![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Dinah, Screen Warrior
Nov. 1st, 2024 11:10 amSo we have this cat. Her name is Dinah. She's a gray tabby. She adores Darwin. She likes me. She tolerates our other cat Dora.
And she has turned into a screen warrior.
A few weeks ago, Darwin and I were yanked awake one night with a screeching yowl. I dashed out to the dining room, where the noise was emanating, and found Dinah attacking the sliding glass door. She clawed at it and leaped at it, and, apparently forgetting about the glass, bounced off it. Then she did it again. It was like she had gone crazy. For a fleeting moment I wondered if she was attacking her reflection, but she'd never done that before.
I finally realized what was going on. Another cat was on our back deck. All black. It was sitting close to its side of the glass with its tail curled around its legs, taunting Dinah. Dinah was a madcat, spitting and yowling and screaming. I rapped on the glass, but the cat didn't move, so I yanked the door open. That made the cat run, but Dinah dove for it. She hit the screen door and swiped at it before I could shove her aside with my foot. I shut the glass door, shooed Dinah away from it, and let her calm down while I went back to bed.
Last night, we had the windows to the back yard open against the climate-changed warm night air, and again we got the screaming, yowling noises. I sighed and went out to deal with it.
This time, the black cat was sitting on the deck rail, which put it at window-sill level. Dinah was leaping up at the screen, spitting and screeching. I chased the damn cat away and shut the windows, but Dinah had torn out chunks of the screen. It'll have to be replaced.
Darwin was ticked off at Dinah until I pointed out that it's not her fault. From her perspective, the cat is a threatening invader and she has no choice but to retaliate. It's the fault of the other cat's owners for letting it go outside. (The cat isn't a stray--it's well-fed and its coat is sleek.) This is NOT a good area for cats to go outside. We have coyotes. We have a busy road. We have assholes who speed down said road because it's smooth and straight and they like having a place to floor it. All of it is a bad combo for cats. But whoever these people are, they let their cat outside.
And it turns Dinah into a screen warrior.
It's too cold now to have the windows open, so the worst that'll happen is that she might attack the door glass again, but in the spring, we'll have to remember to keep certain windows shut. After we get the screen repaired.
And she has turned into a screen warrior.
A few weeks ago, Darwin and I were yanked awake one night with a screeching yowl. I dashed out to the dining room, where the noise was emanating, and found Dinah attacking the sliding glass door. She clawed at it and leaped at it, and, apparently forgetting about the glass, bounced off it. Then she did it again. It was like she had gone crazy. For a fleeting moment I wondered if she was attacking her reflection, but she'd never done that before.
I finally realized what was going on. Another cat was on our back deck. All black. It was sitting close to its side of the glass with its tail curled around its legs, taunting Dinah. Dinah was a madcat, spitting and yowling and screaming. I rapped on the glass, but the cat didn't move, so I yanked the door open. That made the cat run, but Dinah dove for it. She hit the screen door and swiped at it before I could shove her aside with my foot. I shut the glass door, shooed Dinah away from it, and let her calm down while I went back to bed.
Last night, we had the windows to the back yard open against the climate-changed warm night air, and again we got the screaming, yowling noises. I sighed and went out to deal with it.
This time, the black cat was sitting on the deck rail, which put it at window-sill level. Dinah was leaping up at the screen, spitting and screeching. I chased the damn cat away and shut the windows, but Dinah had torn out chunks of the screen. It'll have to be replaced.
Darwin was ticked off at Dinah until I pointed out that it's not her fault. From her perspective, the cat is a threatening invader and she has no choice but to retaliate. It's the fault of the other cat's owners for letting it go outside. (The cat isn't a stray--it's well-fed and its coat is sleek.) This is NOT a good area for cats to go outside. We have coyotes. We have a busy road. We have assholes who speed down said road because it's smooth and straight and they like having a place to floor it. All of it is a bad combo for cats. But whoever these people are, they let their cat outside.
And it turns Dinah into a screen warrior.
It's too cold now to have the windows open, so the worst that'll happen is that she might attack the door glass again, but in the spring, we'll have to remember to keep certain windows shut. After we get the screen repaired.
The Internet of Cat Boxes
Jul. 3rd, 2024 09:45 amLast year, I bought an automatic litter box. It's very high-tech. It senses when a cat climbs in, weighs the cat, waits until the cat leaves, and then cycles itself. The "box" is actually shaped more like a dryer drum with clumping litter in the bottom. It cycles by turning the drum, which runs the litter through a strainer that clears out the clumps and drops them into a waste bin below.
It's a wonderful invention. Before I owned this device, I used a traditional cat box with clay litter. I don't like sieving out daily clumps and would rather empty the whole box every few days. Either way is messy and gross. But the automatic box can go an entire week without needing to be emptied, and the clumps are whisked away into an air-tight drawer lined with a plastic bag. When it gets full, I just pull the drawer open, lift the bag out, and drop it in the trash. No touching of cat clumps involved!
The box keeps track of all kinds of data--how much each cat weighs, how often each visits the box, how often it cycles, how often it fills up. And it sends this data to an app on my phone. I still get disconcerted when the litter box sends me a text. (I could shut them off, but then I tend to forget to empty the drawer and the box stops working.)
It does have a flaw, though.
Last night, I emptied the drawer and ran the bag out to the trash, which was already at the curb for pickup. Something distracted me, though, and I completely forgot to replace the bag and put the drawer back in. This morning---aaaaaagggghhh! Cat clumps all over the drawer space and on the floor.
I went through two pairs of rubber gloves and I don't how many paper towels sprayed with cleaner getting it all cleaned up. Then there was the sweeping and the mopping. And the ew, ew, ew!
This was totally on me, but you'd think a device that can tell our two cats apart would have a sensor that says, "Drawer's open! Hold off on cycling!" Maybe I'll write customer service.
