9 posts tagged “cat”
Just saw the trailer for Hellboy 2. Now, I knew this was coming out... but.. I never imagined... *sigh*
I'm really at a loss for words. It looks spectacular. Like as in "woah I just came a little and I hope no one noticed." I love Ron Perlman. I'll watch anything with him in it. Period. Just like Christopher Walken and Jason Statham. Yeah, I know. I can be lame. But I have my favorites. Anyways. This summer is going to rock. If only for this movie alone.
Oh yeah, and on the home front... the kittens are gone and we moved. It's a long story and one I'll probably not share here. What I will say is that we are looking to the future and what's best for all. Spook is once again King of teh Castle and makes sure everyone knows it. Since the place is carpeted, every one has a chance to see his no-no's any time they look down. In other words, he spends most of the day on his back with all four legs in the air... or, barring people walking around, he pwns any and all furniture, accessible or not. Also... my hair is long. I haven't cut it since my last birthday. I can almost get it into pigtails without any clips... almost. It's the dang top layer in the front that just doesn't quite make it. I wouldn't mind so much, except it's just long enough for the ends to bend in and tickle my ears. Yay clips.
We are in the process of moving. We started slow and are building up to a crescendo that I fear is going to leave me breathless and surrounded by a ton of boxes. As it stands, enough has been moved for us to start living in the new house. It's an old Victorian with plenty of nooks and crannies to fill with my furniture and crew. Already, the dog has chosen her room and so have the cats. They are adjusting amazingly fast to the space. The puma spent his first hour out of the cat room going from room to room and finding the exact middle of the floor to flop over and stretch out as long as he could stretch. Finding no obstructions or objections, he would quickly get up and move to the next room to repeat the process. It was amusing to watch. The little ones took a little longer, hiding on the stairs at first and running along with me until they felt comfortable enough to explore on their own. Hobbit quickly found the coat closet and has dubbed that "Hobbit's Crook". The shoes don't mind too much. Harvey is... Harvey.
Last night was our fourth night camping out in the new living room. We were settling down and getting sleepy when we saw headlights reflected on our wall. Not a big surprise as one of the first things I noticed is that our driveway seems to be a magnet for turnarounds on our street (no more cul-de-sac for us, I'm afraid!) and use as our neighbor's parking guide. Not a huge problem in the scheme of life in a new house. Could be worse, right? Uhm... a few minute's later we hear talking and shouting from the front of the house. Frank looks out the window and there is a van parked in our driveway, with it's owner having an animated conversation with someone(s) out in the street. The woman by the van asks for Frank's help in moving the van out of our driveway as she "has no reverse". Frank puts on his shoes and a coat but by the time he gets out there, (and I look out the door) the cops have arrived. Grabbing my coat and slippers, I join Frank on the porch as we are entertained by the cops dealing with the woman and the men who were following her. Apparently she knew a criminal element we'll just refer to as D-man and the cops suspected her of being in cahoots with him. The cops didn't believe her when she said she was being stalked by the men in the other car and she didn't know where D-man was. They let the other car go and proceeded to confiscate the alcohol in her van and administer a sobriety test. She passed with flying colors and because they knew her, despite having no license, she was let go. One of the cops and Frank pushed her out of our driveway. As Frank and I start to head back in, one of the cops calls out from their patrol car, "Welcome to the neighborhood" and laughs a bit maniacally. I don't think he meant to laugh like that, but it can't be a good sign. As we go to shut our front door, we notice that the other car had circled back and the cops pulled it over again (the woman in the van was still sitting down our street). At that point it had ceased to be funny and we were just tired. We went inside, shut the door and tried to relax once again.
I don't know yet if I'd prefer our old crazy over this new oddity. Dealing with "an outside cat" and the occasional firecracker is not that bad compared to what we witnessed last night. On the other hand, that crazy was a daily/weekly occurrence. If this new crazy only rears it's head once in a while, I can deal with it.
Okay, it's technically not a secret at all. I just found out today, thanks to a web ad space, that Heroes starts up again on September 24th. I may have found out about this sooner, but as I learned my lesson last year about spoilers, I'm not searching out information on the show. I prefer the chills and shivers of the unknown and reveal.
The countdown begins.
On an unrelated note, WTF COMCAST???!?!? I'm a fan, although no fanatic, of U of M football. But can I watch the first game of the season (although not a big game at all... that's not the point)??? NO!!!! All thanks to the Big Ten Network, which is only picked up by DirectTV and a smattering of smaller cable stations around the nation. But Comcast has decided to be a weeweehead (immature dickhead) and not pick up the station. Thankfully some (hopefully most) games will still be broadcast by ABC or some such network. So here I sit with my headphones on, listening to an audio stream of the game through my laptop. I love you Comcast. I really do.
