Pranks and Things That go Bump in the Night
Today is a glorious day here in Central Florida! I just had to say that because I am usually complaining of the heat. I have all the windows open, thinking there's a nice breeze coming in. Jokes on me - it's 77 degrees which means the a/c is running - hence the "cool breeze." Good thing my husband isn't home...
Speaking of jokes, this is a house of pranks. Andy and I love to "gaslight" each other. For example, he left the pool drain running the other day when he left for work. Later in the day, he texted and jokingly asked if there was any water left in the pool. I texted back that there was about a foot left - was that a problem? I got a call back in about 10 seconds.
Whether they intend to do so or it's just coincidental, the other residents of the house mess with us and each other all the time. When he realizes one of his brothers is using a litter box, Chance likes to lie in wait to pounce on the poor guy when he walks out. Then there's Rooney. She becomes deaf and forgets her name when she's outside and we want her to come in. She stares at the sky and the trees and gets lost in Rooney-world. Even Roxy the bunny gets her licks in. If she doesn't like something I put in her cage, she just flings it back out!
I like to watch those haunted house shows. But at some point it occurred to me that a lot of that same stuff happens here. Finn loves the hanging chandelier in the kitchen. If he's not swinging from it, he's batting it so that it's pretty much always in motion. He also loves lamp shades. Every lamp shade in this house is catawampus from him rearranging them. There are always unexplained crashes and bangs. Andy no longer reaches for his baseball bat when we hear a noise in the middle of the night. Someone else might think we have a ghost or a burglar. We just blame the cats.
The other night, we were watching a murder mystery. The house was dark, except for the glow from the TV. All of a sudden, Rooney, our female Bullmastiff, jumped up and started barking and growling at something behind us! We looked at each other, convinced there was somebody standing there! When I had the courage to look, I realized what she was looking at. Our daughter had left one of her makeup cases here, on the credenza behind our chairs. Now, if you know our daughter, you will understand when I say this case is blinged-out. I guess the light caught it and Rooney thought something really scary was in the house. Well, at least that's what I convinced myself it was.
Sometimes, my well-meaning gestures go horribly wrong. Every once in awhile I manage to scare the living daylights out of my crew when I just wanted to make them happy with a new toy. Recently I saw a video online of a cat playing with a toy bank. If you put a coin on top of the bank, the top opens and a little animal reaches out and grabs the coin. Cute, right? So, I ordered one with a little white cat. I had almost forgotten about it because, it isn't just made in China, it came from China. On a raft. The package was covered in Chinese symbols and at first I was afraid to open it! Then I came to my senses and realized there is no reason for me to be the target of some Chinese terrorist! So, I opened it, and here is what is written on the box: "Mischief Saving Box Have more innovative presented here. More fun to play it. Top-quality." The instructions to install the batteries were equally entertaining.
Finn was my first victim. I put the thing on the table, pressed the button, and this loud voice yells something in Chinese, the top opens up and out pops the cat to retrieve his coin! Finn nearly pooped on the table! He looked at it, then me, then I'm sure he was thinking he was sent to live at the wrong house. He disappeared. None of the cats appreciated the new toy. Oh well. I'll give it to my grandkids. My son loves nothing more than when I send home a toy that makes loud, obnoxious sounds....
I am a firm believer that certain things in life must be taken seriously. But we can't forget to laugh and enjoy the crazy stuff when it happens. Life is so much more interesting that way.
Thursday, April 30, 2015
Wednesday, April 29, 2015
Day Six
Rescue
Jon Stewart, who recently announced his upcoming retirement from the Daily Show, has purchased land in New Jersey where he will be providing sanctuary for abused and abandoned farm animals. His retirement is bad news for those of us who rely on his political savvy and comedy to get us through the craziness of our times. But it is very good news for the animals he will be rescuing.
Many people are scratching their heads and wondering why he would give up such a lucrative career and strategic platform to help animals. I think what Jon Stewart has figured out, after years of trying to get people to see how ridiculous politics, as well as some media outlets (fox) can be is that, not only is the emperor naked, people are enjoying it. And, perhaps he has come to the realization that trying to help the human race, while its shooting itself in its foot, can be a thankless, pointless exercise in futility. But that's my spin on it.
Believe me, I understand how tempting it is to want to turn your back on everything "human." I mean, humans are responsible for so much destruction, and they never seem to learn. Animals, on the other hand, are helpless. Even endangered ones are still being hunted for sport by numbskulls who are too stupid or selfish to recognize the impact of their actions! Animals raised to be part of the food chain can be the most neglected and abused. In Thailand, for example, dogs are not only captured, stuffed into cages and sold to be used for meat, they are often skinned and boiled alive because it is thought the torture makes the meat softer. How does that image make you feel?
Here in the USA, animals raised to be part of the food chain don't fare much better. If you haven't seen footage of how chickens are treated in poultry factories, well, let's say you'll be off nuggets for awhile. Recently, the seemingly well fed governor of New Jersey would not sign a bill which would provide for more humane treatment of pigs. You see, they are currently confined in tiny spaces where they cannot turn around. What kind of person couldn't find it in their heart (I'm assuming he has one) to grant a simple act of kindness toward another creature. And this brings me to a subject which burns in my soul - Premarin.
History of conjugated estrogens (Premarin): As I wrote in another post, the estrogen, Premarin, has been marketed in the US since 1942, but was actually sold decades before that by travelling salesmen to help women relieve symptoms of menopause. God knows, humans cannot navigate through life's challenges and changes without their pharmaceuticals. About - oh - fifteen years ago, Premarin was sold in pill form and lots of doctors were prescribing it - until - women started having heart attacks and strokes. Once again, people substituted one symptom for a host of other deadly ones thanks to Big Pharma. It was quickly taken off the market. Here's where it gets interesting. Because most people don't do their homework and blindly trust - for want of a better term - the system - they did not have a clue as to how Premarin was made. The dumbasses who named it even told us: PREgnant MARes' UrINe. Talk about the unsuspecting public...
