Day Sixty Eight

Animal Communication

I'm getting a late start with my blog today because I wanted to wait until after my appointment with an Animal Communicator. I have spoken with Laura several times over the years and, say what you will, she has been pretty accurate when it comes to helping me understand what may be going on with a furry loved one. 

Years ago, she helped with the Frenchies. When Missy starting barking incessantly, Laura told me she was trying to do her "job," which was to guard the house, but we were ignoring her efforts. As soon as we started acknowledging her contribution and praising her for it, the continuous barking stopped. I also remember when I had to part with Poco. During one of our sessions, Laura helped me to understand that animals have a different view point than people when it comes to life and death. If it was Poco's time to go, she accepted it.

So, today's topic was Chance and the litter box problem. He has been much better since Dash arrived. I attributed that to not wanting to look stupid in front of the new guy. But, just this morning I found a surprise waiting for me - two feet from the litter box. When I told Laura what was going on, she focused on Chance, and this is what she learned:
Chance is just being lazy. He is a lot like a little kid who throws a wet towel on the floor, knowing mom will pick it up. Because I can't bring myself to get mad at him, he thinks it's no big deal. Laura let him know it is a big deal and he has to step up his game.

I was watching him while she was "talking" to him. All of the other cats were running around him like maniacs but he was sitting very still, slowly blinking his eyes. He was listening to her. Then, just like a little kid who's had enough of a lecture, he took off and starting batting a ball around. Laura said he also has a bit of a "poor me" attitude so she recommended giving him Bach Flower Remedy, Willow. I'll keep you updated.

While I am typing there is a terrible racket going on in the dining room, which I need to investigate...
Okay, so, they are all using the dining room table as "base" from which to launch or wrestle. Sounds like the table is collapsing!  Sheesh.

We finished our session with Laura talking to Fancy. I wanted him to know he's special. He was on the dining room table curled up in a cat bed, (the table is covered in various ones) grooming his leg. At one point he stopped and looked up at attention, then went back to licking his leg. Laura started laughing. She said when she asked Fancy if he knew he was special, he told her, "Of course I know, because I am special!" He also told her he knew from the moment he saw me that I was a safe person and he loves me very, very much. No sooner did she finish when Eli came out of nowhere and pounced on poor Fancy. Eli had somehow picked up on the "special" part and decided he'd had enough of Fancy worship.

Whether you believe in animal communicators or not, communication is vital in all of our relationships. If you have creatures in your life, don't you sometimes just know what they're trying to tell you? When the Frenchies were with us, the girls used to put their heads together and we knew they were communicating. Jack and Rooney do it. Sometimes Eli acts like he's trying to crawl into my brain. I know he's feeling frustrated and is trying to talk to me. Fancy taught me to speak cat, or his version of it, and we have no trouble communicating. Just like when you're praying or trying to seek answers, turn off your own voice and listen. You might be surprised at what you hear. 

Day Sixty Seven

Lucky Stripe

When our daughter was seven years old, her birthday present was a puppy. That was when a sweet Shih Tzu came into our lives. Ariel, named after the Little Mermaid, was the perfect dog for a little girl. She was cuddly and loving. It was easy to housebreak her, too, because she did what we asked of her. And, she didn't shed! Of course, that was the tiny downside as well because she had to be groomed a lot to prevent matted fur. All-in-all, Ariel was almost too good to be true.

A few years later, being the person I am - which is to say, not one to be content with the status quo - I thought it would be grand to also get a puppy for our son. He had always wanted a Beagle, but all I could think of was the terrible howling sound they make, and I nixed that idea. If only...

Someone had told me Jack Russell Terriers were the best dogs. Eddie, from Frasier, was big then, so I figured this was meant to be. We piled into our minivan and set off in search of a JRT. We finally found a kennel somewhere in the country near Leesburg. The kennel owner was a burly man who barely spoke English. He took us on a tour of the place. His was an outdoor kennel. (First clue.) He raised racers. (Second clue.) Now, he did have a new litter of puppies, but they were weeks away from being able to leave their mother. We were determined to go home with a dog. (Third clue.)

As we were getting ready to leave, my husband noticed a young dog in a cage by himself. He and my son made eye contact, and we could hear angels singing. If we had been paying attention, the voices we were hearing were actually spirits saying, "NO! This is not a good idea - Om Mani Padme NO! (Fourth and loudest clue!)

The gentleman then proceeded to explain to us the story of "Lucky Stripe." His father was a former champion racer. Champion, as in he caught the fake rabbit in the track before anyone else did. Former, in that he ran so fast he couldn't stop and crashed into a bale of hay, knocking himself senseless. His racing days were over. Something about being cross eyed and only able to walk in circles. So, the mantle was being passed on to his heir - you guessed it - Lucky Stripe. Remember when I said the man barely spoke English? Well, I guess he was trying to say Strike, but it came out as Stripe. He told us he couldn't part with him because he was training him to be a great racer like his father someday. We had no choice but to sadly turn away - boy and dog reaching for each other in one last tearful goodbye.

Yeah. No sooner did we open the car doors when Mr. JRT came huffing up to us declaring that, for a few hundred more, he would part with his magical dog. ANYBODY ELSE would have said, "That's okay. We'll be back for a puppy in a few weeks." Not us. How could we deny boy and dog their chance to be united? Wallet came out, as did the puppy, and we piled into the car, one big happy family. Well, that was until Lucky got car sick all over his new master. He may have pooped, too. It's all a blur now...