In yet other news... Roxie is the newest member of our family. She's a half boxer, half ridgeback hound. Beautiful dog with a wonderful personality. She's been here for nine days, but by the second day, it felt as if she has always been in the family. Even the cats seemed nonplussed by her, well, all with the exception of little Hobbit who went all scrub brush and didn't calm down for about 24 hours. The puma, of course, took the same stance he took with Remus, "Don't touch me and we won't have any problems." Although without the hissing and fighting that went along with Remus. In fact, he basically just sat on the cat tower and stared at her. All is well. We go for walks and she is completely cool with other dogs. Even when they are aggresive. She'll just hide behind Mom (me) and tuck her tail in. As soon as you pet her and tell her she's okay (and the other dog goes away) she is back to Happy Butt. And boy does she have a happy butt. Her tails wags so hard that her entire body wags with it. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm a proud owner of a very cute puppy.
Pictures of Roxie soon.
Okay, so I went camping and came home today (Frank, in a brilliant show of love, brought our puma along for the ride (he had to pick me up from mom's) and when I finally walked through my own front door, I was covered in cat pee and cat vomit - YAY) in a mix of feelings. Exhaustion, disgust, love, happiness, irritation... you get the idea.
Anyways, the point is, Sunny came over because she had also been on a road trip and she missed us. Well, we missed her too... I didn't mean to imply that we didn't. Seriously!!!!
I think I lost my point again. Let me go sharpen my wit.
We're all sitting here Stumbling, playing games, trying to find a new puppy (we just recently had to give our dog to his old owners - it was hard but best for all), watching tv and generally doing what we usually do on any given day. Three computers, one wall of tv, three cats running around, and three humans chittering away all added up to a lot of noise.
We almost missed it.
A new commercial pops up on tv and no one was quick enough with the remote, fortunately. It's some dentistry commercial (toothpaste, mouthwash, whatever) and all of a sudden we hear "your teeth are alive". Everything comes to a screeching halt. Puppies and Stumbles are forgotten. Computer games end in death. At the same time, all three of us burst out laughing and start ripping out quips.
The best one: "They're biting me!"
Seriously, think about that the next time you chomp down on that piece of steak. Your teeth just may be vegan.
THE MORE YOU KNOW!!!
When I got him as a kitten, I repeated the mantra "he's just a kitten, I do love him" more times than I care to admit. Now, more than two years later, I find myself in a somewhat similar state of mind. He is no longer a kitten, or anything that resembles a cute fist sized ball of fluff. He's still as fuzzy and fluffy - just 18 pounds instead of 3. But I think he still thinks he is a kitten.
Today, per norm, all three cats were ripping around the duplex chasing each other up and around, over and under. Nothing really new or exciting, but usually entertaining. I'm sitting in the middle of the couch, playing a computer game, when all 18 pounds of furball come flying up over the laptop arm (attached to the back of the couch) and... well, at least he tried... onto the windowsill.
Unfortunately the windowsill is about three inches deep (I've heard him hit his head before many times when he tries to jump onto it) which is about as deep as his front paws. Don't believe me? I'll try to find the picture of one kitten paw taking up the entire top of a pop can. Also unfortunately, for me, the cushion at the back of me had been sliding down. This made the large tube behind my head (part of the cathouse we moved - long story) unstable.
He hits the window with his head and grabs for purchase on the cat tube.
With his back claws.
Slips.
I've now got two stitches on my neck and a multitude of bandages down the left side of my back.
I also found out what makes Frank faint. The guy who can step on a nail, pull it out and go back to work like nothing is amiss. The guy who says nonchalantly "I think I broke my thumb again" as he comes home from work. The guy who is brought to his knees and to the point of fainting seeing me in pain.
And what is the monster behind the whole ordeal doing? Sleeping on top of the sheepskin as if it's just like any other day.
I love him. I really, really do.
So...
I've been growing my hair out for about a year. I usually go in and out of phases with my hair and my love for it. It's really thick. I mean, people say their hair is thick... but they don't know thick like I do. Back when my hair was long (middle of my back) I couldn't have it in a ponytail or pigtail, sometimes not even braids, for longer than half a day or I would get major headaches. Partly because of the weight, but mostly because I had to have the holder so tight or else it wouldn't hold any hair at all and just fall out in less than a minute flat. Long. Straight. Hair.