Reality of collecting pregnant mares' urine: Brood mare facilities are located in predominately remote areas in Northern US and Canada. These areas are, for the most part, very cold with harsh winters. The mares are bred, and for the entire gestational period (approx. 11 months) are kept in a metal stall in which they cannot turn around or move because they are hooked up to a catheter. As soon as they foal, the baby is removed from them and they are bred again in about a week. This is so a pharmaceutical company can collect enough pregnant mares' urine to supply a country full of aging women with enough of the stuff to keep them from getting hot.
If I sound angry and bitter it's BECAUSE I AM! When the lawsuits starting pouring in, the companies started closing down production and the horses went to auction. Some went to horse meat factories; the lucky ones were rescued. My horse was one of those lucky to be rescued. Words cannot describe how wonderful she was. And how sick. We spent thousands of dollars on her care, and ended up sending her back to a colder climate so she could breathe. Remember when I said the brood mare farms are usually in remote, cold climates? Most of the mares have lifelong health issues from breathing cold air and being on a cathether 24/7/11. Poco's lungs were so damaged, Florida air was toxic to her. Sending her away saved her life and broke my heart.
Well, we didn't see the last of Premarin in the 90's. No, it's baa-ack. This time it has been re-purposed and sold as a vaginal cream to "make intercourse less painful." WTF! I am ready for that spaceship to take me away...
So, kudos to you, Jon Stewart. I think, after years of trying to help stupid humans you have finally realized the ones truly worthy of your attention.
PS - when my husband returns, I will ask him to post a picture of Poco. I may be able to type but I don't have a clue as to how one posts pictures! I love my husband, and miss him - today is his birthday.
Jon Stewart, who recently announced his upcoming retirement from the Daily Show, has purchased land in New Jersey where he will be providing sanctuary for abused and abandoned farm animals. His retirement is bad news for those of us who rely on his political savvy and comedy to get us through the craziness of our times. But it is very good news for the animals he will be rescuing.
Many people are scratching their heads and wondering why he would give up such a lucrative career and strategic platform to help animals. I think what Jon Stewart has figured out, after years of trying to get people to see how ridiculous politics, as well as some media outlets (fox) can be is that, not only is the emperor naked, people are enjoying it. And, perhaps he has come to the realization that trying to help the human race, while its shooting itself in its foot, can be a thankless, pointless exercise in futility. But that's my spin on it.
Believe me, I understand how tempting it is to want to turn your back on everything "human." I mean, humans are responsible for so much destruction, and they never seem to learn. Animals, on the other hand, are helpless. Even endangered ones are still being hunted for sport by numbskulls who are too stupid or selfish to recognize the impact of their actions! Animals raised to be part of the food chain can be the most neglected and abused. In Thailand, for example, dogs are not only captured, stuffed into cages and sold to be used for meat, they are often skinned and boiled alive because it is thought the torture makes the meat softer. How does that image make you feel?
Here in the USA, animals raised to be part of the food chain don't fare much better. If you haven't seen footage of how chickens are treated in poultry factories, well, let's say you'll be off nuggets for awhile. Recently, the seemingly well fed governor of New Jersey would not sign a bill which would provide for more humane treatment of pigs. You see, they are currently confined in tiny spaces where they cannot turn around. What kind of person couldn't find it in their heart (I'm assuming he has one) to grant a simple act of kindness toward another creature. And this brings me to a subject which burns in my soul - Premarin.
History of conjugated estrogens (Premarin): As I wrote in another post, the estrogen, Premarin, has been marketed in the US since 1942, but was actually sold decades before that by travelling salesmen to help women relieve symptoms of menopause. God knows, humans cannot navigate through life's challenges and changes without their pharmaceuticals. About - oh - fifteen years ago, Premarin was sold in pill form and lots of doctors were prescribing it - until - women started having heart attacks and strokes. Once again, people substituted one symptom for a host of other deadly ones thanks to Big Pharma. It was quickly taken off the market. Here's where it gets interesting. Because most people don't do their homework and blindly trust - for want of a better term - the system - they did not have a clue as to how Premarin was made. The dumbasses who named it even told us: PREgnant MARes' UrINe. Talk about the unsuspecting public...
Reality of collecting pregnant mares' urine: Brood mare facilities are located in predominately remote areas in Northern US and Canada. These areas are, for the most part, very cold with harsh winters. The mares are bred, and for the entire gestational period (approx. 11 months) are kept in a metal stall in which they cannot turn around or move because they are hooked up to a catheter. As soon as they foal, the baby is removed from them and they are bred again in about a week. This is so a pharmaceutical company can collect enough pregnant mares' urine to supply a country full of aging women with enough of the stuff to keep them from getting hot.
If I sound angry and bitter it's BECAUSE I AM! When the lawsuits starting pouring in, the companies started closing down production and the horses went to auction. Some went to horse meat factories; the lucky ones were rescued. My horse was one of those lucky to be rescued. Words cannot describe how wonderful she was. And how sick. We spent thousands of dollars on her care, and ended up sending her back to a colder climate so she could breathe. Remember when I said the brood mare farms are usually in remote, cold climates? Most of the mares have lifelong health issues from breathing cold air and being on a cathether 24/7/11. Poco's lungs were so damaged, Florida air was toxic to her. Sending her away saved her life and broke my heart.
Well, we didn't see the last of Premarin in the 90's. No, it's baa-ack. This time it has been re-purposed and sold as a vaginal cream to "make intercourse less painful." WTF! I am ready for that spaceship to take me away...