Lucky was smart - selectively. Our son ran out of tricks to teach him. He could sit, stay, play dead, roll over, shake, jump through a hoop - you name it. And, like his father, he was fast. So fast, we couldn't catch him if he ran away. He could do everything but learn how to do his business outside. Mind you, I was a working mom back then - as in trying to hold down a full time job outside the home in addition to all of the full time stuff involving running a household - washing, cleaning, cooking, shopping, etc. I was not in the mood to clean up after a dog.

And we tried everything. Somebody told us to cage him cause that would make him feel secure and less likely to poop and pee inside. It had the opposite effect. Not only did he do his thing in the kennel, he seemed to be okay covering himself in it. Dog and kennel had to be bathed then. I was rapidly losing my mind.

For years we had to put up with this. On one hand, he was sharp and fiercely loyal to our son. On the other, he had learned as a caged, outdoor puppy, to go wherever he wanted. Never underestimate the early experiences of a dog or cat. While cats seem to be able to connect new dots, dogs seem to stay fixated on the old ones. We've learned a lot over the years, mainly from our mistakes. Whether you're getting a pet from a breeder or rescuing one, try to learn as much as you can about their back story. If nothing else, at least you'll be prepared.  

Right before our son was getting ready to leave for college, the movie, "My Dog Skip," came out. It was about a JRT and his boy, so my husband and I thought it would be fun to see it with our son. Oh, Lord. That movie was such a tear jerker, the three of us were destroyed. We couldn't leave the theater. The lights came up, and the ushers were cleaning up, but we couldn't move. We just sat there like zombies. I'm pretty sure management had to escort us out. No words were spoken on the car ride home.

Like the dog in the movie, when our son left for college, Lucky would stay in our son's room, waiting for him. We never had to tell him when our son was coming home for a visit - he knew - long before he got here. Eventually our son got an apartment and took Lucky with him. I'll never forget the day I got the call from a devastated kid telling me that Lucky had gotten loose trying to find him, and was hit by a car. He brought Lucky home to be buried under the window of his boyhood bedroom.

We loved Lucky, but vowed to never, ever get another Jack Russell. Imagine our surprise when, years later, our daughter brought home a puppy she thought was a Chihuahua. It turned out to be a Chihuahua/JRT!!! We had another freaking JRT! I will tell the tale of Sevi at a later date. It's a good one...

Day Sixty Six

Untitled

In the spirit of full disclosure, today is the first day in sixty six I almost didn't write a post. I just wasn't sure it was worth the effort. I have, at most, twenty readers. But, I guess for those twenty people who are loyal, I'll keep going. I have another motivation, which is more personal. I'm keeping that my secret for now.

It was while I was sitting in the family room and happened to catch a scene in the living room mirror, I discovered something to write about. Fancy was at the very top of the cat tree in the living room, dodging an assault by his tiny brother, Dash, who was under the perch. Dash would grab Fancy's tail, then deftly dodge a bop on the head. Fancy would turn around and little brother would grab his tail again. This went on for quite awhile. Dash would swat at Fancy's tail and Fancy would try to hit him on the head. Operative word, try. I could tell Fancy was getting exasperated. Dash was loving it. He had figured out if he held on to the pole of Fancy's perch, Fancy couldn't see him. He kept spinning on that pole, ducking the blows that landed on air. Oh, life here has definitely changed.

Dash's usual partner in crime is asleep on the porch. Despite the heat and rain, Chance loves being outside. He is curled up under the porch swing; well away from the rain. This has left little brother searching for other targets. He tried Eli, who looked at him like, "Are you serious? I have better things to do than play nanny to you!" Even Finn wasn't in the mood for cat play. That left the hamster and Fancy. Dash sat on top of the hamster cage (it has a protective screen) for awhile, hoping for some movement. But Petey doesn't get active until evening, so that got boring quickly.

Little Dash does a good job of entertaining himself. I can tell by the various noises which object he has chosen to attack. What sounds like pebbles being thrown at a window means he's playing with the cords on the window blinds. Bell sounds, scritching then silence means he's playing with, then removing, the balls from the track toy. Thumping means he's jumping up and down on a cat tree. When he's run the gamut of things to explore in the house, he goes looking for trouble. The focus of his attention today, by default, has been Fancy. I can't tell you how much this pleases Mr. Fancy. He knows there will be hell to pay if he hurts the little guy, so he does his best to avoid a confrontation. I have seen him levitate in order to escape an ambush. One of these days, though...

This is how messed up I am today. I was watching a taped episode of Sunday Morning at about noon. When they interrupted programming to show a rocket launch, I went running outside to hopefully see it. I stood there for quite awhile, hopping from one foot to the other on the hot patio, scanning the sky for any sign of a rocket trail. I finally gave up, figuring the trees were blocking my view. As I came back inside, the neurons finally fired and I realized the launch had happened hours earlier - when the show had originally aired. Maybe I've been breathing too much cat litter dust.

Well, even on a day when I'm lower than a worm, there is still something to laugh about.

 

Day Sixty Five

Life is Grand

The Grands spent the night! Everybody loves it when they're here. Pap loves it cause he gets to make fabulous blueberry and strawberry pancakes. He added another item to his Pap/Chef creations - mini pizzas. Our Grandson wanted pizza - at nine o'clock last night. Pap whipped up tasty mini pizzas using English muffins, sauce and grated cheese sticks! They were delicious and he had to keep making more.

