto his face... he's doing his best to hide it!)
I pipe up again, because I feel Sasha's nervousness beside me. "We both are on an online forum for cats. This cat was rescued from the street; the lady from Alaska heard his story, fell in love with the cat, and is paying to have him brought to Alaska." (I didn't get into major details we did have a plane to catch after all!)
The dumbfounded look gets a little easier to see.
"Why should I believe a lick of this story?" (Back to questions again folks!)
I kinda shrugged, looked him right in the eye, and said, "Because it's true. If you have the Internet I can prove it to you." By this point, the dumbfounded expression is clear as day.
So, he told the three of us to sit down and wait for a few minutes. I told Sasha that he was probably looking at our criminal records, and told her not to worry because we had nothing to hide.
Sasha piped up and said, "Well, I was in jail once."
I got struck by another wave of "UH OH!" and said, "You're joking right?"
She said yes I nearly bopped her one for that!
Finally, the guy came back out, and called Sasha up to the desk. Apparently he was satisfied that there weren't any warrants out on any of us, and that Sasha wasn't fleeing the country for some unpaid parking tickets, and he let us go with a "Don't forgot your documents next time."
I think he chalked it up to one of those times where the truth is stranger than fiction! LOL
So, we get back in the car, and onto the freeway toward the airport.
Orange story made international news, both in Canada and in Alaska,
and I'm pleased to say that Orange is living a grand life with
Catherine and his adopted sibling cats in Anchorage.
By Franny Syufy, About.com Guide
Source of Photograph.....
Once upon a time I was telling some Cats Forum members about Bubba's increasing bossiness in his old age. Bubba had all three of his human slaves pretty well trained. During the ensuing discussion, HOSTPat remarked, "You're sooo kitty-whipped." Even though we joked about it, the truth of those words could no longer be denied. I am kitty-whipped, and a slave to my cats too; so was Asa, during his life, and Lance, who is a long-time slave to our cats. We're not especially proud of it; it's not something we'd readily acknowledge in "polite company," but around here, we're among friends, and can confess to our slavedom.
Bubba was always a chatty cat, but sometimes his dialogue took on an annoying, demanding tone. It's hard to spell, but if you can imagine a pint-sized lion's roar, it goes something like mraaarw! and was often accompanied by a paw to the nose. The latter was applied gently at first if the recipient is sleeping, but with increased emphasis, eventually with one claw unsheathed, until the human slave awakens. Upon a successful eviction from bed, Bubba would trot ahead of his slave, occasionally throwing another mraaarw! over his shoulder. His goal was the utility room and once there, he expected his kitty-whipped slave to lift him to the top of the clothes dryer (where he always dined), to refill his food dish, and to pet and praise him while he eats. Don't even try a couple of pats and a quick exit; you'd be rewarded with a sharp left hook to the arm, delivered with surgical precision. This cat had eyes in the back of his head and claws like scalpels.
One day, my son, Lance, stormed into my office with Bubba in hot pursuit, mraaarwing all the way. "What does this blankety-blank cat want?" he demanded. "I've petted him, brushed him, and gave him food, but he wouldn't eat it. He won't shut up!"
When he admitted that the food was on the floor instead of the dryer, I explained in detail exactly what Bubba wanted. Lance trudged down the stairs, mumbling, with Bubba following closely behind. I waited at the railing of our loft and listened. Sure enough, I soon heard food rattling in the dish and then blessed silence.
I can't stand to see a grown man cry.
The J-Boys' Conspiracy
Not to be outdone by Bubba, Jaspurr and Joey have their own furry agendas. They can't compete in the raaarw category (indeed, they are both squeakers rather than meowers), so they use more subtle strategy to manipulate their human slaves.
While preparing to pencil a draft of this article, I decided to have a snack. Joey saw me pulling out a paper plate, and jumped on the kitchen counter, his whole face alight with anticipation, and his tail quivering with joy at the prospect of an unscheduled meal. I tried to bypass him, but was drawn back, stricken with guilt at the sight of that appealing, winsome look of trust. Oh well, I didn't need the extra calories, and Joey is happily scarfing up Salmon and Ocean Fish, as I write. I choose to ignore the smug look on his self-satisfied little face, in the interest of being a good slave.
Joey also uses a subtle aloofness to elicit tummy rubs, which he relishes with abandon. He'll stroll past me, caressing my leg with his tail, then run just out of my grasp when I try to pick him up. He then tucks his head under and rolls to the floor, tummy invitingly exposed. Any kitty-whipped slave within his sight cannot resist, and will give him those tummy scritches he craves, while feeling honored for the privilege.
Jaspurr is even more subtle with his manipulation techniques. He's a cool customer, who will one minute flop on my lap and favor me with the most loving gaze you've ever seen in a cat's eyes. A few minutes later, he will jump down and cast a dismissive glance over his shoulder as he strolls away.
I haven't yet figured out his motivation for this enigmatic behavior, other than that he's waiting until I'm thoroughly cowed, and will then put forth his demands to his kitty-whipped slave.
I can hardly wait to hear them...
Jenny, our latest arrival, came into our household pre-equipped with an inborn ability to wrap me around her sweet little paw. Jenny sleeps with me in the master bedroom, but her sleeping pattern is somewhat different than mine. While I zonk out the minute my head hits the pillow and don't awaken until five or six hours later, Jenny takes little cat-naps, interspersed with play time. She will pat my face gently, but if I don't awaken quickly enough, will do it again with just the tips of her claws ext ended. Sometimes I can buy some time by petting her. Otherwise, she positions herself at the opposite corner of the bed, runs toward me with increasing speed, then leaps across my face, dragging her tummy hairs across me. I awakened at 5:30 this morning with that kitty alarm clock.
How about it? Are you a self-confessed kitty-whipped slave? Participate in our poll or better yet, complete this sentence with your own version of being kitty whipped:You realize you're kitty-whipped when. . .