Musings, reflections, wisecracks from a somewhat creative mind

Stalking the beast…

Stalking the beastie

Getting closer!

Closer still!

Ha cha cha chaaaa!!

I can take it!!

VICTORY is near!!

Baby has seafood!!

Schweet kittehs

So the kittehs are not all bad, you know. A friend today remarked at how I had been referring to “the kittens” as pests, homewreckers, a nuisance … He kindly didn’t use those words yet it is true. He was not mistaken. So let me set the record straight.

It’s my humor which misleads. It is my way of blogging – usually. My thoughts are also true. But this is not all.

The kittehs are precious and sweet and they make me joyful MUCH more than they make me anything else. The are a privilege to care for.

(They are also going to be gone by this weekend if I’m to host the houseguests I intend to host next weekend. No kitten wants to be squashed underfoot and no human wants to smell litterbox.)

So here, therefore, are some phrases and vignettes:

  • The other evening as I left them for the bedroom, each one in turn came to me for a scratch and a smooch.
  • Pepe has sat on my shoulder and purred into my ear. (DARling.)
  • Spot follows me around the house.
  • One of them reaches for me under the door in the morning.
  • They all trust and seek out Chloe.

And so here, therefore, are some photos of the little ankle biters in their most angelic aspects.

Kitten Urchins …

… Elves, Gremlins and Scamps

When I first brought home this box o’ kitties, I referred to them in a high pitched voice as little darlings, “so cute!”, and “so little!”. Chloe was clearly delighted to have these small bundles of entertainment in the house.

They've breached the wall!!!

However, once they breached the X-pen “wall” into my living room I began to realize just how mistaken my characterizations might be. I learned over the next few hours that the only thing which can stop an inquisitive and determined kitten is a bonafide door and one that latches tight.

They may be little but size does not matter. Nothing is sacred to these little dickens. One has gotten itself tangled in my hair. Another squirt has dangled from a window drape. *grrrr*

 

 

 

Evil kitteh TOGO

The scamps have chewed (unsuccessfully, whew) wires in my office. I put up a baby gate and looked at them saying “I know this is a mere suggestion to you …” At least I hear when they climb it and can intervene.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ginny, Hell on Wheels

One of them, Ginny, is a holy terror who attacks her litter mates and bites and chews them! If I hear squealing it’s probably Ginny gnawing on Spot or TOGO.

 

 

 

 

 

Jackanapes

 

Then there are the little claws …

Pepe le Pew

Ankle biter Spot and Chloe the Giantess

Many lovely moments remain though:

They love to nestle with Chloe or let her maul them with her snout.

All four of the little waifs were waiting for me outside my bedroom door this morning.

The floor show is always a hoot.

You should be dancin' - YEAH!!

8 ounces

WELL!

If you don’t know me, you don’t know about my newest enterprise – kitten sitting!

Not really.

I had an assignment to write a story about our local county animal shelter and fostering very young kittens. They are surrendered by residents who can not care for them.

Back story: It’s a government shelter. They can’t say “no” when people surrender the pets – feline, canine, and others. The government workers who are employed there feel so much empathy for these little ones.

Specifically: Some of the kittens that are brought in are too young to fend off disease and too young for sterilization (that is, spaying or neutering and then ready for adoption) and they need to be fostered in an environment that is healthier – like, of all things, MY house.

So I went and did the interview (with a wonderful, caring, knowledgeable woman named Mary – go figure) and ended up offering to foster some little kitties. I wrote the story. It is a real human interest story and shows how some government employees are real angels to their charges.

And I took a box o’ kitties home.

Sleepy time

 

Four 8-ounce kitties.

 

They have changed my life in their little way.

 

They are innocent and fearless.

 

They are energetic in a way I can’t understand – but maybe could’ve when I was much and WAY younger.

They play play play playplayplayplayplay … ad infinitum. And. Then. They. Sleep.

Play play play!

 

Thank the good Lord for sleep. He invented it. He should know. It’s a beautiful thing, sleep. *sigh*

 

More to come. This is just the first installment. I’ll tell you AAALLLLL about the “kittehs”. They are pure, loving, clawFUL, innocent, sweet with sharp and tiny dagger claws that have already speared my drapes. *more sighes*

What have I gotten my self into this time?