The creatures love it when the kids are here, for several reasons. Jack and Rooney love pancakes, and now, mini pizzas. The Big Cats just love the entertainment. Little Dash is the only cat who cuddles. To my granddaughter's delight, he will fall asleep in her arms, purring louder than any cat I've ever heard.

Gigi loves it when her babies are here for all of the above and for a million more reasons. First of all, they are really great kids - loving, polite, appreciative and, did I mention loving? I enjoy our Gigi's Bed sleepovers, where we kick Pap out, (hahaha - he had to bunk with Dash last night!) pile up lots of pillows, put on a Scooby Doo cartoon, eat snacks after brushing teeth (to their credit they asked if that was okay) and chat away til we fall asleep. Well, our Grandson watches TV from the bottom of the bed while Gigi and our Granddaughter yak away.

In case you haven't cracked the code yet, I will not mention their names or post a front facial picture. I hate to say it, but there are too many ways for a bad person to exploit children these days.

The morning routine goes like this:

Pap wakes up first, makes coffee and gets his kitchen ready for breakfast.

Jack and Rooney hear him and wake Gigi up. Gigi stumbles out of bed with a sore back and stiff neck but, oh well.

All of the fur babies are on alert because they know the kids are here and they are first priority - or so they think. Gigi works pretty hard at making sure everybody's needs are taken care of.

Dash has picked up on the urgency of the moment. He paces back and forth till he gets his breakfast, which he quickly abandons for a brother's much better one.

Fancy worries because, in his mind, every meal could be his last - or so he thinks. Sheesh.

Eli just looks perturbed.

Chance waits in his spot on the counter and is grateful for his breakfast.

Finn, who looks like a cat who ate another cat, couldn't care less about meals. He gladly gives his over to Dash. We think he's raiding the refrigerator at night because there's no other explanation for him being so heavy when he never seems to eat!

Our Granddaughter wakes up soon after I do. She is so sweet. Her first request is for a blueberry pancake. Pap surprised her with a strawberry one, too. She immediately searches for Dash and cuddles with him till her breakfast is ready. He already loves her.

Eventually our Grandson emerges from the bedroom, all puffy eyed with his hair resembling Beetlejuice. He isn't a morning person. Although he is a big eater up until he goes to sleep, in the morning, he has no desire for food. He eventually humors us and may eat a blueberry or a bite of banana. We're the only ones bothered by his lack of desire for food in the morning. He's fine with it.

It's sad how young parents get so caught up in the rigors of life, they often can't appreciate the little things that make childhood so special. I was like that. I worried over so many things that never happened and I missed a lot of the great things that did. That's why grandchildren are a gift. They let us live the fun stuff and leave the worrying for someone else.

 

Day Sixty Four

Yin and Yang

As I sat at the typewriter this morning, preparing to write a sappy story about the animals who have come into my life and rescued me, I was distracted by strange sounds and flashes in my peripheral vision. It could be a stroke, but more likely it's the crazy creatures with whom I live. It's impossible to be serious around here! It's too much like the monkey house at the zoo!

The serious moment, about which I was going to write, came last night as I was saying goodnight to everybody. Jack and Rooney sleep in our room but the cats have the run of the house. Remember, I must count cats before I go to bed. Baby Dash is still sleeping in his condo, until I think he is no longer a danger to himself. From what I understand about Abys, that may never happen.

As I went around telling everybody goodnight and I love them, I noticed Fancy sitting by the front door, staring out. My first thought was, "Crap! Is something out there?" When I turned on the porch light and nothing was there, my second thought was, "Crap, he wants to leave!" He was probably just looking at his reflection in the glass, but I am an odd duck, and have a tendency to project my own feelings onto others. I burst into tears! I immediately worried he thought he was being replaced. Funny that I didn't worry about that when Finn and Chance arrived. But somehow, this new little arrival is different. He has a BIG personality. And he has already claimed me as his person. He head butts anybody trying to get near me. And he really doesn't like it when I'm holding someone else.

Case in point. I am sitting at the kitchen table, trying to type. Fancy was lying on the floor next to me. Out of nowhere, Dash came flying into the kitchen and pounced on Fancy, sending him into midair. Now, Fancy is huge compared to the tiny monster, so he could inflict some damage. He didn't. He will someday if the surprise attacks continue.

So, Fancy and I had a moment last night. I held him and told him I love him now and forever. Nothing will change that. Fancy is my soul mate. I love all of the creatures in this house equally. But Fancy has a special place. He's not my "favorite," he's my lifeline. Like Penny was the lifeline for six year old me when I lost my beloved grandmother to cancer. And Poco was the lifeline for 50 year old me when I lost my job - and my identity - in one fell swoop. I have been blessed in life with these "angels" that have rescued me from despair.

Okay, so I did wax melodramatic after all. Let me change things up a bit. I have been trying to write, while all around me bizarre things are happening. Here's a play by play:
Cats have been flying past and (literally) through the air! I heard a tinkling sound on the tile and recognized it as Dash's feathers-on-a-stick that he loves. He always manages to find it and pulls it down from its hiding place! Then I heard the sound of the wooden ends of the blind cords hitting the window. I can see him in the family room getting ready to pounce on somebody. Now he's in a box attacking Chance. He just stopped for a moment and made eye contact. I'm pretty sure he wants to make sure I'm still here, ready to rescue him from a pissed off sibling. That happens quite often. Poor little Chance found a wayward feather and was enjoying playing with it, until little brother jumped on him and took "his" feather back! After all, it was on his toy to begin with.
I've seen this action played out on many playgrounds over the years.

