Litter Box Queen
Jul 30, 2008 Pets & Animals
Flora, the litter queen
Our once-shelter cat, Flora, brings me so much frustration, kitteny-cuteness and laughter everyday.
Flora is not at all like Cleo, who still lives in our hearts and minds long after her heart breaking battle with CRF. Cleo was the accordion cat; pick her up, flip her to her back, squish her a bit and she’d lay there lazily with a rather let me know when you’re done, ‘kay? expression. She was the sleep-under-the-covers-knead-your-arm-pit cat. She was also fond of sticking her little cat-mouth and nose in your eye or on your forehead after spending seven hours licking it, to sleep.
Flora is not a cuddle-cat. You have to handle a few friendly bone-deep bites and artery seeking claw swipes on your way to scratching her to turn her into melty-purr kitty. Flora doesn’t like to be picked up too much either. Unless, of course, it’s to pick her up and hold her to our kitchen doors so that she can see the outside.
She’s very much atypical Siamese in some of her behavior. There are some pretty insane boughts of energy where she’ll tear through one end of the house to the other as if the devil himself were on her tail. She sproings, too. Random things that startle her—you cough, sneeze, make a noise or something moves she isn’t expecting? SPROING! Up several feet goes the kitty cat.
And play. Lawd, does she play with everything. With feet, with my hair, with toes, with the strings on my pajamas, with the fifty some odd cat toys sprinkled all over the floor, with wires, attempts to play with the bird, pouncing on Raven’s tail. It is all very little-kitteny behavior that makes me grin like an idiot and laugh.
But there’s one little thing…One heart breaking little thing she will do from time to time that just makes me almost turn into mush.
You see, when we found her at the shelter, she was in a cage like every other cat there. In these cages, there is enough room for a cat to sit up, lay down, and enough room for them to use a tiny little paper litter box with water and food bowl near a wall. That’s it.
A lot of the cats were laying in their litter boxes, old ones and little ones alike. I guess that age-old mysterious attraction. Cat + box = bed of win!
Flora was no different when I came to her cage. She was all cat-muffined in her tiny little make-shift paper litter box, giving me sleepy/pretty eyes through the bars of her cage. She was so bastet-poised beautiful when she sat up and stretched when I said hello, I fell in love with her on sight.
But you see, on occasions after I change the kitty litter I will catch her sitting in it. She’s not using the bathroom, she’s not digging about or any of that—I will come ‘round the corner and peer down to see her giving me half sleepy/pretty eyes as she is either muffin-laying on, or sitting bastet pretty on the litter. Part of my heart squeezes a little when I see it and I am taken back, instantly, to when I found her on the shelter.
My mind wonders: Does she do it because she remembers the shelter? Does she do it and think back to her tiny little cage? Does she remember the sound of other cats meowing all around her, the smell of them and the sickness? Does she sometimes hear the sound of phones ringing and hold the memory of people passing by her cage everyday?
I think about this every single time I catch her sitting in her litter box looking so very far away. I bend down and pet her and tell her what a good kitty she is, but I cannot help but feel a knot in my heart.
I keep seeing all those other cats and kittens, sitting in their litter boxes, waiting for someone like me to come along and take them home.
She’d rather have a cat.
Jul 12, 2008 Pets & Animals
Early evening Florida light streaming in through the dirt-stained glass of our kitchen’s double doors. Since it’s summer, Florida’s early evening light generally tends to waddle from bright through clouds, or bright yellow sun though clouds. It’s a particular shade of the sun too that you don’t see in the morning or afternoon due to the angle of things, all the shadows are long except for those in the kitchen. Electric lights above chase them away.
My cat comes silently stalking from around the corner with her tail straight but for the very tip, which always quirks to the left or suggests the shape of a stretched out question mark.
If I am at the kitchen window she will wind around my legs and make a high pitched, short kitteney sort of meow at the window. If I am not, she will make the same sound and then tilt her head over a dainty shoulder then up, expectantly at me.