When I finally got smart and chopped it all off, I swore that I'd never go back to long hair.
But sure enough, about once every year or so, I get it in my head that I really want that headache. I really want a braid, or a ponytail, and I want long hair. HA.
Last year, about this time, I decided that it was once again time to put myself through the hell of growing out my hair. Mind you, at the time it was about two inches long all over.
Flash forward to now and I'm sooo tired of it. Tired of not being able to put it up because some of it is still not long enough to be held and tired of it getting into places that I'm still not used to hair being (my eyes, my mouth, my ears... you get the point).
I'm used to having days like this. Days of just a second away from the electric shaver and shaving it all off. I expected it. I plan for it (dyes and doorags do wonders for change). But I wasn't prepared for this.
The past few days. No. The past few weeks. No, as I really thought about it earlier today, the past month I've been hating my hair. Instead of having a day here and there of hating my hair, I've been having a day of loving it in a sea of hours of simmering anger.
I've asked Frank to cut it all off. He did the noble thing (and sane thing) to do by asking if I was really really sure about this. "How long have you been thinking about it? You might want to sleep on it and see how you feel tomorrow."
It took all I had not to strangle him. Sleep on it. That's exactly what I've been doing for the past year. Sleeping on hair that is in my face, ears and mouth and making it all but impossible to fall asleep. But he wouldn't know that.
I explain that I've been grappling with this for a while. A long while. Wondering and waiting to see if this was just another phase and if the anger and frustration would go away.
Tomorrow, we cut the mane.
Tonight I'm searching through images to find a style that's similar to what I want... what I had.
I do a Google search for short hair and am really confused.
How is this short?
I get that this would be super short for a woman who's hair went past her ass crack...
But this is close to what I had and what short really is:
I miss it.
Anyways... so my point is this. Take a lock of hair from the tip top of your head (if you part your hair in the middle, it would be in the middle of that part and a half inch on either side of the part) and hold it down the side of your head (if you can... that's how short my hair was). If your hair doesn't reach your ear or you can't get a good grip, your hair is short. If you can easily reach your ear, your jaw and/or it's damn close to your shoulder, you, my dear, have a medium style. If I mention ear and you're laughing because you floss with your hair... it's long.
Now of course, I exclude "model style" hair or such styles as mullets in my length diatribe, as I cannot, and most likely never will, understand them.
I used to live on the other side of town. Last year, at the end of spring and the beginning of a beautiful summer, I moved across town and into the duplex next door. See previous post.
The day I get the keys to the house, I call up my friend and meet her at the new place so she knows where I'm going. As we are walking around the back corner, she spies a black cat roaming the wilds (the other corner) and starts calling to it. I'll mention at this point that my friend is allergic to cats. HAHAHAHA.
Anyways... so she's calling to it and it appears to be very domesticated as it comes running over to us and starts rubbing all over every piece of human it can find. I should also mention at this point that it's a typical Michigan spring turning into summer day. Hot. Humid. And the cat is black.
I happen to notice that it's tagged. Well, the collar is. Unfortunately the only information on the tag is a simple 800 number. We bring the cat inside while I dial the number. It's a pet service and they won't give out any information other than the cat's "last known address". It just happens to be our "neighbor" who shares the duplex with us. The service tells me it will contact the owner and someone will be calling in a few minutes.
We wait for a call back and when it finally comes (ten minutes seems like an eternity in an empty duplex), it turns out not to be the owner at all but her ex-boyfriend, who for some reason was still listed as the main contact (even though it wasn't his cat). He proceeds to be pretty rude on the phone - explaining his confusion at being listed the contact and his anger because it's not his "f*&$ing cat". But he simmers the anger enough to tell me he'll call his ex-girlfriend about the situation. Lovely and thanks for the help.
Now. We've already been waiting for at least twenty minutes. I need to continue my packing, across town. My friend needs to get packing herself as she's moving too. I do the only sane thing I can think of doing... leave the kitchen tap running an almost steady drip and leave the cat inside our half of the house while I get back to my packing and wait to hear from my new neighbor.
As soon as I step into my old apartment, guess who calls?
Not Avon.
It's my new neighbor - George - and she's... for lack of a better term... freaking out.
"OMG why do you have her inside? She's an outside cat and she's used to being outside! I was out on my porch doing Yoga this morning and she came out with me. She's an outside cat and needs to be outside. She's an outside cat and I always leave her outside. Why did you put her inside? She needs to be outside because she's an outside cat and she's always outside during the day because she's an outside cat and *deep breath* OMG you have to let her outside!!"