Despite my best efforts, I spent too many years alone and inside my head to not go back there sometimes. But I'm learning to laugh and see the funny stuff outside of my little bubble. I know this Aby has come into my life to help me do just that. The "Greater Power" has always known precisely when to send a little emissary just when I need them.

Day Sixty Three

Poo and Giggles

I see funny stuff all day long. And I laugh my butt off. You see, when I was a kid, laughter was discouraged and forbidden at the dinner table. It was considered a curse or some such nonsense. Laughing at the dinner table was sure to bring out one of my mother's favorite sayings: "Giggling girls and cackling hens, always come to no good end." I actually have enough motherisms to fill a book. I'll have to get drunk first if I ever decide to write them all down.

So, imagine my confusion when I went to dinner at my maternal grandmother's house and my mother was yukking it up with her siblings - before, during and after dinner! My mother suffered from depression, and valued people who could make her laugh. Just not me. I was told I was not funny (or pretty or nice...) So I stopped trying and turned inward into a very serious person. Then, she criticized me for being too serious.
I really should be a serial killer...

Well, it only took 50+ years, therapy, and a houseful of funny people and animals to stop the voice in my head from telling me all of the stupid stuff that was stuck in there. My children are hilarious and were encouraged to laugh and talk and do everything but throw food at the dinner table. (I would have been okay with that, too, but their wise father drew the line.) And my kids have funny partners. When we're all together, the laughs just keep rolling.

The laughter gene has been passed on to our grandchildren as well. Our granddaughter has a more subtle, eye rolling, zingers under her breath, kind of humor. Like me. Our grandson just pops off these hilarious statements, a lot like his grandfather, and keeps on moving. Our two little grands-of-the-heart crack us up, too. The little one is a shtick artist. The older is more subtle and makes very clever observations. When we all get together it's a laugh riot.

I also live with creatures that make me laugh. Jack has perfected the deadpan stare that says so much. There will be chaos all around and he'll slowly turn his head and zing off something akin to, "Had enough yet?" "What were you thinking when you opened that door? That guy could have been an axe murderer!" "Do something with your cat or the next thing you see is my mouth full of cat fur."

Eli is our resident Scrooge. His is the eye-rolling, observational kind of humor. "If you think I'm going to put up with another cat in this house, you're out of your mind." "I refuse to eat this stuff. Who do you think I am? Waiter!!" "Fancy, I don't know when or where or how, but I will kill you. Sleep with one eye open, my friend."

Chance just cracks me up when I look at him. He has a crossy-eyed, comical expression on his face and he makes me happy. His comments are litter box centered. He'll go over the gate and stare at the box and I can read his thoughts. "Oh man. How does she expect me to go in there with all this other poop in it?" "I could just pee on the floor but she's standing right there." "Okay. Fine. I'll use your dumb old box now, but when you're not paying attention..."

Dash has quickly become the resident comic. His is of the cute little kid variety. He likes to explore the house now, and only checks in with me when he needs some reassurance. We had a thunder storm last evening. There was also hail which was making a racket beating on the skylights. I looked down, and there was tiny Dash looking up at me with wide eyes. I picked him up and reassured him everything was going to be okay. Poor Jack, who hates storms now ever since I blew up the speakers, looked at me like, "Why can't I sit on your lap, too?"

When the storm ended, Dash went back to being a kid. After playing, napping, eating, tormenting his brothers, etc., all day long, I decided he should get some rest. I scooped him up and told him it was bed time. The look on his face was reminiscent of a look I've seen many times on my kids' and grandkids' faces. Translation: "NOOOO!! I don't wanna go to bed!!" I'm not tired!" And, like a kid, he squirmed out of my arms and proceeded to prove to me how un-tired he was. The expression, "He got his second wind," came to mind. 

While the three Rags just sat there staring at him, Dash gathered as many of his toys as he could, and started batting them around like a maniac. He was swatting stuff under things then frantically diving after them. He would run so fast his back legs went faster, like a cartoon character, and he would trip over himself. Then, he would plaster his ears down and really take off. In a crazed span of about twenty minutes, he swatted, ran, crashed, jumped, bounced and flipped like a toy robot gone berserk. I was laughing so hard I almost wet myself. Then, just like that, he stopped and let me pick him up and put him to bed.

Contrary to what my crazy mother thought, laughter and play are not evil things designed to bring about one's ruin. When I think about how afraid I was to laugh - OH - here's another motherism - "If you laugh too much, you're going to cry." Every single time a kid would be having fun, then do a kid thing like fall down, she would be ready with her zinger - "See! I told you that would happen!" Well, I am here to say, I've been documenting this and she was wrong. Sure, shit happens. But there is no direct correlation between laughter and subsequent pain. That's bullshit. Kids get hurt. But having fun prior to that does not cause that hurt to happen. Laughter is healing.

To prove my point, I am on a campaign to laugh at every superstitious thing my mother ever told me. I will admit to being the kid who intentionally stepped on those cracks. I just can't bring myself to walk under a ladder, though. Or wear an opal since it isn't my birthstone and you're supposed to die or something if you wear one. Or break a mirror!! Gawd!! Where did I put that therapist's number....