It's a wonderful invention. Before I owned this device, I used a traditional cat box with clay litter. I don't like sieving out daily clumps and would rather empty the whole box every few days. Either way is messy and gross. But the automatic box can go an entire week without needing to be emptied, and the clumps are whisked away into an air-tight drawer lined with a plastic bag. When it gets full, I just pull the drawer open, lift the bag out, and drop it in the trash. No touching of cat clumps involved!
The box keeps track of all kinds of data--how much each cat weighs, how often each visits the box, how often it cycles, how often it fills up. And it sends this data to an app on my phone. I still get disconcerted when the litter box sends me a text. (I could shut them off, but then I tend to forget to empty the drawer and the box stops working.)
It does have a flaw, though.
Last night, I emptied the drawer and ran the bag out to the trash, which was already at the curb for pickup. Something distracted me, though, and I completely forgot to replace the bag and put the drawer back in. This morning---aaaaaagggghhh! Cat clumps all over the drawer space and on the floor.
I went through two pairs of rubber gloves and I don't how many paper towels sprayed with cleaner getting it all cleaned up. Then there was the sweeping and the mopping. And the ew, ew, ew!
This was totally on me, but you'd think a device that can tell our two cats apart would have a sensor that says, "Drawer's open! Hold off on cycling!" Maybe I'll write customer service.
Dinah has problems. Every day she vomits at least once, and it's usually on the rug, almost never on the wooden floor, just inches away. It's beyond annoying to clean up, and she must be in some kind of distress, so I took her to the vet. The vet ran some tests and said it's probably a digestion problem (as opposed to cancer or something), so she should have Special Food. Unfortunately, the Special Food is rather expensive, more than three times the price of the normal food.
This wouldn't be such a huge deal, except Dinah lives with Dora, who isn't a cat so much as a furry little pig. I don't want to put out Special Food for Dinah only to have Dora scarf it down. Dinah is also a nibbler, so it isn't feasible to supervise her eating. What to do?
I mentioned this to the vet, who informed me of a lovely invention: the GOTCHA food bowl. The GOTCHA bowl (not it's real brand name) has a hinged cover on it and a tag sensor above it. When the sensor notes the presence of the matching tag, the cover flips open. When the tag moves away, the cover flips shut. It refuses to open for any other tag.
I ordered two of them. (They weren't cheap, either.) When they arrived, I set them up and attached the little tags to the cats' new collars. The GOTCHA feeder has a "learning" mode in which it leaves the food partly covered so the cats can smell and even eat some of the food, but the cover opens fully when the tagged cat approaches. Once they're used to the cover moving by itself, you switch off learning mode and the cover closes completely.
Dora and Dinah get a little soft food every day, and they clamor and beg and dance for it. Incentive! When soft food time came, I put the GOTCHA bowls into learning mode and put the soft food into them. The partially-closed lid covered half of the soft food.
The cats were immediately suspicious. I had to show them who's bowl was whose, and both of them did the surprised kitty jump with the lid opened by itself. After that, they refused to have anything to do with the bowls. They both stared at me, every inch of them saying, "I hate you."
I knew their desire--and Dora's NEEEED--for the soft food would eventually overpower their generalized feline anxiety (GFA), so I left the bowls as they were.
The day wore on. Every so often, one of the cats would go over the investigate the bowls and leap back when the lid opened. Dinah sat and stared at her bowl from a safe distance as if she might open it telekinetically. Dora pouted under the bed.
Later, though, I checked the bowls and saw the soft food was missing from the exposed half of both bowls. This means that Dinah had eaten Dora's food and Dora had eaten Dinah's. But no matter. They were learning the bowls wouldn't bite them. Still later, I noticed Dinah's food was completely gone, meaning she, and only she, had eaten it. Dora's remainder sat untouched, and she begged, pleaded, and demanded more foooooood! Said pleas were ignored.
Several hours later, I checked and saw Dora's bowl was empty, too. Success!
We'll leave the bowls in learning mode for another day or so, then switch them to full GOTCHA mode so we can at last put Dinah on her special food.
This wouldn't be such a huge deal, except Dinah lives with Dora, who isn't a cat so much as a furry little pig. I don't want to put out Special Food for Dinah only to have Dora scarf it down. Dinah is also a nibbler, so it isn't feasible to supervise her eating. What to do?
I mentioned this to the vet, who informed me of a lovely invention: the GOTCHA food bowl. The GOTCHA bowl (not it's real brand name) has a hinged cover on it and a tag sensor above it. When the sensor notes the presence of the matching tag, the cover flips open. When the tag moves away, the cover flips shut. It refuses to open for any other tag.
I ordered two of them. (They weren't cheap, either.) When they arrived, I set them up and attached the little tags to the cats' new collars. The GOTCHA feeder has a "learning" mode in which it leaves the food partly covered so the cats can smell and even eat some of the food, but the cover opens fully when the tagged cat approaches. Once they're used to the cover moving by itself, you switch off learning mode and the cover closes completely.
Dora and Dinah get a little soft food every day, and they clamor and beg and dance for it. Incentive! When soft food time came, I put the GOTCHA bowls into learning mode and put the soft food into them. The partially-closed lid covered half of the soft food.
The cats were immediately suspicious. I had to show them who's bowl was whose, and both of them did the surprised kitty jump with the lid opened by itself. After that, they refused to have anything to do with the bowls. They both stared at me, every inch of them saying, "I hate you."
I knew their desire--and Dora's NEEEED--for the soft food would eventually overpower their generalized feline anxiety (GFA), so I left the bowls as they were.
The day wore on. Every so often, one of the cats would go over the investigate the bowls and leap back when the lid opened. Dinah sat and stared at her bowl from a safe distance as if she might open it telekinetically. Dora pouted under the bed.
Later, though, I checked the bowls and saw the soft food was missing from the exposed half of both bowls. This means that Dinah had eaten Dora's food and Dora had eaten Dinah's. But no matter. They were learning the bowls wouldn't bite them. Still later, I noticed Dinah's food was completely gone, meaning she, and only she, had eaten it. Dora's remainder sat untouched, and she begged, pleaded, and demanded more foooooood! Said pleas were ignored.
Several hours later, I checked and saw Dora's bowl was empty, too. Success!