So, kudos to you, Jon Stewart. I think, after years of trying to help stupid humans you have finally realized the ones truly worthy of your attention.
PS - when my husband returns, I will ask him to post a picture of Poco. I may be able to type but I don't have a clue as to how one posts pictures! I love my husband, and miss him - today is his birthday.
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
Day Five
Fear
(I struggled to think of a topic today. My mind was elsewhere. I had family members travelling to various places and I was distracted. My thoughts were also on Nepal, Baltimore, Washington D.C. I can't even imagine the terror of being in an earthquake. Nor can I comprehend how frightening it must be to be a person of color - especially a young man - when it seems as though so many have targets on their backs. Then, there are people who just want to be legally connected to someone they love! They live in constant fear of the judgment of others. There seems to be so much hatred going around when there should be love. I have more questions than answers and no solutions. Just sadness...)
But, I committed to writing about animals, so I shall.
Today's topic: the dreaded flea. I don't like to use poisons on the yard, in my house or on my pets. Even some "natural" products can cause harm to some. Consequently, I am in an ongoing battle with pests. Now, I have been known to let some spiders spin their webs on my pool screen. If I catch a bug in the house I usually take it outside. Sometimes sheer panic takes over the controls when I see a roach and I involuntarily smash it good. But fleas. Come on. They are nasty little creatures that torment my babies. I try to comb them out, but when they get too bad I have to resort to the (cue the scary music...) bath.
Bathing the Bullmastiffs is actually easier than the cats. It does take two; one to hold on to the bathee while the bather does their thing. The first time we gave Jack a bath, he dragged us around the yard like a kid's pull toy, but we all survived and he decided maybe we weren't trying to kill him after all. But bathing a cat is a whole different experience.
The first victim was Finn. He is my sweet, docile kitty who doesn't fuss about much. I put him in the tub and his pupils grew, turning his eyes from blue to black. He was terrified. We made it through the procedure with me holding onto his neck with one hand and washing and rinsing with the other. He only made a few attempts at bolting. I then wrapped him in a towel and took him in to the bathroom to dry him with the hair dryer. From past experience I knew this could go one of two ways - ok or horribly wrong. It went the latter. Finn shot off the counter and jumped under the bed in one move - a distance of about ten feet. I gave up and went to get my next victim.
Chance is all too familiar with baths since he gets one every time he falls into the pool, which is a little too often. He was great and I was unscratched, so far. I was also feeling pretty good about myself - a fool's paradise. We got through the bath and I wrapped him in a towel - but not well enough. I let my guard down and he escaped from the towel onto my shoulder where he decided to get traction for the launch to the ground. I could feel every claw, that I intended to clip after the bath, dig into my shoulder and back. I was mad that I didn't have on a coat with a hood! I let him escape, then I wrapped his sorry self in a big towel and took him in to the bathroom for a blow dry. I expected him to go ballistic like his brother did, but he surprised me. He sat on the towel in the sink and calmly let me dry him with the hair dryer! I know. Cats...
So, I had one soggy kitty, one nearly dry, one smart cat who hid from all the drama and Eli. Now, Mr. Eli had been a show cat a few years ago. He was used to getting primped and poofed. The entire time I was bathing the other boys, he was wailing at me to bathe him. Yes, he loves the attention. He loves a bath, and getting a blow dry. He calmly lets me cut his nails (unlike Fancy who lets me cut one nail a week - while he's asleep.) Eli wanted attention and he wanted it asap. However, by the time I finished with Finn and Chance I was worn out. Eli just sat and glared at me. I cannot catch a break...
The day is nearly over and all I accomplished was to worry over things I can't control; drench two cats who will avoid me for a few days and drown a few fleas. But my problems are nothing compared to what some people are going through. It's all relative. I need to get out of my head and down on my knees to pray for all of those suffering in this world...
(I struggled to think of a topic today. My mind was elsewhere. I had family members travelling to various places and I was distracted. My thoughts were also on Nepal, Baltimore, Washington D.C. I can't even imagine the terror of being in an earthquake. Nor can I comprehend how frightening it must be to be a person of color - especially a young man - when it seems as though so many have targets on their backs. Then, there are people who just want to be legally connected to someone they love! They live in constant fear of the judgment of others. There seems to be so much hatred going around when there should be love. I have more questions than answers and no solutions. Just sadness...)
But, I committed to writing about animals, so I shall.
Today's topic: the dreaded flea. I don't like to use poisons on the yard, in my house or on my pets. Even some "natural" products can cause harm to some. Consequently, I am in an ongoing battle with pests. Now, I have been known to let some spiders spin their webs on my pool screen. If I catch a bug in the house I usually take it outside. Sometimes sheer panic takes over the controls when I see a roach and I involuntarily smash it good. But fleas. Come on. They are nasty little creatures that torment my babies. I try to comb them out, but when they get too bad I have to resort to the (cue the scary music...) bath.
Bathing the Bullmastiffs is actually easier than the cats. It does take two; one to hold on to the bathee while the bather does their thing. The first time we gave Jack a bath, he dragged us around the yard like a kid's pull toy, but we all survived and he decided maybe we weren't trying to kill him after all. But bathing a cat is a whole different experience.
The first victim was Finn. He is my sweet, docile kitty who doesn't fuss about much. I put him in the tub and his pupils grew, turning his eyes from blue to black. He was terrified. We made it through the procedure with me holding onto his neck with one hand and washing and rinsing with the other. He only made a few attempts at bolting. I then wrapped him in a towel and took him in to the bathroom to dry him with the hair dryer. From past experience I knew this could go one of two ways - ok or horribly wrong. It went the latter. Finn shot off the counter and jumped under the bed in one move - a distance of about ten feet. I gave up and went to get my next victim.