 

Day Sixty Two

Crazy Cat Lady

Just because there's cat hair on every surface, clouds of it floating through the air and kitty litter sprinkled all over the floor, (despite the many and varied mats I have purchased to control this problem,) my family has determined I am a Crazy Cat Lady. Oh, they don't know what I could be capable of. If left to my own devices, I would bring in every stray and adopt every homeless cat I see. Take yesterday, for example.

I was in a pet store to purchase supplies for Roxy. By supplies I mean, rabbit food, treats, toys, hay, etc. So, I had to walk past a cage which held a beautiful black and white cat, who seemed to be older. She was napping. I wanted to take her home so she could stretch out and sleep in a sunny spot if she wanted. My heart ached for her. It was so hard to walk away but I had to. By my family's definition, I have reached "critical mass." My son even suggested that perhaps my prolonged cough could be due to my lungs being full of cat hair. He hates cat hair. Every once in awhile I am compelled to remind him that when I walked into his first apartment in college, it was so dirty, I threw up.

It's just that cats are so quiet (unless they're fighting,) they don't take up a lot of room and they are generally peaceful creatures (unless they're fighting.) Even my little manic baby, Dash, let's me hold him while I'm watching TV at night. He purrs away and sometimes bats at my hair, then falls asleep in my arms. I have to rotate cats, though. Fancy needs lap time. Chance likes to be next to me and Eli lies on the back of the chair, above my head. Finn is usually asleep in a box somewhere. It doesn't seem like there are that many cats here. Until I have to round everybody up.

On lawn service days, if the cats are on the porch, I scramble to get them in before the guys get to the back yard. Sometimes they weed inside the pool area and I don't want anybody to get out. Plus, the noise is scary for them. Imagine me chasing four cats around the pool. Every time I catch Chance, he looks at me like I'm going to throw him into the pool! I swear that thought never crossed my mind, but it has his. I have to keep a tight grip on him as he swivels around like an alligator doing a death roll.  Finn splays out all fours. If you've ever tried to carry a cat who's either rolling or flat out, it's no fun. Eli runs. And runs. I can get Fancy, but he's so heavy I usually drop him before we get to the door. I'm pretty sure Dash will never be allowed to go on to the porch. I can see me trying to get him down from the top of the screen enclosure. The only upside to the whole ordeal is that it provides amusement for the lawn guys as they stand and watch the crazy lady chase her cats around the pool.

My daughter sent me a video of a darling kitten who showed up at her place. He wanted to come up to her but bailed at the last minute. I told her to feed him and give him water. It's so hot out, natural water sources dry up quickly. Which brings me to this hot weather reminder. Please don't leave pets in a locked up car. It takes just a few minutes for the inside temp to soar to deadly levels. Also, be kind and leave bowls of fresh water for outside creatures. Believe me, they will appreciate it. I watched a squirrel one day trying to lick water off our front porch carpet. It was a reminder to fill the bowl I keep out front with fresh water. Just like anything left in the heat, the water can get hot, so it's important to check it daily. These small kindnesses can make all the difference in the world for a helpless creature.

Day Sixty One

The New Normal

The addition of a new body has ramped up the unusual noise occurrences here.  I've already written about how there could be paranormal events happening here and we wouldn't know it because odd things happen on a regular basis. Hanging lamps swing for no reason, lampshades are askew, things fall to the floor, etc. We can now add skittering sounds as well as banging, slamming and crashing. If there is an upside, we are becoming way cooler in that we are now numb to the unexpected. I used to have a terrible startle reflex; now I am like - meh, whatever. At my last doctor visit, my blood pressure was through the roof, but externally I appear calm.

I am not complaining, oh no, far from it. Back when I worked at a radio station in Erie, PA, one of my co-workers was a really "cool" woman named Linda. Cool as in unflappable. The woman could not be fazed. When she walked, she sort of glided like she was on a hover board. Come to think of it, she may have just materialized sometimes. She had long black hair like Elvira, wore micro mini skirts and used a long, white cigarette filter. And she rode a motorcycle. Now, Linda was never startled but she scared the crap out of me. I would be typing away or engrossed in ledger sheets when I would catch a slight movement out of the corner of my eye, look up, and there she was, puffing on that long cigarette. I would jump out of my seat, much to her delight. Just once, I wanted to be able to look up without squealing like a little kid. Linda was an animal lover, especially cats, and now I get it. She was the closest a human can get to being cat like.

As I sit here typing, a bang of unknown origin just occurred in the kitchen. I turned, expecting to see somebody jump down from the top of the fridge, but there's nobody out there. I honestly think the house is now making phantom noises as a backlash to the actual stuff that goes on here. I can see it now. The next family that moves into this house in the future will move back out quickly because they'll think the place is haunted. When it's just the residual noise from years of kids and animals who inhabited the place. House memory.

Our newest family member has settled in nicely. As in, he has succeeded in finding his niche among the crowd. His role is to keep everybody else guessing. They never know where he is or when he will pop out and scare the bejesus out of them. Last night, he decided to hide in a box and wait for some unsuspecting victim to walk by. Rooney took the bait. She knew there was something in the box. While she investigated, he waited patiently. Just when she was about to give up and walk away, he flew out like a jack-in-a-box, scaring her half to death. She just looked at us like, "Why is he here?"

