Oh, Loki.
You are probably a very normal cat, but since Thor is not a normal cat and we only have him for comparison, you seem like a very, very strange little lady cat.
I mentioned before that the cats don't typically sleep with us. Maybe once a week. However, apparently, even that brief amount of time spent cuddling under the covers, purring, joyful and content, has spoiled Loki to anything else.
She has gotten into the absolutely horrifying habit of pressing her tiny mouth to our (closed) door in the middle of the night, clawing at the frame and screaming something terrible. For hours, if we let her.
Maybe we should have named her Banshee.
This is all even stranger because, when we adopted her, Loki was a very, very quiet cat. Unlike Thor, who, as a kitten, mewed and chattered to himself ad nauseum, Loki rarely made a peep. She didn't meow, or cry, or hiss. She only purred like a perfectly-tuned little sportscar. As she has grown older, she has incorporated strange sounds into her vocabulary. She squeaks and chirps a lot, chuttering at the birds or when she is woken up. She growls and hisses violently when we trim her claws.
And now, she cries piteously when we go to bed. She howls. She weeps. She shrieks. She has made up for those few months of silence with a torrent of shrill howls that are, of course, designed ultimately to show her affection for us.
Of course.
Showing posts with label kitten. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kitten. Show all posts
Saturday, January 26, 2013
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Blog Bit: Stuff My Cats Do (Part Three)
The cats don't often sleep with us. We value our own rest too much to endure the perpetual purring of Loki or Thor's grunts as he shifts position.
Still, every so often, and usually on the weekends, we let the little buggers curl up with us. Thor lays on top of me, practically curling up on my neck, until he gets bored, or I move, or try to get under the blanket (Thor is only happy when we are both on top of the blanket). Then he sighs and leaves.
Loki, on the other hand, is pretty much like that toddler who you are REALLY trying to put in her big-girl bed...but who somehow finds herself wedged between you and your hubby, making weird noises and keeping either of you from falling asleep, while she blissfully slumbers.
She has a super-creepy and borderline dangerous habit of nudging me awake, then positioning herself so that my arm is parallel with her body. Then she licks my fingers and wraps all four paws around my arm. My hand usually ends up nestled in her soft belly fur as she purrs, while my flesh is gently enclosed by razor-sharp talons that could pierce my very soul at any moment.
It's pretty terrifying.
So, yeah. We don't usually sleep with our pets. And from what I hear about kids' fingernails and sleepy-time fist-pumping, we won't be sleeping with our children, either!
 |
| Thor: EVERY SINGLE NIGHT before I go to bed. Pretty much going to steal my soul, I think. |
Loki, on the other hand, is pretty much like that toddler who you are REALLY trying to put in her big-girl bed...but who somehow finds herself wedged between you and your hubby, making weird noises and keeping either of you from falling asleep, while she blissfully slumbers.
She has a super-creepy and borderline dangerous habit of nudging me awake, then positioning herself so that my arm is parallel with her body. Then she licks my fingers and wraps all four paws around my arm. My hand usually ends up nestled in her soft belly fur as she purrs, while my flesh is gently enclosed by razor-sharp talons that could pierce my very soul at any moment.
It's pretty terrifying.
So, yeah. We don't usually sleep with our pets. And from what I hear about kids' fingernails and sleepy-time fist-pumping, we won't be sleeping with our children, either!
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Four More Dirty Little Paws
She's charming, cunning, lithe, stealthy, fierce-looking, with intelligent eyes and a perfect face. And she has turned Thor's world upside-down.
Of course we named her Loki.
Ross and I had been toying with the idea of getting another cat for a few months, but we hadn't really made a concrete decision. We vascillated over the cost, the benefits, and the twice-as-stinky litter box that would result from an additional feline in the house. Two weeks ago, however, we made the fateful decision to walk around at Robinson Mall and browse while longingly savoring the aroma of Chick-Fil-A and McDonald's (we're trying to cut back on fried food, and that is, naturally, when it is most alluring). We happened upon a display set up by the Humane Society for their cat adopting promotion.
As we learned when we attempted to drop off Thor with them last year, many kittens are born between May and July, making it "kitten season". Hundreds of babies are born to mommy cats who haven't been spayed, and animal shelters are literally up to their ears in frisky, adorable felines who need homes. We had seen quite a few in our neighborhood without collars or bells - one of whom we even guessed might be Thor's mother - and all of the cats I had during my childhood had been strays. (Moral of the story: spay and neuter your pets, people! I don't have to get all Sarah McLachlan on you, do I?)
There were three cats at the mall. One was a charming, calm black and white male, perhaps a year old, an antsy brindle-coated female of the same age...and a gorgeous, frisky, bright-eyed brown tabby. Ross asked to pet her, and the volunteer hesitated, saying that she'd been handled a lot and she'd really only prefer if we played with her if we were seriously considering adoption. Ross confirmed that we were - to my surprise, of course. "She's just had her nap," the girl added, "So she will probably be really energetic." Ross opened the cage and out sprung the tabby, inquisitive and excited. Within a minute, though, she had fallen asleep in his arms.
As children came up to pet and admire the kitty, I saw that Ross had fallen in love with her faster than he had fallen for me! "Where can we sign?" I heard him asking of the kitten, whose name was actually Luna - but it wouldn't be for long.