Chance is all too familiar with baths since he gets one every time he falls into the pool, which is a little too often. He was great and I was unscratched, so far. I was also feeling pretty good about myself - a fool's paradise. We got through the bath and I wrapped him in a towel - but not well enough. I let my guard down and he escaped from the towel onto my shoulder where he decided to get traction for the launch to the ground. I could feel every claw, that I intended to clip after the bath, dig into my shoulder and back. I was mad that I didn't have on a coat with a hood! I let him escape, then I wrapped his sorry self in a big towel and took him in to the bathroom for a blow dry. I expected him to go ballistic like his brother did, but he surprised me. He sat on the towel in the sink and calmly let me dry him with the hair dryer! I know. Cats...
So, I had one soggy kitty, one nearly dry, one smart cat who hid from all the drama and Eli. Now, Mr. Eli had been a show cat a few years ago. He was used to getting primped and poofed. The entire time I was bathing the other boys, he was wailing at me to bathe him. Yes, he loves the attention. He loves a bath, and getting a blow dry. He calmly lets me cut his nails (unlike Fancy who lets me cut one nail a week - while he's asleep.) Eli wanted attention and he wanted it asap. However, by the time I finished with Finn and Chance I was worn out. Eli just sat and glared at me. I cannot catch a break...
The day is nearly over and all I accomplished was to worry over things I can't control; drench two cats who will avoid me for a few days and drown a few fleas. But my problems are nothing compared to what some people are going through. It's all relative. I need to get out of my head and down on my knees to pray for all of those suffering in this world...
Monday, April 27, 2015
Day Four
Pissing Contest
Morning is not my friend. I have Fibromyalgia and, unlike most people for whom sleep is refreshing, for me it is like trying to move the day after a fender bender. You aren't exactly in traction, but every muscle hurts. Some days, my hair hurts. But that's a topic for another day.
You see, if it wasn't for my "zoo" I would probably just stay in bed all day. I am grateful for the little (and not so little) mouths I must feed. Even on those days when it kills me to move, I have to. They're counting on me. It's when there are extra surprises for me that I wonder why I don't just rehome everybody and get a plant.
If my writing seems disjointed it's because this morning has been one of those crazy ones. I have been up and down, stopping fights, unlocking the cat door and cleaning up. Something is in the air. I can feel it.
With my cats, I can tell by their body language when something is up. For example,I know when somebody has caught a lizard, and I have to spring into action to save it. (I am NOT pc when it comes to cat hunting. If they want to bring me a palm frond they think is a snake, fine. But a poor lizard hanging from the jaws of death must be rescued. Sorry, oh great cat god.) I can also tell when someone has done a dirty deed and the others want me to find out about it. Like, peeing on the dog's bed.
Yes, somebody peed on Jack's bed. If you are unfamiliar with the properties of cat pee, it is something akin to radioactive waste. The stuff can never, in your lifetime, be destroyed. I will never attempt to put anything with cat pee on it in my washing machine. My husband would chuck the lot of us if his dress shirts reeked of cat pee. Soooo, the dog bed and body pillow Jack used went to the curb. I hid behind the curtain and watched when the trash collectors came by to see if they took the stuff or left it with a note attached : "Please do not ever leave toxic waste for us. Call HazMat and dispose of it properly."
Now, you would think Jack would be upset that his bed got tossed but, no. It is just another excuse for him to sleep on the couch.
After the pee mystery faded, the real fun began. It started with low growls. Then I heard the scritching sounds, signifying claws were being activated and sharpened for battle. (Keep in mind, I am on my fifth cup of coffee and trying to concentrate on writing.) Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a white, fuzzy, flash fly by. Then a black one. Next, I saw a ball of black and white that resembled the Yin and Yang symbol - only there was nothing Zen about this mess. Black and white fur was flying; yowls were being emitted and spit was everywhere. Thankfully, no blood. As a side note: Jack was calmly sleeping inches away from the melee. Not that long ago, he would come undone whenever a spat broke out. Now, meh.
Normally, Eli and Fancy are the two vying for top position. However, Eli was up on the counter, calmly grooming his left leg. Chance was running around the scene, looking like Barney Fife trying to find his one bullet! Rooney was watching the action out the front window, clutching her teddy bear and wishing her Dad would come home. The two involved in the fracas were Fancy and Finn - the most loveable creature on the planet. In Twitter speak: WTH; SMH and FP.
I will get to the bottom of this. Until I do, they're all out on the porch. I just hope nobody gets "accidentally" pushed into the pool.
Morning is not my friend. I have Fibromyalgia and, unlike most people for whom sleep is refreshing, for me it is like trying to move the day after a fender bender. You aren't exactly in traction, but every muscle hurts. Some days, my hair hurts. But that's a topic for another day.
You see, if it wasn't for my "zoo" I would probably just stay in bed all day. I am grateful for the little (and not so little) mouths I must feed. Even on those days when it kills me to move, I have to. They're counting on me. It's when there are extra surprises for me that I wonder why I don't just rehome everybody and get a plant.
If my writing seems disjointed it's because this morning has been one of those crazy ones. I have been up and down, stopping fights, unlocking the cat door and cleaning up. Something is in the air. I can feel it.
With my cats, I can tell by their body language when something is up. For example,I know when somebody has caught a lizard, and I have to spring into action to save it. (I am NOT pc when it comes to cat hunting. If they want to bring me a palm frond they think is a snake, fine. But a poor lizard hanging from the jaws of death must be rescued. Sorry, oh great cat god.) I can also tell when someone has done a dirty deed and the others want me to find out about it. Like, peeing on the dog's bed.