We'll leave the bowls in learning mode for another day or so, then switch them to full GOTCHA mode so we can at last put Dinah on her special food.
Dora and the Evil Fireplace
Jan. 13th, 2024 10:17 am The living room was chilly this morning, so I headed for the fireplace. Dora ran ahead of me and flopped down on the hearth, demanding to be petted. I told her what was going to happen, but she ignored me. I flipped the switch to ignite the fireplace. It came on behind her with a BOOF!
It was like watching a cartoon character. She shot to her feet to bolt away, but her claws got no joy on the stone, so she scrabbled in place for several seconds. Finally she got some purchase and rushed away, all outraged terror.
Cats earn their keep through entertainment value.
Death by Petting
Jan. 6th, 2024 10:47 pm Darwin McClary was petting Dinah. Dorah was staring, jealous and unhappy because SHE wasn't being petted. I snapped my fingers at Dorah to get her attention and let her know I was willing to pet her. She was so intent on being jealous that she missed it completely. Finally Dinah noticed I was tapping my fingers. She left Darwin and trotted over to me. Dorah now realized that TWO humans had petted Dinah and NONE had petted her.
Darwin brought Dinah back over to him for petting, and Dorah at last realized I was willing to pet her fluffy fat butt. I petted her exactly the way she likes it, but her eyes remained focused on Darwin who was STILL PETTING DINAH!!
Eventually, she couldn't stand it. She stormed over to Darwin to demand that he pet her EVEN THOUGH SHE WAS BEING PETTED ALREADY. It wasn't enough that she was being petted. She needed to be the ONLY ONE who was petted.
Darwin refused to touch her. I turned back to my computer. Now Dorah realized NEITHER human was petting her. She came back to me, demanding that I return to petting duty.
"Nnnnope!" I said. "Buzz off."
Now she's sitting in the corner, looking confused and affronted, a victim of her own greed.
Darwin brought Dinah back over to him for petting, and Dorah at last realized I was willing to pet her fluffy fat butt. I petted her exactly the way she likes it, but her eyes remained focused on Darwin who was STILL PETTING DINAH!!
Eventually, she couldn't stand it. She stormed over to Darwin to demand that he pet her EVEN THOUGH SHE WAS BEING PETTED ALREADY. It wasn't enough that she was being petted. She needed to be the ONLY ONE who was petted.
Darwin refused to touch her. I turned back to my computer. Now Dorah realized NEITHER human was petting her. She came back to me, demanding that I return to petting duty.
"Nnnnope!" I said. "Buzz off."
Now she's sitting in the corner, looking confused and affronted, a victim of her own greed.
Strange Cat Politics
Apr. 30th, 2023 03:07 pmWe split a can of food between the cats once a day in addition to their hard food. I give a little more than half to Dinah so that chonky Dora gets fewer calories, but I set the can down for Dora to clean out. It gives her something to do.
Usually Dora gulps her food down and goes for the can while Dinah tidily finishes up her portion. Sometimes Dinah doesn't finish all of hers, and Dora dives for it. But today things ... changed.
I bought a new brand of canned food and today gave the cats their first can of it. Dinah dove in and chowed down. Dora sniffed suspiciously, then licked tentatively, then ate slowly. Dinah actually finished first!
And then the weird thing happened.
Dinah went for the can, since Dora was still eating. Dora looked up and noticed that Dinah was sniffing at the sacred can. Dinah noticed her noticing, hunched up and STARED at Dora. Dora stared back for a moment, then quietly abandoned her half-eaten meal. Dinah sidled over and finished it off.
Darwin and I were flabbergasted! Never has Dora given up food. Never has Dinah intimidated Dora over food. Never has Dora abandoned the sacred can.
The world is turning upside-down.
Usually Dora gulps her food down and goes for the can while Dinah tidily finishes up her portion. Sometimes Dinah doesn't finish all of hers, and Dora dives for it. But today things ... changed.
I bought a new brand of canned food and today gave the cats their first can of it. Dinah dove in and chowed down. Dora sniffed suspiciously, then licked tentatively, then ate slowly. Dinah actually finished first!
And then the weird thing happened.
Dinah went for the can, since Dora was still eating. Dora looked up and noticed that Dinah was sniffing at the sacred can. Dinah noticed her noticing, hunched up and STARED at Dora. Dora stared back for a moment, then quietly abandoned her half-eaten meal. Dinah sidled over and finished it off.
Darwin and I were flabbergasted! Never has Dora given up food. Never has Dinah intimidated Dora over food. Never has Dora abandoned the sacred can.
The world is turning upside-down.
The End of Canned Food
Sep. 18th, 2022 10:52 amDinah and Dora love their canned food. The routine is that I feed them when I get home from work, and they greet at the door: "Time for food! Time for food!" When I crack open the cat food can, Dora gets so excited, she runs laps around the kitchen island. On the weekends, they think they can get fed early--as in ten in the morning--and they bug me until I wave the spray bottle at them.
And then there was Friday.
(What follows is a little icky. You have been warned.)
When I went downstairs to work out, I found five lumpy puddles of cat diarrhea scattered about the carpet. Apparently, the cats had both gotten sick and had decided the litter box was the wrong place to handle it. Ohhhh, I was upset. We have an entire main floor with wood flooring, and they can't do it there. No, they have to choose the one area of the house that's completely carpeted. It took Darwin and me considerable time to clean it up.
Clearly, something in the wet food got to them. I don't know if it was one can, an entire batch, or something in their physiology changed, but it ultimately doesn't matter. No more canned food for the cats, ever again. And they have been banished from the basement entirely. Once cats have decided that another spot in the house is a good alternative to the litter box, it's almost impossible to break them of the idea. They'll have to be content with the main floor.
Of course, we have no way of explaining any of this to the cats, and I knew what was coming. Yesterday, they started the food demands. They don't actually yowl and prance around. Instead, they both get all lovey-dovey, like they're trying to flatter me into feeding them. ("You're so great. We can't help adoring you. Yes, you! So how about some food?") I responded with an immediate squirt from the water bottle. They retreated. A bit later, they were back at it. Another squirt, another retreat.
