Give me a P! Give me an E! Give me a T! Whadda ya got? Trouble!

Don't you worry none, I will be blogging about the snow, a.k.a. the BIG snow. Just not today.

Many of you are pet lovers. Many of you don't really like animals unless they are cooked on your plate.  Some of you are in between; animals are okay, but they need to be outside.

Sigh.

I could never be a farmer. I'd have pigs in the parlor and cows in the kitchen if it got cold outside.

As you know, we have four three cats and a dog.

Let me make it clear from the get go: I don't think they are equal to people. People come first. But I also believe that God gave us a duty to care for animals, and not be neglectful or abusive toward them.

Let me make it also clear that I am really the pushover I have described, and I reckon it's my business.

Today, I am sharing, so it can be your business, too!

For those of  you who aren't fond of our four legged friends, this may sound a bit gross.

But Husband has found out that Bonnie, our Dog, likes coffee. So he's (Husband, not Dog) taken to letting her have the last few drops in his mug. She larps it up ecstatically.

But that's not the gross part.  The gross, not to mention comical, part, is husband shared his last drop of coffee the other morning, and because he was carrying on intelligent conversation yakking, he walked into the kitchen and got a drink of water - out of that mug. The groaning and spitting that was going on as soon as he realized what he'd done was pretty funny. And gross.

Both Husband and Daughter have started feeding Eli, Alpha Cat, from the table, if we are having chicken, which we do a lot.

So, the other day, toward the end of the meal, Eli figured it was time for some sharing. He is very long, so standing on his hind feet, his front feet and head were above the table. Then he proceeded to steal food off the edge of Daughter's plate.

 

Daughter quickly knocked the bite of the food off her plate and put her hand between Eli and the plate, but it was too late. Eli got the chicken.

We thought this was adorable. Some of  you will, too. Others will be, well, grossed out.

Dog sleeps in her crate, but the cats sleep wherever they want to upstairs. Usually, if it is cold, Frost sleeps between Husband and me, while Eli sleeps on the other side of me.

That's nice and warm until I try to turn over. Having twenty pounds of cat on each side of you, pinning down the covers, makes it hard to move. And when a cat wants to be asleep, it becomes boneless and limp. So it's a lot like trying to move a twenty pound sack of taters.

Over all, let me say it takes a lot of extra work having pets in the house. You have to vacuum more, you have to make sure the dishes they eat (or drink) out of are dishwasher washed, so the heat kills bacteria. Unless you share like Husband did.

There's a litter box to empty, fur to be brushed, etc.

But, if  you are a pet lover, as I obviously am, it's worth it.

At least, on most days.

Our Molly

  

We own a bulldog who likes to chew.

If you’re not real careful, she’ll chew on you, too.

She’s a big young bitch with smiling face,

And she can use you to mop up the place.

Her face is half shadow and half pink and white.

Her pigeon toed stance makes grown men faint with fright.

She’ll eat anything that doesn’t eat her first.

If you’ve not seen her eat, then you’ve not seen the worst.

Just when you think you can’t stand her no more,

She’ll look up at you with eyes that implore.

She’ll blink them real slow and stick out her lip,

It’ll make your heart do an odd little flip.

She sits on her rump and lays flat on her back,

With her ears hanging loose and her jowls hanging slack.

It pulls her eyes up and she stares like a ‘gator.

Like she’s been run over sooner than later.

She’s afraid of nothing, except maybe a bear.

She’d give her life for us without turning a hair.

But she snores really loud and can smell real bad too.

If they ain’t put up, you’ll be minus a shoe.

But all in all, when it’s time to measure her love,

You won’t find it lacking, it’s gentle as a dove.

One promising wag from her stump of a tail,

And you know her loyalty will never fail.

She’s won over our family and without a doubt,

Her devotion is as strong as her body is stout.

Her heart is a giant in that great barrel chest,

And we’ll love her forever, then put her to rest.

So if you love faithfulness and genuine trust,

And you don’t mind slobber, shed hair, and dog dust,

A bulldog is something you really must own.

She just needs you – and of course, a big bone! 

They Act Like Us, Sometimes

I've seen animals do interesting things...things are are 'human like'.

I watched my cat, Angel do a very sweet thing. She got canned food every  morning, and our Bull Mastiff, Belle, looked longingly at her, from a respectful distance, while she ate. when Angel finished, Belle licked the plate.

One morning, I noticed Angel kept glancing over at  Belle. And when she finished eating, she left a bite. For Belle.

How do I know this wasn't just a coincidence? Because every morning after that, as long as Belle lived, Angel left her a bite. When Belle died, Angel went back to eating the whole plate full.

One morning I was sitting on my back porch, watching a squirrel in the road. He was eating something. Suddenly a big crow came out of the sky and ran him off and began eating whatever it was. The squirrel ran down the hill. But then I saw the squirrel coming back. He was behind the crow, sort of creeping along the edge of the hill. Suddenly, he jumped out, right at the crow and scared the heck out of that bird! The crow jumped and  squawked. The squirrel took another dive down the hill. But he got revenge.

Then there was the time I was cleaning up the kitchen and had some nasty water I didn't want to pour down the kitchen sink. So, I took it out the back door and threw it off the banister (The ground is two stories down). I heard a furious chatter when the water landed on the ground, so I peered over the edge. There was this tiny chipmunk, looking up, drenched. I swear he was shaking a fist at me and cussin' for all  he was worth!