I have already decided Dash is smarter than anybody in the house - including us. He has several of those tracks with balls in them. The balls are supposed to stay in the track. I thought I was losing it cause when I checked, they were gone. One even had a tiny ball in it that wasn't there to begin with. I searched around and found the missing balls in various places and figured my grandson must have removed them (he was notorious for that when he was a toddler.) No sooner did I replace them, when Dash came running over to show me how clever he is. He figured out there is one spot where the balls can be removed. He maneuvered them with his paws then popped them out! He looked at me like, "How cool is that?" I was stunned. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes I wouldn't have thought it possible. I showed Andy and he was impressed. Well, he may have just acted that way to shut me up so he could watch his show.

Don't you love it when people are surprised at the amazing things animals can do, when they were here first? They've performed the most incredible trick of all - learning how to live with and manipulate humans. And they even seem to  love us despite our flaws. They know our language, but how many people can speak theirs? Well, I am getting close. Or at least I like to tell myself that...

 

 

 

Day Sixty

I'm Melting...

Thank goodness for the mute button. I like to watch morning shows, but sometimes their chatter is beyond annoying. I swear, if Savannah Guthrie says, "Fer shure!" one more time...

Yes, I'm grumpy this morning. It's the heat. I have two fans blowing on Roxy cause I'm not into cooked rabbit. I saw somewhere you can hang a bag of ice from a fan and make a sort of instant a/c. All I can picture is the ice melting and shorting out the fan; burning the house down. (Imagine that conversation with Andy.) I have to admit, sometimes I fantasize about burning the place down (animals saved of course) instead of cleaning it. You know you're a terrible housekeeper when you'd rather burn it than clean it! Maybe I'll work on that today. Relax! I'm talking about the bag of ice thing...

As for the diva bunny, I have already cleaned her condo, given her fresh water, hay, food and treats. I swear, this rabbit eats more than the dogs! Plus, when she gets bored, she just chews on her cage! I calculated the shelf life of a bunny and compared it to the amount of time it would take her to completely destroy the cage (who says you don't use Algebra in the real world?) and I think we're good. She is saving me from having to get rid of a big cage when she croaks from all the wood she's consumed. All that will be left is the wire and the roof! Easy peasy...

Thanks to the grandkids coming by this weekend, Dash is now a fixture in the whole house. Jack has stopped drooling when he sees him and just watches him fly around the house. He then slowly turns his head to look at me and says, "Did you need this?" Rooney has her moments. The good news is, when she fixes her sights on him, her tail is also wagging. Trust me, you want that tail to be wagging.

The rest of the crew take turns chasing him or being scared shitless when he jumps out of nowhere as they walk by. He loves to scare them! I guess from his point of view, how else can he prove his worth? He's just so fast! I swear he's turbo-charged! As I'm writing this, he is terrorizing Eli, playing with his ball-in-a-track thing and jumping back and forth over the gate to "his room" - all at the same time! I know he's a manic little creature, but he does slow down to be cuddled. He spent hours being snuggled by our granddaughter the other day. The Rags never did that - I think because they have so much fur and get hot. I don't know.

On the other hand, Dash was thoroughly entertained by my grandson's car track. It really is turbo-charged and noisy. We were all trying to watch a movie, so I carted the track out to the kitchen where the little guy could race away and we could still hear the movie. The next thing I knew everybody, including Pap, was in the kitchen racing cars! Right in the middle of the action was Dash, trying to keep up with the cars whizzing by. If I could keep him from jumping on the cars, I would set it up and let the thing entertain him all day! I'm sure this is why a lot of cat toys have to do with tracks. Somebody with a little kid noticed cats were fascinated by the same action toys. Genius.

I hate to wish my life away, but I am longing for Winter again. I just can't take this heat and humidity. And it doesn't help when the weather people color the whole state RED as in hell. I have always loved the Fall, but here, it can still be hot. Now, I set my sights on November through February - four months of blessed cool(ish) temperatures. I'm gonna go stick my head in the freezer...

Movie forgotten for much more serious things...

Day Fifty Nine

Father's Day

I have written about my father before, and how he instilled in me a love for animals and life. I'm definitely thinking about him today. But this page is dedicated to my husband, Andy. He is, in my eyes and in the hearts of his own kids, the Greatest Dad Ever.

I met Andy in college. I was a Freshman living in a dorm room with three other girls. I had only been there a few days when I became crazy homesick for a dog, so I found my way to a local farm where they were giving away Border Collie puppies. I took one back to school with me and smuggled him into the dorm. One day, the puppy wasn't feeling well, and I had no way to get him to a vet. I was sitting on the lawn in front of my dorm with my sick puppy, when along came my hero. I had seen the guy before in a Biology class, so he wasn't technically a stranger. Maybe it was my tears, or maybe the cute puppy, who knows. He stopped and asked what was wrong. I told him and he said he had a car and would be happy to take me to find a vet. (Now, if my daughter had so easily gone into a stranger's car I would have yanked her out of college. Times have changed.) Long story short, we found a vet. And I found the love of my life.

We were married a year later. Two weeks after we got married, Andy's father died. At the young age of twenty two, he had a wife and mother to support. Plus, he had received his draft notice. Being the sole support of his mother granted him a deferment. But, the young man grew up very quickly. Some guys might have caved under the pressure, but not Andy. He has been working tirelessly for over forty years to take care of - well - everybody. In all that time, he has never put himself first. Ever.