Yes, somebody peed on Jack's bed. If you are unfamiliar with the properties of cat pee, it is something akin to radioactive waste. The stuff can never, in your lifetime, be destroyed. I will never attempt to put anything with cat pee on it in my washing machine. My husband would chuck the lot of us if his dress shirts reeked of cat pee. Soooo, the dog bed and body pillow Jack used went to the curb. I hid behind the curtain and watched when the trash collectors came by to see if they took the stuff or left it with a note attached : "Please do not ever leave toxic waste for us. Call HazMat and dispose of it properly."
Now, you would think Jack would be upset that his bed got tossed but, no. It is just another excuse for him to sleep on the couch.
After the pee mystery faded, the real fun began. It started with low growls. Then I heard the scritching sounds, signifying claws were being activated and sharpened for battle. (Keep in mind, I am on my fifth cup of coffee and trying to concentrate on writing.) Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a white, fuzzy, flash fly by. Then a black one. Next, I saw a ball of black and white that resembled the Yin and Yang symbol - only there was nothing Zen about this mess. Black and white fur was flying; yowls were being emitted and spit was everywhere. Thankfully, no blood. As a side note: Jack was calmly sleeping inches away from the melee. Not that long ago, he would come undone whenever a spat broke out. Now, meh.
Normally, Eli and Fancy are the two vying for top position. However, Eli was up on the counter, calmly grooming his left leg. Chance was running around the scene, looking like Barney Fife trying to find his one bullet! Rooney was watching the action out the front window, clutching her teddy bear and wishing her Dad would come home. The two involved in the fracas were Fancy and Finn - the most loveable creature on the planet. In Twitter speak: WTH; SMH and FP.
I will get to the bottom of this. Until I do, they're all out on the porch. I just hope nobody gets "accidentally" pushed into the pool.
Sunday, April 26, 2015
Day Three
Communication
I am awakened every morning by a plaintive, "Helloooooo?" It sounds just like a little child or a tiny old person from a remote village, desperately asking if someone is still alive in the house. Well, that's what it conjures up in my groggy mind. In Eli (the designated waker of human) cat speak it means, "Get up and feed us, you lazy old woman!"
Throughout my day, a variety of animals try to communicate with me. From the squirrels out front that come running and chirping when they hear the garage door opening, because they know I keep a stash of peanuts for them, to Jack's wet nose-in-the-face alarm clock. I swear I heard Chance calling, "Mommy?" the other day. I made the mistake of telling my husband this and I think his pregnant pause before declaring, "You're a crazy cat person!" was while he was debating whether or not to Baker Act me.
Fancy is my real talker. He chats and chirps at me all day. I have never heard so many different sounds come from one tiny body as the repertoire he possesses. When he wants to go out on to the porch and the cat door is locked, he whines one long note like a kid begging for one more piece of candy. When he wants more food, he "merps" at me until we begin the guessing game. I ask, "Do you want something?" His reply, "MEH!" Then I go down the list - food, chicken treat, bacon, etc. With each question, he answers with either a sound similar to "no" or "maybe" until I get the correct question then I know by his sounds and body language I have hit pay dirt. I know when he's scared, bored, angry, playful and just about every other emotion this tiny creature could experience. When you consider that Fancy started out life as a feral/castaway, for him to have bonded with a human in this way is pretty amazing.
I still crack up when I think back to when we had three French Bulldogs, a mom and her two daughters. The girls were very competitive. One day I had to give one medication, so I put peanut butter on a cracker to disguise the pill. When I went to give the other one a plain cracker, she stopped, sniffed the cracker, turned and smelled her sister's breath, then looked at me with an accusing glare as much to say, "Hey! Why did she get peanut butter and not me?!" I also learned from them that dogs can definitely count!
Because dogs have been domesticated longer, and people have literally bred them to be our slaves, it isn't unusual for them to understand human language. Ironically, they possess the ability to understand us, but we are, for the most part, clueless when it comes to understanding their language. There are people who claim to be animal communicators, but that's really for our benefit. How are we to prove what they're saying is really what the animal is trying to communicate?? Can you imagine a dog or a cat thinking, "Wait a minute! I didn't say that at all! I DO NOT want to be neutered just to save the sorry planet!!" I strongly suspect that well-meaning communicators are really trying to help their clients cope with loss and the every day frustrations we deal with in trying to live with another species.
I learned a lot about communication with a horse in my life a few years ago. I intentionally did not say, "A horse I owned," because I have a problem with the idea of owning a life. In my opinion, we live with them for as long as we are blessed to do so. Anyway, Poco was a mare who came to live with friends who rescued eleven Premarin mares that had been culled from their brood mare facility. Premarin is the hormone women are prescribed to alleviate menopausal symptoms. It is literally PREgnant MARe urINe. Let me repeat that. Pregnant mare urine. To collect this urine, brood mares are hooked up to catheters, kept in a confined area, and unable to lie down or turn around. As soon as the baby is born, it is removed from the mare and the mare is impregnated again. If you doubt this, Google it.
I will write more about Poco later, but for this post, I want to describe two incidences where she communicated to me exactly what she was thinking. The most poignant was when her foal was removed from her. Poco was being kept in a different place than the rest of the herd because of health concerns. (Premarin mares generally have a lot of health issues.) The baby had been weaned and it was time for her to join the rest of the herd. When they came for her baby, Poco knew from the sight of the trailer what was going to happen. She looked at me with terror in her eyes and literally screamed at me - begging me to do something. I was helpless. All I could do was stay with her and cry right along with her. Another time, a sick calf was being cared for in the stall next to Poco's. Unfortunately, the calf didn't survive. When I got to the barn that morning, Poco was standing in her stall looking through the bars at the dead calf. When she realized I was there, she slowly turned her head to me with the saddest expression in her eyes. I told her that I knew the calf was gone and, yes, it was very sad. We cried together, yet again.