A few months ago, we decided to load up three cats and take them all to the vet for the various upkeep things one must do for the darlings. Molly, our American Bulldog watched us do cat round up and put them in their separate carriers. They commenced choir practice in the foyer while David went out and opened car doors.

Now, Molly considers these cats hers. She hates other dogs, goes into kill mode if one comes near. But kitties? Well, she's smitten. She saw us begin hauling cat out the door, and at the last minute she almost knocked my daughter down getting out the door herself. Molly has NEVER done anything like this before. She ran to the car and got in! She refused to get out, even after David leashed her and pulled.

We weren't taking her cats away. Not without her. So, in a rather crowded P.T. Cruiser, we all went to the vet.

We had a Cockateil  for years. He was deep yellow, except for his two rosy cheeks. When out of the cage, he liked to watch my daughter color. She'd lay out the crayons, which  he like to pick up and carry around. And what color, do you suppose, he picked EVERY TIME? Yellow. Never failed. And yellow candy. Every time.

And of course I have stories about my dogs disliking some people for no obvious reason, but making me feel like I better be on guard around that person. And cats who don't like anyone much suddenly take a stuck like glue shine to someone because they are either: a. allergic to cats or b. hate cats.

My life is richer for sharing it with these critters. Makes me feel sorry for those who chose not to do so.

There's a New Cat in Town

2/15/09

My mother showed me a picture in the paper last week of a cat at the local shelter in need of a home. Now, I had no intention of getting a cat until our cat, Angel, passed away. She’s fourteen years old, has a heart murmur, deaf for the last two of those years. She’s had seizures for the past five years, and has been in kidney failure for four years. In fact, after the kidney failure diagnosis, the vet told us she wouldn’t make it past a year, six months, really, if we were lucky. But we don’t believe in luck, we believe in love, and she’s still with us. Obviously, she takes a lot of care, and a new cat might well traumatize her. So it never entered my mind.

Until I saw the picture.

I decided that when I got my turn at the paper (usually a week later, when my mother is done with it), I’d call. If the cat was still available, we’d visit. He was. We did. The rest is history.

Angel was in no way upset over the new arrival. The new cat jumped up on the bed and they wiggled noses at each other. Angel mostly shrugged. He bowed up, eyes widened in terror, and fled. Such a drama king.

Frost is two years old, she’s fourteen. He’s a sturdy eleven pounds, she, a dainty six. He is an agile, jumping, soaring, crouching, hunting cougar. She is a hobbling, arthritic elder who had rather sleep than anything. He is long, slinky and limber. She is short, cobby and stiff. He leaps at every sound. Her world is silent. He has round eyes that begin as dark green and end in pale yellow. Her eyes are almond shaped and golden. His hair is short and sleek, hers, long and silky. Yet, if you catch sight of one of them out of the corner of your eye, you might not know which cat you see. They are both blindingly, solid white. Pink eared, pink nosed, with pink pads on the bottom of their feet.

After two days, they both sleep in our bed, Angel at my shoulder blade, Frost at my thigh. She is curled into a ball, paw over face. He is stretched as far as he is able, feet in the air, belly exposed, head back.

Molly, the dog, is very entertained by the new pet. She is eager to be friends, and though Frost feigns fear, he tears after Molly if she stops paying attention. Molly watches him with cocked head and wagging rear when he is chasing imaginary things or playing with string. Molly has no animosity, only curiosity.

So, it looks like all our worry over adjustment is for naught. It’s taken less than two days for Frost to settle in and make himself at home.

I’m happy for the most part. It’s made me well up with tears to realize how little Angel does anymore. I’d forgotten, in her geriatric state, how she used to be, and Frost reminds me of her past life. Angel is slowly disappearing into herself and soon she’ll be gone. I dread her passing. I love her so much! But fourteen and ill doesn’t bode well for a long future. The vet is amazed she’s still alive, that she can still jump on the bed (although if a person is available she meows and we lift her up). Love has triumphed.

And love will help us say good-bye.

But for now, we’re a family with two cats. And I’ll be satisfied for that state to remain for a while.

Frost: Icy, beautiful, majestic.

Angel: Sent from God when we needed her most.

Family: All of us, for now.

Angel passed away two months after this writing.

From Happiness to Despair

In the middle of cooking dinner today, my daughter had to take the dog out. She came back with a wondrous look upon her face. It seems that while she was standing still waiting for the dog to do  its business, a tiny bird landed on her hand, then hopped over to the other hand when she raised it even with the first. She spoke softly to the miniature creature, and it stayed until the dog made a sudden movement, then it flew away.

After telling me this, we rushed back outside to the same spot and waited, hoping for a recurrence. When that didn't happen, we came back in, frozen.

I fretted that it had to be a pet who had flown out accidentally and was looking for home. It's cold out, and I feared for it's tiny life.

I stepped into the dining room for a moment and heard a terrible WHAM! against the bay window. My daughter was standing there with her hands over her mouth. Something (a bird) tiny and dark  had slammed into the window, falling to the ground.

She rushed outside and started sifting through the leaves, her father joining her. But the search was futile.

Was it the same bird? Probably. Trying to fly  in, where it was used to living, safe and warm.

And just because we didn't find a tiny body doesn't mean it's not there, somewhere among the bushes and leaves. How something so small could survive such a hard, direct hit seems impossible.

Man, I hate unhappy endings.