I joke about the war we have over animals. It's more like a test of wills. I bring another animal home, Andy has a fit, then he becomes the favorite of whatever it is. The Frenchies adored him. Rooney is so in love with him she pines away when he's gone - sometimes for just five minutes! Dash is now starting to follow him around and hang out near him. I stopped asking if I could get a (fill in the blank.) Now, I just get it and surprise him.

When Poco, the rescued mare, came into our lives, I had just lost the job I had for almost twenty years. It was clear she and I were meant to be together - I needed her as much as she needed me. The last thing Andy needed was the expense of a horse, let alone a sick one. Over the years, her vet bills totaled in the thousands of dollars. Andy never complained or flinched over her care. Andy loved me, I loved the horse, and there you have it.

As for the kind of father he has been to our human kids. Well, The Giving Tree comes to mind. You remember the Roald Dahl book about the tree who keeps giving to the kid it loves until there's nothing left. Only in this version, the tree remains intact, steadfast and strong. More like a shelter under which everybody feels secure and safe. Our kids know and love this about him. They are deeply appreciative for helping them to be the people they want to be. And now he has grandchildren who know the kind of generous spirit Pap has.

I can't forget to mention the most important thing about being a good father - they raise good fathers. Our son is an amazing father himself. He's loving and funny and patient and his kids love him. He learned from the best.

In honor of my husband this Father's Day, I promise to limit our household to the number in it right now - no more. Well, at least until somebody else needs to be rescued.

Day Fifty Eight

 

Tell me What you Really Think

Dash is now free to roam the whole house. During the day. I just don't trust him to not kill himself during the night. So he is safely enclosed in his condo. Convincing Jack and Rooney to not chase him has been a challenge. He looks like a furry toy buzzing around. He's just made to be chased.  I don't actually speak dog and cat, but these guys make it pretty easy to translate body language.

The entire cast commiserating:

All: "What did Mom bring home this time? Smells like another cat!"

Jack: "Great! Just one more thing for me to keep track of."

Rooney: "Doesn't look like a cat! Have you seen how fast it can run?"

Fancy: "Wait a minute! I'm fast!"

Jack: "All I know is, she gets really mad if I chase it."

Eli: "Well, I consider this an insult. There are too many of you cats here as it is. And I was here first."

Chance: "He hissed at me! Me!"

Finn: "I know! Me, too! I hissed right back. That shut him up."

Fancy: "I think he's cute but I told him not to mess with me."

Eli: "Did you see the stuff she got for him? I was checking it out. He has his own litter box, for crying out loud!"

Fancy: "I haven't even gone in there. Who cares? She still feeds us fifty times a day - whenever I ask her -  thank you very much."

Eli: "Well, I bopped him on the head and you know what he did? He hit me back! Of all the nerve..."

Fancy, Eli and Finn: "We want to go out - pleeeze!" (Those three went out to the porch.)

Chance: "It's too hot. I'm staying in."

A few minutes passed and I noticed Chance and Dash playing tag. Chance hasn't had anybody to play with so he's a little out of shape. I think these two are going to be buddies.

Meanwhile, Jack has taken his position on the couch, overseeing all activity. Rooney is now focused on getting Dad to give her more scrambled eggs. Fancy has decided it's too hot out and came back in. Finn and Eli are still searching for lizards. A rhythm has returned to the Matchett household.

Watcha doin'?

Dash helping me write the blog.

9oooooo0po (Dash's contribution to the blog.)

 

I need to stretch before a workout with the new guy!






 

Day Fifty Seven

Dash Meets the Grands

Excitement was in the air yesterday. After a month of quarantine (self imposed) I was anxious to see my grandkids who were more excited about meeting the new kitten. I will let you in on a little secret. I am not an animal hoarder, as my family suspects. I am a Gigi, as in a Grandma who will do whatever it takes to make her Grandkids happy. Our grands never know what new creature will be living here when they arrive. It makes going to see the grandparents an adventure. (Insert smiley face.)

Meeting Dash for the first time was a much anticipated event. Both of the kids kept my secret from Pap for months! Although, my grandson almost gave it away a few times by asking when the kitten was going to get here. To my advantage, he is knee high to Pap, so a lot of what he says goes unheard. If Pap caught part of it and asked what he said, I just acted like I had no idea and changed the subject.

I employed this same tactic when our granddaughter was a chatty toddler. Wisely, her parents wanted to limit her sugar intake, but I am Gigi, the giver of candy. She loved Swedish Fish, which I just so happened to carry in my purse - always. She would ask for a fish and I would surreptitiously pull one out and slip it to her. So, one day she asked for one in front of her mother who looked at me with a puzzled expression. Thankfully (for me) we were standing near their fish tank! I mumbled something about how she must want a new fish for her tank. Whew. (Insert wide-eyed face with sweat running down brow.)

I was so excited to see the kids, I practically ran down the street to meet them.  I had to settle for a quick hug as they ran past me to the house yelling, "Where's the kitten?" I ran after them and, in doing do so, closed the door on my son, who reminded me that he was there, too! How could I possibly overlook the 6'5" giant who makes me laugh, cry and swell with pride! A few minutes later, I did it again! What can I say, grandkids make mush of grandparents.

Anyway, the meet and greet began. Dash was just as excited to see the kids as they were to play with him. I don't think he's ever been around children and he picked up on their energy immediately. I knew my grandson would love using the "feather pole" which was okay by Dash. My granddaughter got lots of cuddle time with him. Jack and Rooney were secured already, since I had been out prior to the kids' arrival, so I decided it was a good time to let Dash explore the rest of the house. He had a blast! Kids and baby animals - what a combo!