I pad over in my bare feet and scoop her up from the bare terrazzo floors, letting her front paws dangle over me left fore arm and letting her tail and butt be supported by my right.
She’s tall enough to look out the window now and her pupils grow predator-huge. Her tail starts swishing back and forth, thumping over my stomach and hip as she stares at our back yard. Some times there are birds or squirrels and she’ll lift a paw excitedly to the window and chatter her teeth to make little purrrt-mew-meh-mew-mew? noises at them. Some times, there’s nothing in the back yard but she still watches it like it’s the best thing evar.
She’s warm and heavy in my arms. I always take the time to remember how pencil-thin and skinny she was when we got her from the shelter and compare it to how round, sleek, and solid she is in my hold now. She’s incredibly smooth; I imagine this is what silk or satin might have been created and fashioned after and her fur is always spotless. I am probably messing up the seven hours of licking she does every day to get her fur to lay just so but at that moment I don’t care and she doesn’t appear to, either.
And then she purrs. It’s not a loud purr like our other cat Raven, who sounds like she’s swallowed a diesel engine with some wheezing. Flora’s purr is deep in her chest and belly, more often felt than heard. You have to be very close or it has to be very quiet for you to hear it. She purrs and it travels up and down my arms, rumbles ticks lightly against my chest and that is when I wonder if this is what true peace feels like.
There are no expectations. There are no arguments. There are no judgments, she doesn’t care if I’m lumpy, having a bad hair day, or forgot to brush my teeth after eating something heavily sprinkled with garlic. There are no misunderstandings, no heated words by mistake, no yelling, no expectations, no broken dreams, no self-hatred or regrets. She is not human, there fore, I have no faith to lose in her.
People often wonder why I don’t have friends or wish to go out or wish to go through the rigmarole of finding them–I think it’s because I’d much prefer my kitchen window and the rumble tick of a contented cat.
Signs Mel Need Sleep:
Apr 26, 2008 Humor
Holding my cat, Flora, up to the ceiling and exclaiming: “Kunta Kitty!”
And then after a second, rocking up on tip toes to put her paws near the ceiling (I’m short, okay.) then singing Spider Cat, Spider cat.
Really, I’m like this almost every day.
Pets and People: Sometimes you guys Frikken’ Scare me.
Apr 7, 2008 Pets & Animals
I’ve been owned and adopted by several generic domestic animals through out my illustrious career as a fat, geeky woman. Cats, dogs, birds and hamsters have all lived with me and have allowed me to continue living with them.
What gets me is the blatant lack of common sense from other people who are also owned by pets. Here are some of the things that make me wonder how these people function in day to day life.
The: My cat is vomiting up blood, so I decided to post about it on the internet instead of frantically searching to find a vet clinic open this time of night. It’s okay to just give her aspirin, right? -girl.
I’ve read so many horrific signs and symptoms of something being dangerously wrong with animals via forums, websites, e-mails and posting boards online; it boggles the mind.
To give credit where credit is due, I know that animals do not behave in the same manner we do when they get sick. They can’t sidle up to us and tell us in plain spoken English what is wrong with them. Animals are pretty much programmed to hide being sick for as long as possible. It’s a defense mechanism that tries to make them not-so easily picked off by predators.
But, honestly? Replace “cat vomiting up blood” with “kid vomiting up blood”. What do you think the reaction would be? Would you sit at home (most of us not drooling at the keyboard wouldn’t, okay?) and ask an internet forum what to do?
The: Why can’t you people just tell me some cheap, easy alternative to treat my cockatiel which is wheezing and twitching at the bottom of the cage? Aren’t you all experienced bird veterinarians’ on the intarwebs? -guy.
What I’m about to type may just shock and awe all of you who expect the internet to be a collection of experts in all fields, all at the same time who just so happen to be looking at your forum post right now—The internet, nay, dare I say it? Even Google is not always right.