I expected this to last all day, but by four o'clock, they'd clearly given up. I handed out catnip as a recompense, and they were happy with that. Today, they haven't bugged me for canned food at all, though Dinah firmly pointed out that the hard food dish was empty. I refilled it.
I wonder if they themselves figured out that the canned food made them sick, and they don't want it anymore as a result.
And then there was Friday.
(What follows is a little icky. You have been warned.)
When I went downstairs to work out, I found five lumpy puddles of cat diarrhea scattered about the carpet. Apparently, the cats had both gotten sick and had decided the litter box was the wrong place to handle it. Ohhhh, I was upset. We have an entire main floor with wood flooring, and they can't do it there. No, they have to choose the one area of the house that's completely carpeted. It took Darwin and me considerable time to clean it up.
Clearly, something in the wet food got to them. I don't know if it was one can, an entire batch, or something in their physiology changed, but it ultimately doesn't matter. No more canned food for the cats, ever again. And they have been banished from the basement entirely. Once cats have decided that another spot in the house is a good alternative to the litter box, it's almost impossible to break them of the idea. They'll have to be content with the main floor.
Of course, we have no way of explaining any of this to the cats, and I knew what was coming. Yesterday, they started the food demands. They don't actually yowl and prance around. Instead, they both get all lovey-dovey, like they're trying to flatter me into feeding them. ("You're so great. We can't help adoring you. Yes, you! So how about some food?") I responded with an immediate squirt from the water bottle. They retreated. A bit later, they were back at it. Another squirt, another retreat.
I expected this to last all day, but by four o'clock, they'd clearly given up. I handed out catnip as a recompense, and they were happy with that. Today, they haven't bugged me for canned food at all, though Dinah firmly pointed out that the hard food dish was empty. I refilled it.
I wonder if they themselves figured out that the canned food made them sick, and they don't want it anymore as a result.
The cats know damned well they aren't allowed on cupboards and counters. We have taught them this with shouts and water bottle squirting. We know they know because on the occasions I've caught Dinah on the kitchen counter, she springs up and bolts from the room before I can even say anything.
You'll notice it doesn't keep her off the counter, though. In fact, I sometimes find little paw prints on the glass stove top in the morning. (Dorah isn't a problem--she's so fat, she can barely jump onto the bed. A counter may as well be the moon.)
This bothers me quite a lot. Cat feet are gross. They dig around in the litter box and are on the floor. I wouldn't want a human's bare feet on my food prep surfaces, let along a cat's. I spend a lot of time cleaning my countertops.
Last week, though, I bought some pet training mats. They're rubbery mats that run the length of the counter or table, with a controller and a battery. They react to touch, and you can set them to beep loudly, to deliver an electric shock (that you can set from "What was that?" to "OH MY GOD THE PAIN!"), or both. Animals who touch the mat learn quickly not to do it again, but of course, they don't associate the discomfort with the mat--they associate it with the place. Soon, they don't enter that space anymore.
I unrolled a set of these on the kitchen counters, the stove, and the dining room table, then set them to give a loud beep and an "ouch!" level shock. Then we went to bed.
Not five minutes later, Darwin and I heard a BEEP! from the kitchen, followed by an instant thump and skittering sounds. I went into the kitchen to have a look. Dora was watching me with mild curiosity from under the table, while Dinah had utterly vanished.
We took to leaving the mats out at night and whenever we left the condo. We didn't hear any more BEEP/thump/skitter noises when we were home. A couple days ago, I decided to test the theory that Dinah wasn't jumping up anymore. I sprinkled flour across the stove top and didn't leave the mats out, then left the condo. When I got back, I saw no cat prints in the flour. I left the flour for the rest of the day and all that night. No cat prints.
I told this to Darwin and wondered aloud if we didn't need to put out the mats anymore.
"We should leave them out a while yet," Darwin said, so we did.
You'll notice it doesn't keep her off the counter, though. In fact, I sometimes find little paw prints on the glass stove top in the morning. (Dorah isn't a problem--she's so fat, she can barely jump onto the bed. A counter may as well be the moon.)
This bothers me quite a lot. Cat feet are gross. They dig around in the litter box and are on the floor. I wouldn't want a human's bare feet on my food prep surfaces, let along a cat's. I spend a lot of time cleaning my countertops.
Last week, though, I bought some pet training mats. They're rubbery mats that run the length of the counter or table, with a controller and a battery. They react to touch, and you can set them to beep loudly, to deliver an electric shock (that you can set from "What was that?" to "OH MY GOD THE PAIN!"), or both. Animals who touch the mat learn quickly not to do it again, but of course, they don't associate the discomfort with the mat--they associate it with the place. Soon, they don't enter that space anymore.
I unrolled a set of these on the kitchen counters, the stove, and the dining room table, then set them to give a loud beep and an "ouch!" level shock. Then we went to bed.
Not five minutes later, Darwin and I heard a BEEP! from the kitchen, followed by an instant thump and skittering sounds. I went into the kitchen to have a look. Dora was watching me with mild curiosity from under the table, while Dinah had utterly vanished.
We took to leaving the mats out at night and whenever we left the condo. We didn't hear any more BEEP/thump/skitter noises when we were home. A couple days ago, I decided to test the theory that Dinah wasn't jumping up anymore. I sprinkled flour across the stove top and didn't leave the mats out, then left the condo. When I got back, I saw no cat prints in the flour. I left the flour for the rest of the day and all that night. No cat prints.
I told this to Darwin and wondered aloud if we didn't need to put out the mats anymore.
"We should leave them out a while yet," Darwin said, so we did.
That very night just after bedtime, we heard BEEP!/thump/skitter. So while the mats are improving the situation, the problem hasn't been entirely solved yet. We'll keep using them until it is.
The Cat Cycle
Jan. 29th, 2020 02:55 pmStage 1: Cat demands to be petted with insistent meows.
Stage 2: Cat receives petting and scratchings.