I wish people would try to understand what their animal companions are trying to tell them. If we just stopped and realized they are emotional beings that love us and want to please us, maybe there wouldn't be so many abandoned animals. Sometimes they're confused by what we're asking of them. They could be scared, bored, lonely, ill - any number of things that are causing them to act out or not follow our "rules." Humans are so used to feeling superior, especially to other creatures, we forget that we are just an opposable thumb away from their reality. Something to think about...
I am awakened every morning by a plaintive, "Helloooooo?" It sounds just like a little child or a tiny old person from a remote village, desperately asking if someone is still alive in the house. Well, that's what it conjures up in my groggy mind. In Eli (the designated waker of human) cat speak it means, "Get up and feed us, you lazy old woman!"
Throughout my day, a variety of animals try to communicate with me. From the squirrels out front that come running and chirping when they hear the garage door opening, because they know I keep a stash of peanuts for them, to Jack's wet nose-in-the-face alarm clock. I swear I heard Chance calling, "Mommy?" the other day. I made the mistake of telling my husband this and I think his pregnant pause before declaring, "You're a crazy cat person!" was while he was debating whether or not to Baker Act me.
Fancy is my real talker. He chats and chirps at me all day. I have never heard so many different sounds come from one tiny body as the repertoire he possesses. When he wants to go out on to the porch and the cat door is locked, he whines one long note like a kid begging for one more piece of candy. When he wants more food, he "merps" at me until we begin the guessing game. I ask, "Do you want something?" His reply, "MEH!" Then I go down the list - food, chicken treat, bacon, etc. With each question, he answers with either a sound similar to "no" or "maybe" until I get the correct question then I know by his sounds and body language I have hit pay dirt. I know when he's scared, bored, angry, playful and just about every other emotion this tiny creature could experience. When you consider that Fancy started out life as a feral/castaway, for him to have bonded with a human in this way is pretty amazing.
I still crack up when I think back to when we had three French Bulldogs, a mom and her two daughters. The girls were very competitive. One day I had to give one medication, so I put peanut butter on a cracker to disguise the pill. When I went to give the other one a plain cracker, she stopped, sniffed the cracker, turned and smelled her sister's breath, then looked at me with an accusing glare as much to say, "Hey! Why did she get peanut butter and not me?!" I also learned from them that dogs can definitely count!
Because dogs have been domesticated longer, and people have literally bred them to be our slaves, it isn't unusual for them to understand human language. Ironically, they possess the ability to understand us, but we are, for the most part, clueless when it comes to understanding their language. There are people who claim to be animal communicators, but that's really for our benefit. How are we to prove what they're saying is really what the animal is trying to communicate?? Can you imagine a dog or a cat thinking, "Wait a minute! I didn't say that at all! I DO NOT want to be neutered just to save the sorry planet!!" I strongly suspect that well-meaning communicators are really trying to help their clients cope with loss and the every day frustrations we deal with in trying to live with another species.
I learned a lot about communication with a horse in my life a few years ago. I intentionally did not say, "A horse I owned," because I have a problem with the idea of owning a life. In my opinion, we live with them for as long as we are blessed to do so. Anyway, Poco was a mare who came to live with friends who rescued eleven Premarin mares that had been culled from their brood mare facility. Premarin is the hormone women are prescribed to alleviate menopausal symptoms. It is literally PREgnant MARe urINe. Let me repeat that. Pregnant mare urine. To collect this urine, brood mares are hooked up to catheters, kept in a confined area, and unable to lie down or turn around. As soon as the baby is born, it is removed from the mare and the mare is impregnated again. If you doubt this, Google it.
I will write more about Poco later, but for this post, I want to describe two incidences where she communicated to me exactly what she was thinking. The most poignant was when her foal was removed from her. Poco was being kept in a different place than the rest of the herd because of health concerns. (Premarin mares generally have a lot of health issues.) The baby had been weaned and it was time for her to join the rest of the herd. When they came for her baby, Poco knew from the sight of the trailer what was going to happen. She looked at me with terror in her eyes and literally screamed at me - begging me to do something. I was helpless. All I could do was stay with her and cry right along with her. Another time, a sick calf was being cared for in the stall next to Poco's. Unfortunately, the calf didn't survive. When I got to the barn that morning, Poco was standing in her stall looking through the bars at the dead calf. When she realized I was there, she slowly turned her head to me with the saddest expression in her eyes. I told her that I knew the calf was gone and, yes, it was very sad. We cried together, yet again.
I wish people would try to understand what their animal companions are trying to tell them. If we just stopped and realized they are emotional beings that love us and want to please us, maybe there wouldn't be so many abandoned animals. Sometimes they're confused by what we're asking of them. They could be scared, bored, lonely, ill - any number of things that are causing them to act out or not follow our "rules." Humans are so used to feeling superior, especially to other creatures, we forget that we are just an opposable thumb away from their reality. Something to think about...
Saturday, April 25, 2015
Day Two
Sidetracked
I intended to write about another rescue animal who rescued me, but my cats had other plans.
A cat fight got me sidetracked as I sat down to write my blog for today. Currently, there are four cats in our home. Three are Ragdolls and one Tuxedo. Fancy, the Tuxedo cat, came into my life about 4 years ago.
For some reason, stray cats started showing up in our neighborhood. We don't, but should, live in the country. We are smack dab in the middle of suburbia. So, it was strange to see so many feral/stray cats wandering around. I started seeing a very pretty white and black cat around, with a small black kitten following her. I will never know the real story, but it appeared as though this was her kitten. Who knows?