Yes. I hear the gasps, but it’s true. What you read online via a search and what advice you are given by Joe Shmoe, hell, even I am not always going to be correct. (Shocking, I know.)
If you aren’t one, trust your veterinarian. They aren’t all “out to milk you for every dime.”
Self-diagnosing and self-treatment could lead you down a dangerous path of making your animal sicker! I’m not saying this because I’ve been some how brain-washed by a dark cult of greedy Vets, I’m saying this because it’s 100% true. Think about it. Animals, like people, could be allergic to anything—not to mention their entirely different systems which handle allergies and sickness in a different way than we do. Self-treating could lead to countless more issues making whatever is wrong with your pet from bad to deadly.
Take your pet to the Vet. Trust your Vet. Before it is too late.
The: My cat, which is a predator born and bred by nature and genetics to hunt small things—is the bestest friend ever of my two hamsters, three chinchillas, cockatiel, and sugar glider!111! -couple.
I’ve been on hand to witness the tragic event of a cat who had never attacked anything in it’s entire life—a very lazy, loving cat whose owners often photographed him with his pal, a rat, together—turn around after several years of companionship; crush the rat to death in its mouth while shaking it.
You cannot be 100% sure that your cat will not do what it is programmed by breeding and nature to do—which is hunt and kill. Even a cat mock-playing with a smaller animal, can turn into a heartbreak. Cat’s often play with us and other creatures as they would another cat, and cats tend to have thick fur over thick skin which protects them better from bites and scratches.
It’s kind of like watching a mother drop her kid onto a polar bear’s back in a zoo and wondering why in hell it got eaten. We know you love your cat. We know you love your hamster, but this isn’t really the best course of action. No matter how cute it is on youtube.
The: My brand new animal which I just brought home seconds ago isn’t being friendly to me! I want an animal that’s immediately my best friend! – lady.
Let’s say I pick this woman up and then throw her into the home of people she doesn’t know. Specifically, into the lap of some stranger she’s never met before in her entire life, in an environment she’s never been in.
What do you bet her first reaction will be? Hugs and smooches on the cheek to the random stranger she’s now sitting on? Or an ungodly shriek with an attempt to get the hell out of there?
I’d go with choice number two, Alex, and so do most animals when you just bring them home. You can’t expect trust to happen in one day. You have to give them time to adjust and you have to show them you’re worth trusting. That takes more than a few hours.
The: My dog behaves terribly, but I’ve never attempted to ever train him myself, or take him to a trainer, or set down some sort of ground rules to show him I’m the top dog around here and I never crate! - person.
I honestly don’t think the fallacy and illogical thought pattern needs to be explained. However, I’ll try my favorite game of comparison for you for those of you who might not be pet owners anyway:
Imagine you have a child. Imagine you never bothered to instill any sense of right or wrong for that child, at all. Not even the barest scrap—you’ve let that child do whatever he or she wants, whenever he or she wants, however. Imagine what kind of adult that child will turn into.
Probably a pretty horrific adult with no ability to fit into the social scheme of things, acting out badly, ruining as well as destroying things just because.
You get the gist? A dog is only as good as his or her owner. If you don’t care to teach your dog right from wrong, it’s not the dogs fault. He or she can only learn from you. It’s behaving in the manner you taught it to!
An animal depends solely on us for its every need, behavioral, guidance, pack-leadership, food, water, shelter and affection. They are much like new born babies in some ways. It is our responsibility to take care of them and learn how to take care of them.
It is also our responsibility to be able to have the intelligence, strength and courage to realize when we shouldn’t own a pet—I just wish more people out there did. Those that cannot come to these conclusions on their own frighten the bejeezus out of me.
What are some of your pet common sense lists you get, but everyone else seems to not get?