Stage 3: Cat gets excited about petting and scoots out of arm's reach.
Stage 4: Petting ends. Human shrugs, returns to work.
Stage 5: Cat becomes upset and mystified that petting has ended.
Stage 6: Cat returns to Stage 1.
Stage 2: Cat receives petting and scratchings.
Stage 3: Cat gets excited about petting and scoots out of arm's reach.
Stage 4: Petting ends. Human shrugs, returns to work.
Stage 5: Cat becomes upset and mystified that petting has ended.
Stage 6: Cat returns to Stage 1.
Cats, Carpets, and Cleaners
Jul. 8th, 2018 09:30 pmThe carpets haven't been cleaned since we laid them down more than three years ago. In that time, we've had work done to the house and endured several seasons of pine pollen. They needed to be cleaned, upstairs and down.
The basement carpets especially were smelling musty and, it must be said, catty. No urine--just animal. I told Darwin it was my opinion that this was because the cats spend 10 or 11 hours out of 24 down there, either because they want to or because they have to. He agreed. Perhaps it was time to re-think the household policy of having the cats spend nights in the basement.
I called a carpet cleaning company, and they arrived on Saturday morning with their trusty truck and elongated hoses. We locked the cats in the bathroom while the cleaners went through the house, removing dust, dirt, and stains and leaving a lemon scent behind.
After they left, we let the freaked cats out of the bathroom. They didn't like the wet carpets at all! When they walked across them, they tried picking all four feet up at once. And to their dismay, every time stepped onto the wood floors, their wet paws skidded out from underneath them. We thought it was funny, but they didn't.
That night, Dora began her usual routine of begging for treats before being locked in the basement. I tossed her treats down the stairs and she waddled after them, but I didn't shut the door. Dinah followed. A few minutes later, Dora reappeared, looking mystified but hopeful. Had we forgotten the entire incident and could we therefore be convinced to give her MORE TREATS? The begging began. I squirted her with a water bottle, and it ended right quick.
Every time we passed the cats, however, they scampered away or hid, afraid we were going to put them into the basement. (I feel I should add that the basement is spacious, fully carpeted, and filled with cat toys, so it's not like the basement is a hardship. The cats just dislike being separated from the humans.) Eventually we went to bed.
Dora made the mistake of crying outside our closed bedroom door. I whipped the door open, hosed her with the water bottle, and she waddle-scampered away. Darwin says after I fell asleep, she whined again, but he ignored her and eventually she stopped.
At about 3:00 AM, I bolted awake for gods know what reason and couldn't get back to sleep. I slipped out of bed and went out to the living room to read for a while. Dora was lying on the couch, and when she saw me coming, she completely flipped her litter. She leaped straight up, all puffed out, and bolted so hard for the basement that she left the air behind her unzipped. Subtext: "Shit shit shit! I'm supposed to be downstairs!"
I read for a while and eventually she poked her head around the corner. No reaction from the human. Huh. Okay, then.
Dinah, meanwhile, stayed atop the cat tree, watching the drama with a much calmer expression.
So we'll see what happens tonight.
The basement carpets especially were smelling musty and, it must be said, catty. No urine--just animal. I told Darwin it was my opinion that this was because the cats spend 10 or 11 hours out of 24 down there, either because they want to or because they have to. He agreed. Perhaps it was time to re-think the household policy of having the cats spend nights in the basement.
I called a carpet cleaning company, and they arrived on Saturday morning with their trusty truck and elongated hoses. We locked the cats in the bathroom while the cleaners went through the house, removing dust, dirt, and stains and leaving a lemon scent behind.
After they left, we let the freaked cats out of the bathroom. They didn't like the wet carpets at all! When they walked across them, they tried picking all four feet up at once. And to their dismay, every time stepped onto the wood floors, their wet paws skidded out from underneath them. We thought it was funny, but they didn't.
That night, Dora began her usual routine of begging for treats before being locked in the basement. I tossed her treats down the stairs and she waddled after them, but I didn't shut the door. Dinah followed. A few minutes later, Dora reappeared, looking mystified but hopeful. Had we forgotten the entire incident and could we therefore be convinced to give her MORE TREATS? The begging began. I squirted her with a water bottle, and it ended right quick.
Every time we passed the cats, however, they scampered away or hid, afraid we were going to put them into the basement. (I feel I should add that the basement is spacious, fully carpeted, and filled with cat toys, so it's not like the basement is a hardship. The cats just dislike being separated from the humans.) Eventually we went to bed.
Dora made the mistake of crying outside our closed bedroom door. I whipped the door open, hosed her with the water bottle, and she waddle-scampered away. Darwin says after I fell asleep, she whined again, but he ignored her and eventually she stopped.
At about 3:00 AM, I bolted awake for gods know what reason and couldn't get back to sleep. I slipped out of bed and went out to the living room to read for a while. Dora was lying on the couch, and when she saw me coming, she completely flipped her litter. She leaped straight up, all puffed out, and bolted so hard for the basement that she left the air behind her unzipped. Subtext: "Shit shit shit! I'm supposed to be downstairs!"
I read for a while and eventually she poked her head around the corner. No reaction from the human. Huh. Okay, then.
Dinah, meanwhile, stayed atop the cat tree, watching the drama with a much calmer expression.
So we'll see what happens tonight.
The New Kitten
Nov. 11th, 2017 09:05 pmIn lighter news, today arrived . . . the New Kitten!
She's very cute, and very loving, and a big attention hog:
How did this happen, with Darwin's adamant refusal to get another cat, especially after the hell we went through with other cats? Well...
You may remember from previous entries that Darwin loves Scottish fold cats, and he got word that one of the pet agencies had one. When we arrived, we learned that the Scottish fold already had many people applying for it, but Darwin couldn't help looking at the other kitties, and this one charmed him completely. So he put in an application for her. And this time, since they had so many cats, the agency readily agreed to give her over, without the myriad background checks, home visits, and vet references they required before. Huh. Imagine.
We couldn't take her with us that day, though, because she hadn't been spayed yet. By today, that had been taken care of and we could pick her up.