Anyway, the larger cat seemed to encourage the small one to beg for food. It worked on me. I would put out food, and when I was out of sight, the kitten would eat. It never ate all of the food. After a few minutes, the larger cat would appear and eat what was left. This went on for quite awhile. Every time I tried to get close to the kitten, he would let out a terrified hiss. I remember laughing because his teeth were big and very white and looked like he was wearing fake vampire teeth!
Eventually, he got used to me. Because I didn't know if he was a she, I started calling him Fancy. With a pretty white "bib" and four white paws, he was stunning. He became Fancy Cat. Fancy would call to me from the bushes when I was outside. He was terrified of Jack, our Bullmastiff, so would not dare enter the yard. He just sat on the wall talking to me. This went on for several months.
One day, I decided it was time to trap Fancy and take him/her to the vet for a checkup, neutering and shots. I wanted to know if Fancy could safely interact with Eli. (I was still under the impression that cats need a "buddy" LOL) I didn't have a clue about trapping then, so I got a dog kennel and put food in the back of it. When he went in the kennel, I quickly closed the door - or so I thought. I was so proud of myself.
After taking a shower and getting ready to leave, I went to put the kennel in the car. It was empty. I hadn't secured the bottom latch. Surprisingly, Fancy hadn't run away. He was standing there looking at me like, "Hey, Lady! I got stuck in that box but got out - whew." Back to square one. Eventually I got him back in the box and on to the vet. My vet declared right away that Fancy was a boy, just by the shape of his face. Fancy was neutered, tested and got his shots. He was disease free. We decided to rename him Troy - after Pgh. Steelers' Troy Polamalu. The name Fancy stuck, though.
Fancy was destined to become our next family member. I could go on with stories about the year preceding his entry into the house, but I will save those for another day. Suffice it to say, with patience and love Fancy not only became a member of the household, he's really my best friend.
Which leads me to the dynamics between Eli and Fancy this morning. Every once in awhile, they decide the other must die. Both are neutered males, and both want to be Alpha Cat. After all, Eli was here first. However, Fancy is larger than life. He is vocal, street wise, smart as a whip and clever. Eli is just grouchy. As I sat down to type, I heard the beginnings of a blowout. First came the low growls. Then the yowls. I got up in time to see the posturing - tail flicking, head juking - daring each other to flinch. I calmly asked them to stop. Right. So, I stepped in between them, knowing neither would hurt me. Now, Fancy won't start a fight, but he will finish one. He can and he knows it. Eli walked away but like any guy who's pumped up for a fight, it took Fancy awhile to calm down. He can't be touched when he's like this, so I just waited. Eli got bored and went outside.
As with children, it's important that our animal family members know they're loved for who they are. I love Eli because he was my first cat, and there for me when I needed him. Fancy found me. He talks to me all day and is the one who tells me when it's time to eat. I love Finn as my sweet, sweet beautiful boy. Chance is the baby and can get away with stuff just because. No one is replaceable or disposable. Each one made my heart grow bigger. I wish everyone could feel this way.
I intended to write about another rescue animal who rescued me, but my cats had other plans.
A cat fight got me sidetracked as I sat down to write my blog for today. Currently, there are four cats in our home. Three are Ragdolls and one Tuxedo. Fancy, the Tuxedo cat, came into my life about 4 years ago.
For some reason, stray cats started showing up in our neighborhood. We don't, but should, live in the country. We are smack dab in the middle of suburbia. So, it was strange to see so many feral/stray cats wandering around. I started seeing a very pretty white and black cat around, with a small black kitten following her. I will never know the real story, but it appeared as though this was her kitten. Who knows?
Anyway, the larger cat seemed to encourage the small one to beg for food. It worked on me. I would put out food, and when I was out of sight, the kitten would eat. It never ate all of the food. After a few minutes, the larger cat would appear and eat what was left. This went on for quite awhile. Every time I tried to get close to the kitten, he would let out a terrified hiss. I remember laughing because his teeth were big and very white and looked like he was wearing fake vampire teeth!
Eventually, he got used to me. Because I didn't know if he was a she, I started calling him Fancy. With a pretty white "bib" and four white paws, he was stunning. He became Fancy Cat. Fancy would call to me from the bushes when I was outside. He was terrified of Jack, our Bullmastiff, so would not dare enter the yard. He just sat on the wall talking to me. This went on for several months.
One day, I decided it was time to trap Fancy and take him/her to the vet for a checkup, neutering and shots. I wanted to know if Fancy could safely interact with Eli. (I was still under the impression that cats need a "buddy" LOL) I didn't have a clue about trapping then, so I got a dog kennel and put food in the back of it. When he went in the kennel, I quickly closed the door - or so I thought. I was so proud of myself.
After taking a shower and getting ready to leave, I went to put the kennel in the car. It was empty. I hadn't secured the bottom latch. Surprisingly, Fancy hadn't run away. He was standing there looking at me like, "Hey, Lady! I got stuck in that box but got out - whew." Back to square one. Eventually I got him back in the box and on to the vet. My vet declared right away that Fancy was a boy, just by the shape of his face. Fancy was neutered, tested and got his shots. He was disease free. We decided to rename him Troy - after Pgh. Steelers' Troy Polamalu. The name Fancy stuck, though.
Fancy was destined to become our next family member. I could go on with stories about the year preceding his entry into the house, but I will save those for another day. Suffice it to say, with patience and love Fancy not only became a member of the household, he's really my best friend.
Which leads me to the dynamics between Eli and Fancy this morning. Every once in awhile, they decide the other must die. Both are neutered males, and both want to be Alpha Cat. After all, Eli was here first. However, Fancy is larger than life. He is vocal, street wise, smart as a whip and clever. Eli is just grouchy. As I sat down to type, I heard the beginnings of a blowout. First came the low growls. Then the yowls. I got up in time to see the posturing - tail flicking, head juking - daring each other to flinch. I calmly asked them to stop. Right. So, I stepped in between them, knowing neither would hurt me. Now, Fancy won't start a fight, but he will finish one. He can and he knows it. Eli walked away but like any guy who's pumped up for a fight, it took Fancy awhile to calm down. He can't be touched when he's like this, so I just waited. Eli got bored and went outside.