Tags: Feathers and whiskers, Flora, Fur, pet, Pets
The World Reflected
Apr 5, 2008 Personal
My garden is filled with basil once again, the cherry tomatoes are taking over one corner, the oregano has created a thick bed of itself all along it’s single row, like a guardian of dirt and everywhere there are lady bugs. I caught through our bedroom window, a bright orange butterfly flitting off to do whatever butterflies do yesterday morning.
As I watch my garden sometimes, my cat, Flora, enjoys watching the squirrels. She also enjoys watching the finches, blue jays and mourning doves landing on the bird bath and chirupping to them. I don’t think the chirrups are very convincing; none of them have tried hopping into her mouth through the window, but she’s very earnest in her attempts at hypnotizing.
I swear someday I will have a clear few snippets of video showing her churring at the birds.
Hairball and litter bit treasures.
Mar 18, 2008 Pets & Animals
I can’t tell you why I love cats more than dogs.
Dog lovers every where tend to rise up and point out how much more affectionate dogs are. How you can train them and you can’t (with ease) train a cat. How a dog might save you in a fire while your cat would probably wait until you are cooked to their liking and begin nibbling on you—if they haven’t already found some way to escape and leave you for dead.
They might also like to remind us cat lovers of how they’re never stand-offish and they’ll never treat you like a servant, but understand you are top dog and on occasion, an equal.
I don’t disagree with these points and more that dog lovers bring up.
But there’s something about a dog that I can’t connect with. To me, I can’t tell the difference between their feed me barks, their ‘I need to go pee right now,’ barks, and their ‘omg someone is coming/another dog’ barks. I can tell the difference between their ‘eat your face off,’ growls and playful growls. But for me, as much as dog lovers say that cats are a mystery—for me, dogs are the mystery.
Every so often my husband’s sister, Kim, asks me to look after her three huskies. It’s always the most confusing, nervous time of my life. I walk them every two hours because I don’t want to mistake their ‘I gotta pee,’ barks with their ‘hey I like you,’ barks. I keep a constant eye on them because one of the puppies is prone to eating everything that doesn’t move and being an idiot. Again, it all goes back to me not quite understanding them all that well.
And with cats? It’s whole different ball game. I can tell you the difference between Raven’s ‘Feed me now,’ meow, and her ‘I’d like some attention,’ as well as her, ‘back off or Imma cut you suckah,’ merowl. I can tell you by the way Raven walks or moves, how she sleeps or looks about if she’s feeling well or not. I can tell you when Flora is happy to see me in the curl and arch of her back as she rises to sit bastet-pretty for me whenever I enter a room as she’s napping.
I can tell you that outside of the touch of human comfort, there is nothing in this world like the smell of a clean, healthy cat. It’s like the dust of old, loved books mixed with the warmest left over sunshine caught in their fur from their most recent sun-nap. The feel of a contented purr that coaxes me for more affection, felt in the palm of my hands and heard in my ears like the most perfect, wondrous little natural motor. I love best of all this look-that-is-not-a-look they give me, when they are pleased to see me and squint their eyes up tight to show me they mean me no harm then they rub their little triangle heads against me to mark me as theirs for all the cat-world to smell.
There’s always little things to love that one must take in stride. With cats, it’s the surprise left in your shoes after an upset stomach, the dirty paw prints in your just scrubbed bath tub, the entire roll of shredded toilet paper all over the house as well as the daily dig for ‘treasure’ in the litter box to keep it clean.
But it’s worth it. Because there will be days when you just don’t think anyone in the world will ever get you, even your friends, your spouse, your parents or yourself—and out of the corner of your eye you’ll see two tufted ears pop up and perhaps the warm bat-bat of a paw. It isn’t long until this aloof creature that seems to think you are beneath them will curl up near you or on you and begin that beautiful tick-tick-tick-tick purr of theirs.
Everything seems just a little bit better. Everything seems just that much clearer.
Maybe I can tell you why I love cats more than dogs.