We set things up for her--food and litterbox in the bathroom, separate from Dinah's. Dinah became instantly suspicious. And when we got home, her suspicions were confirmed. The little fuzzball leaped out of the carrier and Dinah drew back, expressing her displeasure. However, she didn't fluff her tail or arch her back. Instead, she retreated to the top of her cat tree and watched and watched and watched. Whenever the kitten got too close, she hissed, which the the kitten utterly ignored. We've been giving Dinah extra treats, which she eats, and extra petting, which she ignores.
I think eventually Dinah and the kitten will get along just fine.
Meanwhile, the kitten is busily exploring the house and getting everyone to pet her.
She's very cute, and very loving, and a big attention hog:
How did this happen, with Darwin's adamant refusal to get another cat, especially after the hell we went through with other cats? Well...
You may remember from previous entries that Darwin loves Scottish fold cats, and he got word that one of the pet agencies had one. When we arrived, we learned that the Scottish fold already had many people applying for it, but Darwin couldn't help looking at the other kitties, and this one charmed him completely. So he put in an application for her. And this time, since they had so many cats, the agency readily agreed to give her over, without the myriad background checks, home visits, and vet references they required before. Huh. Imagine.
We couldn't take her with us that day, though, because she hadn't been spayed yet. By today, that had been taken care of and we could pick her up.
We set things up for her--food and litterbox in the bathroom, separate from Dinah's. Dinah became instantly suspicious. And when we got home, her suspicions were confirmed. The little fuzzball leaped out of the carrier and Dinah drew back, expressing her displeasure. However, she didn't fluff her tail or arch her back. Instead, she retreated to the top of her cat tree and watched and watched and watched. Whenever the kitten got too close, she hissed, which the the kitten utterly ignored. We've been giving Dinah extra treats, which she eats, and extra petting, which she ignores.
I think eventually Dinah and the kitten will get along just fine.
Meanwhile, the kitten is busily exploring the house and getting everyone to pet her.
The Case of the Conniving Kitten
Oct. 29th, 2017 09:57 pmAfter we lost Bernard (re-homed with the vet) and after the Great Ceiling Cat Debacle and after going through six kinds of stupid hell with local pet rescue organizations, Darwin and I had both declared we would not get another cat. Dinah would be our only, and last, one.
However . . .
Darwin has a weakness for Scottish fold cats. In his view, they're the cutest cats since kitten boops on the nose were invented. I have no opinion of them one way or another, except for the fact that they're bloody rare and expensive--$400 and up! No way we'd ever pay that much for a cat of any cuteness level. But folds occasionally get put up for re-homing, and Darwin had put his name on a couple mailing lists that would alert him to one.
On Saturday, Darwin got an email alert. A Scottish fold cat was up! She wouldn't actually be available until November, but she'd be meetable at a pet affair that day. Darwin decided we should go look at her. So off we went!
When we arrived, we found a long double row of cats in cages, more than triple the number I'd run into elsewhere. We asked among the volunteers and learned the fold in question wasn't actually there, despite what the web site had said.
However . . .
Darwin started browsing among the cages. He came across a fluffy blue-point Siamese kitten who demanded to play with him through the bars. He batted fingers against paws for a while, then asked to hold her. The kitten climbed all over him and completely charmed him. He was a melted puddle of protoplasm under her adorable blue gaze.
Meanwhile, I wandered farther down the row, examining yet other cats. A few cages away . . . was that . . . ? It was! A black Scottish fold kitten. I summoned a reluctant Darwin from his intended's cage and said, "I probably shouldn't show you this, but--"
He stared. "Oh my god! He's so cute!"
A volunteer took the fold kitten out, and Darwin loved that one, too.
In the interim, I had quietly fetched a form from the volunteer table. "Which one should we ask for?" I said casually.
"This one," he said. "No--that one!"
"Do you want both?" I said.
"No! But I can't decide."
At this point, a volunteer said, "We've already had several people apply for the Scottish fold. No one's asked about the other one yet."
That settled it. Darwin went back to the Siamese's cage, and she batted at his fingers in approval.
The volunteer went over our form, asked one question, and said, "She's yours!"
Amazing the impact supply and demand have. The other events demanded two kinds of ID, a vet reference, two personal references, and a home visit. This event handed out cats like cards at a poker game.
We couldn't take her home that day. She hadn't been spayed yet, and needed some more shots. I would have offered to have it done, but I doubted the agency would have taken my word, plus it was one less hassle for me if they handled it, so I didn't say anything. We'll be able to get her in a couple of weeks.
The conniving kitten knew how to work it!
However . . .
Darwin has a weakness for Scottish fold cats. In his view, they're the cutest cats since kitten boops on the nose were invented. I have no opinion of them one way or another, except for the fact that they're bloody rare and expensive--$400 and up! No way we'd ever pay that much for a cat of any cuteness level. But folds occasionally get put up for re-homing, and Darwin had put his name on a couple mailing lists that would alert him to one.
On Saturday, Darwin got an email alert. A Scottish fold cat was up! She wouldn't actually be available until November, but she'd be meetable at a pet affair that day. Darwin decided we should go look at her. So off we went!
When we arrived, we found a long double row of cats in cages, more than triple the number I'd run into elsewhere. We asked among the volunteers and learned the fold in question wasn't actually there, despite what the web site had said.
However . . .
Darwin started browsing among the cages. He came across a fluffy blue-point Siamese kitten who demanded to play with him through the bars. He batted fingers against paws for a while, then asked to hold her. The kitten climbed all over him and completely charmed him. He was a melted puddle of protoplasm under her adorable blue gaze.
Meanwhile, I wandered farther down the row, examining yet other cats. A few cages away . . . was that . . . ? It was! A black Scottish fold kitten. I summoned a reluctant Darwin from his intended's cage and said, "I probably shouldn't show you this, but--"
He stared. "Oh my god! He's so cute!"
A volunteer took the fold kitten out, and Darwin loved that one, too.
In the interim, I had quietly fetched a form from the volunteer table. "Which one should we ask for?" I said casually.