Okay, so that might not have been a true quote and it might have a touch of exaggeration but I swear it's only a touch. She must have said "outside" or "outside cat" about twenty times in a three minute conversation. I tried to explain that I was her new neighbor and I didn't know if the cat should be outside (hahaha) or not so I erred on the (I thought) sane side by bringing her inside.
This is the first impression we're making on each other. I think she's flipping out for no good reason* and she thinks I'm a catnabber.
*Seriously, why was she flipping out? Had our positions been reversed I would have laughed while explaining to my new neighbor that my cat was okay outside. Even if you argue that she locked the cat inside with no food or litter... invalid argument since 1) I never would have a pet service (especially with outdated contact information). 2) My outside cat's tag would have my current phone number on it and his/her name. 3) switch the positions back - I planned on going back with a small pan of litter and a touch of food if I didn't hear anything in an hour and I would suspect that any animal lover in my position would do the same. In fact, flip the positions again. If my cat had NOT been an outside cat... think how happy and thankful I would have been had my new neighbor found my cat and kept it safe!! Just a thought.
So... I immediately get back into my truck and head back over to the new place. I let out the poor cat (mind you... while I'm typing this I don't mean poor cat because of what I did to it, but because I now know her owner and believe that she could have a better human) all the while petting her and apologizing for locking her up. She seems to understand me as she doesn't go running off in relief of being pent up, but instead hangs around my legs for as long as I sit on my stoop talking to her. She was, and still is, a very great cat.
After five minutes of apologies and petting, I get back into my truck and head out once again to the old apartment.
On my way there I get another phone call from George but it's a rare day when I pick up the phone while driving. Snow flies in a very dark hot place before I dial out on a phone while driving. I've seen things.
Anyways... I get to the apartment and let out a big sigh while I listen to a *cough* nice message from George.
"I'm calling to make sure you let out my cat because she's an outside cat and she needs to be let out so you need to make sure you let her out because she's an outside cat."
I am not kidding. Again, it may not be an exact quote but it's a little too close for the comfort of my memory and sanity.
So, again, I do what I think is the sane and humane thing to do and call her back at the number on my caller id (since she never did leave a contact number) to confirm that I have, indeed, let the cat outside. Someone else answers the phone and I realize she must have been calling me from work. I ask for George and am told to wait a minute. More waiting. I don't really mind at this point because, well, I'm home and the cat is... wait for it... wait for it... outside.
She comes onto the line and the attitude flowing through the line and into my ear could sour fresh milk instantly. I proceed to tell her that I have let her cat outside and I'm sorry for any inconvenience or harm done because that certainly wasn't my intent. She all but hangs up on me. Now... I understand that she must have been at work. But she called me. Twice. From work.
Eh.
Flash forward a few days later as we are actually moving in. She comes around the side of the house with her young son where I am pulling up weeds in the new garden and she says, "I'm George, and this is (insert son's name here... I never did catch it but let's just call him Sonny as there are more stories involving him as well), your neighbors. I'm sorry that I freaked out on the phone about Mars, my cat. You see, she's an outside cat at night and she's really old. She's the most important thing in my life and I don't know what I'd do without her."
All I can do is just stare at her. Did you catch what I caught?
Not only is her cat more important than her son (who is standing only a mere four feet away from her so I know he heard her) but Mars, the outside cat, is an outside cat at night. Do you think there are issues here, both past and future?
This is only the first story. It's also the longest (I think - but don't quote me) and most detailed. But... it does a great job at explaining the complex nutcase that is George.
My hair is hitting my shirt collar. Without me tipping my head back.
I anger the cat no more.
I started to rant about my cable company and their products. I was two paragraphs in before I realized that I had gotten it all out and didn't really want to post all that hate.
Besides, what it really boils down to is disappointment over missing Doctor Who last night. That's the part that really gets my ire up. And I have no idea when or if the episode will be replayed.
In other news, the cat house is almost complete. The top needs to be bought and hammered on. Carpet needs to be installed And the dog is so afraid of this thing, it's not funny. Part of it hangs over the couch and it took all day for us to get him to lay down underneath it. We put his favorite ball on top of the tube and a rawhide on the edge, and he won't touch either one. The ball he's had since he was a wee puppy and rawhide. Rawhide. The only time I've ever seen a dog that scared was when our house was hit by lightning.
Tomorrow we head up north to ice cookies. Wonder if I'll break the record (6).