As with children, it's important that our animal family members know they're loved for who they are. I love Eli because he was my first cat, and there for me when I needed him. Fancy found me. He talks to me all day and is the one who tells me when it's time to eat. I love Finn as my sweet, sweet beautiful boy. Chance is the baby and can get away with stuff just because. No one is replaceable or disposable. Each one made my heart grow bigger. I wish everyone could feel this way.
Friday, April 24, 2015
Day One
Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Patti, aka Gigi, to my grandkids. I am an animal lover. I currently live with my husband and two Bullmastiffs, four cats, one bunny and a hamster. Along the way I will introduce them all to you. There is always something happening - good and bad - lots of laughs and a few tears.
I have been thinking about writing a blog for quite awhile. I just couldn't settle on a topic. Then it hit me - write about what you know. That's easy. I know animals. So, I hope to entertain, perhaps enlighten and maybe even encourage you with tales of what it's like to live with other creatures. There's never a dull moment...
Here we go -
Someone recently commented that cats don't act at all like dogs! I really had to laugh at that because there was a time when I thought cats were just dogs that could hang on your drapes! I thought cats liked the same things as dogs, too. Like having their fur ruffled. I truly believed that if I whistled and called a cat, it would happily trot to me, like a - dog. Wow - what an eye opener I got when my first cat, Eli, came into my life.
Eli was not the first animal that came into my life precisely when I needed it. He was, however, the first cat I ever lived with, and he did come with a message from a friend. My very spiritual friend said something to the effect that I would get a cat and it would come to me when I really needed it. Oh, and he even told me when my cat would appear - around Valentine's Day, 2009. Yikes.
For about a year I worried myself sick wondering if something awful was going to happen. I imagined the worst. Also, during that time I had been seeing cats everywhere - specifically Ragdoll cats. There were cats on TV, in magazines and in books. One friend was involved in feral cat rescue. When I was in a bookstore one day and picked up a book on cats and opened it to the page on Ragdolls, I figured the Universe was telling me to get a Ragdoll cat.
(Notice I did not say, "It happened for a reason!" Now, here are some things you won't hear from me. I won't ever say, "Things happen for a reason." Or, "It was God's will." No. I will tell you my story and you can draw your own conclusion. )
If you aren't familiar with the breed, Ragdolls are by nature, sweet cats with blue eyes. They got the name by the way they sort of flop over when you pick them up. They are a good cat for a novice. I recommend finding a reputable breeder if you decide to get a Ragdoll.
So, I was on the train to Cat Town - whether I was ready or not. Long story short, Eli came into my life on Feb. 12, 2009. One month later, on March 9th., my world fell apart. A terrible family tragedy had occurred that took me on a two year downward spiral. I can't go into the details, but it was bad. As I sat clutching my precious kitten, crying into his soft fur, I knew why he had come into my life.
If you have ever been blessed with a dear creature (dog, cat, horse, bird - whatever) coming into your life - or being in your life - when you need them the most, you understand what I'm talking about. I don't know why we're so lucky this way - honestly I doubt we deserve it. Just, please, remember it when they need you.
I have been thinking about writing a blog for quite awhile. I just couldn't settle on a topic. Then it hit me - write about what you know. That's easy. I know animals. So, I hope to entertain, perhaps enlighten and maybe even encourage you with tales of what it's like to live with other creatures. There's never a dull moment...
Here we go -
Someone recently commented that cats don't act at all like dogs! I really had to laugh at that because there was a time when I thought cats were just dogs that could hang on your drapes! I thought cats liked the same things as dogs, too. Like having their fur ruffled. I truly believed that if I whistled and called a cat, it would happily trot to me, like a - dog. Wow - what an eye opener I got when my first cat, Eli, came into my life.
Eli was not the first animal that came into my life precisely when I needed it. He was, however, the first cat I ever lived with, and he did come with a message from a friend. My very spiritual friend said something to the effect that I would get a cat and it would come to me when I really needed it. Oh, and he even told me when my cat would appear - around Valentine's Day, 2009. Yikes.
For about a year I worried myself sick wondering if something awful was going to happen. I imagined the worst. Also, during that time I had been seeing cats everywhere - specifically Ragdoll cats. There were cats on TV, in magazines and in books. One friend was involved in feral cat rescue. When I was in a bookstore one day and picked up a book on cats and opened it to the page on Ragdolls, I figured the Universe was telling me to get a Ragdoll cat.
(Notice I did not say, "It happened for a reason!" Now, here are some things you won't hear from me. I won't ever say, "Things happen for a reason." Or, "It was God's will." No. I will tell you my story and you can draw your own conclusion. )
If you aren't familiar with the breed, Ragdolls are by nature, sweet cats with blue eyes. They got the name by the way they sort of flop over when you pick them up. They are a good cat for a novice. I recommend finding a reputable breeder if you decide to get a Ragdoll.
So, I was on the train to Cat Town - whether I was ready or not. Long story short, Eli came into my life on Feb. 12, 2009. One month later, on March 9th., my world fell apart. A terrible family tragedy had occurred that took me on a two year downward spiral. I can't go into the details, but it was bad. As I sat clutching my precious kitten, crying into his soft fur, I knew why he had come into my life.
If you have ever been blessed with a dear creature (dog, cat, horse, bird - whatever) coming into your life - or being in your life - when you need them the most, you understand what I'm talking about. I don't know why we're so lucky this way - honestly I doubt we deserve it. Just, please, remember it when they need you.
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