"This one," he said. "No--that one!"
"Do you want both?" I said.
"No! But I can't decide."
At this point, a volunteer said, "We've already had several people apply for the Scottish fold. No one's asked about the other one yet."
That settled it. Darwin went back to the Siamese's cage, and she batted at his fingers in approval.
The volunteer went over our form, asked one question, and said, "She's yours!"
Amazing the impact supply and demand have. The other events demanded two kinds of ID, a vet reference, two personal references, and a home visit. This event handed out cats like cards at a poker game.
We couldn't take her home that day. She hadn't been spayed yet, and needed some more shots. I would have offered to have it done, but I doubted the agency would have taken my word, plus it was one less hassle for me if they handled it, so I didn't say anything. We'll be able to get her in a couple of weeks.
The conniving kitten knew how to work it!
I've realized we don't talk about buying pets much anymore. Have you noticed that?
For some reason, everyone has decided it's wrong to say they bought a dog or bought a cat. You have to say you adopted it. Shelters don't charge you--they ask for an adoption fee. Animal rescue groups ask for compulsory donations. Neither groups say you're buying a pet.
Fifteen years ago, the last time I got a dog, we answered an ad from a woman who had puppies. She asked for a twenty dollar "donation." She clearly felt like she couldn't charge, even though that's what she was doing. We bought the dog and brought him home.
I don't feel entirely comfortable with saying I adopted a pet. After the difficulty and heartache I went through to adopt two children, I have a hard time with the idea of applying that word to a cat or dog.
Requiring a donation is a misnomer anyway. Donations are given freely, with nothing accepted in return. It's a complete fiction that you hand over $100 to an animal group as a "donation" and mysteriously receive a pet in return. Would the organization give you the pet without the donation? They certainly wouldn't. You have bought a pet.
People have no trouble saying they bought a chicken for a farm. Or bought a horse, or a cow, or a pig, or a goat. But dog and cats? They have to be adopted, for some reason.
People are strange.
For some reason, everyone has decided it's wrong to say they bought a dog or bought a cat. You have to say you adopted it. Shelters don't charge you--they ask for an adoption fee. Animal rescue groups ask for compulsory donations. Neither groups say you're buying a pet.
Fifteen years ago, the last time I got a dog, we answered an ad from a woman who had puppies. She asked for a twenty dollar "donation." She clearly felt like she couldn't charge, even though that's what she was doing. We bought the dog and brought him home.
I don't feel entirely comfortable with saying I adopted a pet. After the difficulty and heartache I went through to adopt two children, I have a hard time with the idea of applying that word to a cat or dog.
Requiring a donation is a misnomer anyway. Donations are given freely, with nothing accepted in return. It's a complete fiction that you hand over $100 to an animal group as a "donation" and mysteriously receive a pet in return. Would the organization give you the pet without the donation? They certainly wouldn't. You have bought a pet.
People have no trouble saying they bought a chicken for a farm. Or bought a horse, or a cow, or a pig, or a goat. But dog and cats? They have to be adopted, for some reason.
People are strange.
Ceiling Cat Is Judging You
Apr. 17th, 2017 08:45 amNew Kitty, now tentatively known as Ceiling Cat, has gotten up into the basement drop ceiling and refuses to come down. She sneaks down at night to eat and use the litter box, but that's it. We can't get to her--she retreats to the plastered ceiling over Aran's room or over the bathroom, where there are no drop tiles to pop.
This is getting serious. Ceiling Cat clearly intends to stay up there forever. Up there, she has no way to acclimate to us or the rest of the house, and since she has food and litter, she has no reason to overcome her shyness. I think she would live up there for the rest of her life if we let her.
I thought about this long and hard. Then it occurred to me that I've run into this problem before, more or less. Back when I was renting a townhouse, we got a raccoon in the attic crawlspace. The landlord called a critter removal company, who came out and set humane traps for the animal. Within a few hours, the raccoon was trapped in the cage and whisked away. Why not do the same thing for a cat?
And I also thought, why hire a company? The humane traps can't be that hard to use. Why not buy one and trap the cat myself?
A bit of web searching turned up the fact that my local hardware store does indeed sell humane cage traps for less than $50. The raccoon size would do nicely. I popped out and bought one, assembled it with minimal fuss, and put it in the basement with Ceiling Cat's food dish in the bait section:
Now we wait . . .
This is getting serious. Ceiling Cat clearly intends to stay up there forever. Up there, she has no way to acclimate to us or the rest of the house, and since she has food and litter, she has no reason to overcome her shyness. I think she would live up there for the rest of her life if we let her.
I thought about this long and hard. Then it occurred to me that I've run into this problem before, more or less. Back when I was renting a townhouse, we got a raccoon in the attic crawlspace. The landlord called a critter removal company, who came out and set humane traps for the animal. Within a few hours, the raccoon was trapped in the cage and whisked away. Why not do the same thing for a cat?
And I also thought, why hire a company? The humane traps can't be that hard to use. Why not buy one and trap the cat myself?
A bit of web searching turned up the fact that my local hardware store does indeed sell humane cage traps for less than $50. The raccoon size would do nicely. I popped out and bought one, assembled it with minimal fuss, and put it in the basement with Ceiling Cat's food dish in the bait section:
Now we wait . . .
Mr. Bitey in Danger
Sep. 19th, 2016 08:50 amBernard--Mr. Bitey--is having trouble again. Bloody urine, litter box mistakes. He's not moping or meeping in pain like before, though. I'm going to change his food again and hope for the best. Frankly, we can't afford thousands of dollars in vet bills for him. The thought of putting him to sleep upsets Darwin hugely, but there's no way around it if he doesn't get better on his own.
We're watching him closely.
We're watching him closely.
The Naming of Dogs
Sep. 3rd, 2016 08:16 amAnd since it would be unfair to leave our canine friends out . . .
My family also usually had a dog or two. After I went off on my own, I didn't have one for years because I always lived in an apartment and didn't want the hassle of a dog I'd have to walk three times a day. When it's raining or snowing or just early on Sunday, I like being able to boot the
dog out into the yard to do his business. I don't ever want a dog unless I have a yard.