My Dog’s Profession

Chloe, the Standard Poodle and perfect dog, has a burgeoning career in her future- that of Professional Obstacle. She is terribly good at being in the way. It seems to be an innate talent and one she practices on a daily basis. Therefore I think she could make a lot of money, if we can just tap the right market.

First, a “guest post” from Chloe, as follows:

How I do it

By Chloe Louise Sault

First, let’s understand the assumption. Tripping a human is a good thing. It establishes our “dogness” and it is amusing.

Lying in the middle of the floor of any room is a sure thing. Spreading out – legs, head, tail, and if I am feeling particularly sarcastic, tongue – assures high potential for tripping a human. If a human does not notice me lying there – as my grandmother did not notice a few months back – they will trip and fall. Goal! I mitigate any negative reaction towards me by not moving and looking innocent and cute.

Lying in a doorway is best used when the humans are moving about from room to room and generally being unpredictable. Stationing myself in a doorway has an added benefit as it enables my ability to monitor the human’s activities.

An important caveat for the novice – when the human is attempting to step over you, don’t move. Doing so could risk damage to the face and head when the human’s foot rapidly connects with said body parts. However DO take the risk if you really want the human to fall. You see, as they try to correct their trajectory they lose balance rather easily resulting in “the fall”. Any damage they do to you they will take care of medically and financially. Guilt is usually an outcome as well. Treats often follow guilt.

Preceding the human through the house or yard or sidewalk is good for frustrating the human and CAN result in a fall, but not usually. Mostly it results in the human yelling and cussing and the poodle being pushed, shoved or otherwise rudely moved by the human. It is not necessarily recommended. However it can be satisfying in a rather evil way.

While the human is exercising, place your soggy chin and wet, slimy and cold nose in their hand when they least expect it. It usually results in a chin rub, which is very nice. It may also result in surprising the human who then pulls a muscle, usually in the back, causing temporary pain and yelling and cussing. It is fun to watch and harmless for you.

To sum up: Us dogs can have great fun tormenting and torturing our humans while appearing to be affectionate and innocent. Take advantage. We have so little recompense for our affable selves (no pockets, no thumbs, no cars … need I say more).

Signed: Chloe Louise Sault, P.O.

OK! It's not a poodle. But who cares - it's funny!

Back to Mama

My Chloe lacks imagination. The “hit man” market craves such genius. I think the Cosa Nostra should take notice. Our prices are fair. Please be discreet in your inquiries. We need cash money. Pony up, people.

Quiet and Peace

It’s late Sunday morning and I finally find a moment to dig into the novel that’s been sitting on my coffee table for a week or two. Paradise!

After a while I realize how quiet it is and I stop to appreciate it. What do I hear?

The whir of the fan.

The tick tock of the clock.

The whistling respirations and occasional rustle of my dreaming, napping dog.

The hum of the refrigerator.

The faint birdsong of a Mockingbird.

The squawking of a company of wild parrots.

Distant, faint traffic noise.

The sound of a jet flying 30,000 feet in the air.

*Sigh* Peace.

And I should be able to hear the sound of my washer and dryer working.

*Sigh* Chores.

So much for the quiet. I was glad to have it and it was nice while it lasted.

I loved my Amber-poodle

Letting you all know (because I suspect you’d want to know) – I’ve had to send my darling and brave Amber-girl to heaven. I’ll not distinguish between human and doggie heaven, partly because I’d like to end up in both.
She was a 17 years-old, still gorgeous, still noble … an insolent 12 pound, fluffy and curly-white bundle of dog. I believe she could have tamed lions, given the chance. In the 70’s, Helen Reddy would’ve been proud. Amber was a true feminist.
Aging: Most of us will end up in a place with which we are not familiar. That place is indistinct, confusing, frustrating, frightening … because we are unable to recognize it and process it due to our failing vision and hearing, thought processes, ability to move comfortably, and probably more that I can’t know at my tender age.
I finally realized Amber was THERE. Standing, swaying, and staring at the wall without a purpose is not dignified. Amber was, if anything, dignified – and defiant – during her life. The Vet agreed. We wanted to give her a Viking funeral.
We gave her what we could – a shot in the “arm” and a loving farewell.
Amber will remain a legend in my memory. She was … a true Princess.

HRH Princess Amber