So, last night I thought it might be nice to let Dash out of his "condo" and see if he would cuddle with me in bed. (Insert huge snort here.) He was so wired from kid time he was literally bouncing from place to place - bed to dresser to cat tree, back to bed to floor to bathroom - boing, boing, boing! In between bounces, he would attack my feet under the covers! It became a game. He would attack, I would yelp, he would jump and run then circle back for another attack. That went on three times till I pulled the plug. I grabbed him in midair, kissed him goodnight and zipped him up in his "crib." He didn't even protest. He's so smart I'm sure he knew it was just a matter of time till he got busted.

It's funny how a new life can squeeze its way into your heart, making it bigger. My son suggested that perhaps I needed to get out more. I just smiled and said, "I have everything I need right here."

Day Fifty Six

First Casualty

I pretty much warned readers I would be writing about Dash - a lot. Today is no exception. He provides a whole lot of material. Take last night for example. We had our first Dash casualty. A vase is now history.

To acclimate Dash to his new home, and to give the other residents time to adjust as well, he has been staying in the front bedroom. He has his condo haven in there, three litter boxes, a cat tree, and lots of toys to keep him occupied. Plus, I am in there with him most of the time. We took a long nap yesterday, cuddled up on the bed. Of all the toys, his absolute favorite is a bunch of feathers on a stick. This super toy was made by his first "dad"  (the breeder's husband) and was skillfully constructed in the manner of a fishing lure. It is extra sturdy and irresistible to Dash. He never gets tired out playing with it. I just turn on my Kindle and read while swaying the feathers back and forth. I have imagined all sorts of ways to mechanize this, but I don't think any would survive this three pound dynamo.

So, Dash knows where the toy goes when I'm done playing. I have already determined this tiny creature is way smarter than I. We were watching TV when I heard a crash of undetermined origin. There are crashes, bumps, thumps and other various noises exploding here all day long. I just let it go. A few minutes later I heard some mewing coming from the front room and went in to check on Dash. That's when I discovered the source of the crash. On the bathroom floor were two bottles of spray cleaner (one with a cracked top), and a smashed vase - apparently pulled down along with the feather toy when Dash got tired of waiting for me to play with him. He actually showed it to me then took off running. How smart can that tiny brain be?? Oh well, one less thing to dust.

I am almost afraid to announce this, because I don't want to jinx it, but an interesting development seems to have occurred along with Dash's arrival. Chance has been using the litter box. Yes, I said it. Chance. Has. Been. Using. The. Litter. Box!!! Don't ask me why, I am not that smart, but I suspect it has something to do with no longer being on the bottom of the Totem pole. Either that or he doesn't want to be the one to go in case it's one in, one out. That can't be it cause they all know I love each and every one equally.

Day Fifty Five

Dash

As a kid, I often thought it would be wonderful to live with a monkey. I imagined cuddling it and dressing it in doll clothes. I'm sure my father considered it. My mother would have never let that happen. The closest I came was a stuffed chimpanzee with soft, bendable hands that my little sister eventually appropriated and named "Brenda."  

My little sister and Brenda got into a lot of adventures and trouble. Like when four year old sis and her monkey drove the family car down a hill and into the neighbor's front yard. They missed a tree by inches. When my mother noticed the big red Dodge was missing, and she couldn't find my sister, she panicked. Sis and Brenda were eventually found; hiding in her closet. When questioned, my sister threw Brenda under the bus. She said Brenda had been the one behind the wheel.

Eventually I had children and thoughts of a monkey faded away. I mean, human kids are so adorable and they don't generally bite or throw their poop at you. At least mine didn't. Whenever one of my kids asked if they could have a monkey, the mom in me now knew that there were hundreds of dangers in living with one, including horrible diseases. That wasn't gonna happen. If I had known about Abyssinian cats, we could have satisfied the desire for several creatures, monkey included, in one small package. I am learning that Abys are part cat, part ferret and definitely part monkey.

Dash has been here about thirty six hours now and he has already enchanted everyone. Eli stopped hissing at him and just watches him the way one would stare at a fish tank. Chance and Finn also love to be near him. The poor baby is terrified of Jack and Rooney, and clings to me (which I just hate - wink, wink) so that will take some time. Fancy. Well, Fancy seems to be taking this in stride. He doesn't really have a reaction to him. I make sure he gets lots of hugs, but he seems to be okay with this new arrival. I am a firm believer in preparing kids (human and furry or feathered ones) for a new addition to the family by telling them what is going to happen and that it will not take away any of your love for them. So far, so good.

I have never in my life seen anything like an Aby kitten, though. When I walk into his room, he runs over to me and jumps into my arms! He rolls himself over for a cuddle. When he's had enough of that, he twirls around then launches himself through the air! Yesterday, he "helped" me make the bed. By help I mean, not. I couldn't keep up with him! He's like a cartoon character. I should have named him "Flash." He loves his toys - with a gusto! And, he has two speeds - asleep and turbo charged!

Now this may sound like a lot for a decrepit old lady to handle, but he is the lowest maintenance guy in the house - so far. He is always ready to play, but if I have stuff to do, like sleep, he is okay with that, too. In his case, high energy doesn't also mean high stress. It's the opposite. His energy is very positive. Think Hummingbird.

Well, so far, so good. I think Dash will be providing me with inspiration for quite awhile. I'm just sayin'...