I haven't had a dog in a few years now. Darwin is adamant that we don't have one because he want to be involved in the care of one in any way. I haven't pushed it because we do have the cats, and a dog would be more work than I want.
Anyway, here are the dogs from my life:
Soft (I named her when I was four for obvious reasons; hit by one of the cars she liked to chase)
Barney (a big, stoooopid St. Bernard)
Cinnamon (one of Barney's puppies; hit by a car)
BJ (one of Soft's puppies; hit by a car)
Snowball (a white husky; hit by a car)
Motley (a pretty black-and-white mongrel with one ear up and one ear down; hit by a car)
Snowball II (a white Samoyed; hit by a car--you may be noticing a pattern here)
Anubis ("Nubi" for short; ran away when we moved)
Shadow (Nubi's daughter; I don't remember what happened to her)
Nubi II (lived to a ripe old age--at last!)
Here's where I moved out. My mother's had a couple other dogs since then, but I didn't "know" any of them.
See, until the Nubi years, we lived on a road that ran parallel to one of the local freeways, and people would barrel down the pavement at 60 miles an hour. For some reason, most of our dogs loved to chase them, and this often sealed their fate. Nubi I and Nubi II were smart enough not to indulge in such idiocy and lived rather longer. :)
How do you name your dogs?
My family also usually had a dog or two. After I went off on my own, I didn't have one for years because I always lived in an apartment and didn't want the hassle of a dog I'd have to walk three times a day. When it's raining or snowing or just early on Sunday, I like being able to boot the
dog out into the yard to do his business. I don't ever want a dog unless I have a yard.
I haven't had a dog in a few years now. Darwin is adamant that we don't have one because he want to be involved in the care of one in any way. I haven't pushed it because we do have the cats, and a dog would be more work than I want.
Anyway, here are the dogs from my life:
Soft (I named her when I was four for obvious reasons; hit by one of the cars she liked to chase)
Barney (a big, stoooopid St. Bernard)
Cinnamon (one of Barney's puppies; hit by a car)
BJ (one of Soft's puppies; hit by a car)
Snowball (a white husky; hit by a car)
Motley (a pretty black-and-white mongrel with one ear up and one ear down; hit by a car)
Snowball II (a white Samoyed; hit by a car--you may be noticing a pattern here)
Anubis ("Nubi" for short; ran away when we moved)
Shadow (Nubi's daughter; I don't remember what happened to her)
Nubi II (lived to a ripe old age--at last!)
Here's where I moved out. My mother's had a couple other dogs since then, but I didn't "know" any of them.
See, until the Nubi years, we lived on a road that ran parallel to one of the local freeways, and people would barrel down the pavement at 60 miles an hour. For some reason, most of our dogs loved to chase them, and this often sealed their fate. Nubi I and Nubi II were smart enough not to indulge in such idiocy and lived rather longer. :)
How do you name your dogs?
The Naming of Cats
Sep. 2nd, 2016 08:14 amAre your cats named whimsically (Puffy Paws), seriously (Bast), traditionally (Patches), or something else?
The cat names in my family have run the gamut from mundane to unique. We always had a cat or cats from my earliest memory, and, just for the heck of it, here they are, in order:
Henrietta (named after Henrietta Pussycat from Mister Rogers)
Midnight (all black)
RC ("Rat Catcher," which she was extraordinarily good at)
Lightfoot (from the Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle books--he also had two white socks)
Benvenuto (from a book about a dragon, except the cat was female while the dragon was male)
Joe Cool ("Joey" for short)
Here we had a gap when I went to college. Joey was always my cat, and I had planned to take him with me when I got out of school and had a place of my own, but he ran away and disappeared just after my parents moved.
Addison (named after MOONLIGHTING's David Addison because he liked sleeping on women's chests)
Ranadar (a name with a complicated origin; it shows up again in BONE WAR)
Poltergeist (because he was loud, demanding, and liked to knock things over)
Sirius Black (another black cat, named after the Harry Potter character)
Omen (born on 06/06/06)
Alec (a shelter cat who was given that name for reasons unknown)
Dinah (named after Alice in Wonderland's cat)
Bernard (another adopted cat who came with his name)
During the Henrietta/Midnight/RC years, we had a few litters of kittens, some of whom we named. But these are the cats we kept. RC gave birth to Lightfoot and Benvenuto. Benvenuto gave birth to Joey. Lightfoot died of feline leukemia, and he was one of the first cats in the country to come down with it. No one knew what it was then.
How do you name your cats?
The cat names in my family have run the gamut from mundane to unique. We always had a cat or cats from my earliest memory, and, just for the heck of it, here they are, in order:
Henrietta (named after Henrietta Pussycat from Mister Rogers)
Midnight (all black)
RC ("Rat Catcher," which she was extraordinarily good at)
Lightfoot (from the Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle books--he also had two white socks)
Benvenuto (from a book about a dragon, except the cat was female while the dragon was male)
Joe Cool ("Joey" for short)
Here we had a gap when I went to college. Joey was always my cat, and I had planned to take him with me when I got out of school and had a place of my own, but he ran away and disappeared just after my parents moved.
Addison (named after MOONLIGHTING's David Addison because he liked sleeping on women's chests)
Ranadar (a name with a complicated origin; it shows up again in BONE WAR)
Poltergeist (because he was loud, demanding, and liked to knock things over)
Sirius Black (another black cat, named after the Harry Potter character)
Omen (born on 06/06/06)
Alec (a shelter cat who was given that name for reasons unknown)
Dinah (named after Alice in Wonderland's cat)
Bernard (another adopted cat who came with his name)
During the Henrietta/Midnight/RC years, we had a few litters of kittens, some of whom we named. But these are the cats we kept. RC gave birth to Lightfoot and Benvenuto. Benvenuto gave birth to Joey. Lightfoot died of feline leukemia, and he was one of the first cats in the country to come down with it. No one knew what it was then.
How do you name your cats?