I thought she was a pretty cute little catch, but admittedly, I was worried about my unsuspecting fur-baby at home. Thor hadn't had much time to play with his litter mates, if there were any - we'd found him at five weeks. He had gotten used to us and our schedules. How would he take the arrival of a new kitten? Would she be a compatriot or a competitor?
I read through the literature given to us, as well as did some research online about how to introduce a new cat to the existing one. I read that the cats were not to see each other for a full week, resticted to simply smelling each others' scent on towels or washclothes. Then, they were to be allowed to briefly see each other through a mostly-closed door, and even then, only while being given treats so that seeing each other becomes associated with positive things.
And I am so glad I disregarded all of that.
The layout of our house didn't permit it, and, frankly, I am too lazy to fuss that much over pets. I'm sure the advice is excellent, but, after only a few hours of segregation, Thor noticed Loki through the glass door between the kitchen and the dining room. He was shocked, it seemed, but he wasn't on the defensive. He wasn't yowling or hissing, his tail wasn't lashing, and he puffed up only when I unexpectedly opened the door to come to pet him.
The separation lasted a day.
When they met nose-to-nose, Loki was in her glory. A friend! A friend just like me - but bigger! Oh, yay! Thor was hesitant and wary, and his confusion resulted in Loki backing him playfully into the corner on more than one occasion. Really? My mighty thunder-cat, perplexed by a two-pound kitten? It was entertaining, to say the very least.
Even as I watched them play (or, in Thor's case, avoid playing), I was thanking God that they were getting along. I had heard horror stories of cats having to be separated permanently, or being returned to the shelter for not getting along with the existing pets - or children. That was actually another reason we had gotten Loki. The time will come when I do have a full-term pregnancy, and we didn't want Thor to lose his little kitty mind having to adjust his lifestyle. Now that he's adapted once to an interloper, hopefully it will not be as traumatic when we finally do bring home a baby.
Thor plays a bit rough sometimes, and Loki is certainly lively. But there haven't been many instances when we've actually been worried about them hurting each other. In fact, there was an interesting moment in the dining room just last week...
Ross had gotten home and was preparing the grill for burgers. He came back into the house and we were playing with the cats when, suddenly, Thor puffed up to twice his size and began hissing and growling. We followed his gaze; from atop the buffet table (his favorite spot), he was glaring angrily into the backyard at a little black female cat who was passing through. The Black Widow, as we'd nicknamed her (come on, people, if we're naming our cats after Avengers, we'd best keep the theme), had appeared before, sparking Thor's interest, but this time he seemed particularly aggressive. When his puffing and spitting finally intimidated (or bored) the cat enough for her to leave, Thor turned to Loki and protectively licked her ears.
Okay, so maybe I'm projecting a little too much humanity onto my cats. But that's okay. Clearly, they get along and Thor has accepted Loki as his little sister.
Oh, and if you think it's strange for us to name a female cat after the Norse god of mischief...put down your DVDs and brush up on your mythology. There's a lot more to Loki than Tom Hiddleston in a cape and horns - although his portrayal is certainly nothing to scoff at!
Of course we named her Loki.
Ross and I had been toying with the idea of getting another cat for a few months, but we hadn't really made a concrete decision. We vascillated over the cost, the benefits, and the twice-as-stinky litter box that would result from an additional feline in the house. Two weeks ago, however, we made the fateful decision to walk around at Robinson Mall and browse while longingly savoring the aroma of Chick-Fil-A and McDonald's (we're trying to cut back on fried food, and that is, naturally, when it is most alluring). We happened upon a display set up by the Humane Society for their cat adopting promotion.
As we learned when we attempted to drop off Thor with them last year, many kittens are born between May and July, making it "kitten season". Hundreds of babies are born to mommy cats who haven't been spayed, and animal shelters are literally up to their ears in frisky, adorable felines who need homes. We had seen quite a few in our neighborhood without collars or bells - one of whom we even guessed might be Thor's mother - and all of the cats I had during my childhood had been strays. (Moral of the story: spay and neuter your pets, people! I don't have to get all Sarah McLachlan on you, do I?)
There were three cats at the mall. One was a charming, calm black and white male, perhaps a year old, an antsy brindle-coated female of the same age...and a gorgeous, frisky, bright-eyed brown tabby. Ross asked to pet her, and the volunteer hesitated, saying that she'd been handled a lot and she'd really only prefer if we played with her if we were seriously considering adoption. Ross confirmed that we were - to my surprise, of course. "She's just had her nap," the girl added, "So she will probably be really energetic." Ross opened the cage and out sprung the tabby, inquisitive and excited. Within a minute, though, she had fallen asleep in his arms.
As children came up to pet and admire the kitty, I saw that Ross had fallen in love with her faster than he had fallen for me! "Where can we sign?" I heard him asking of the kitten, whose name was actually Luna - but it wouldn't be for long.
I thought she was a pretty cute little catch, but admittedly, I was worried about my unsuspecting fur-baby at home. Thor hadn't had much time to play with his litter mates, if there were any - we'd found him at five weeks. He had gotten used to us and our schedules. How would he take the arrival of a new kitten? Would she be a compatriot or a competitor?
I read through the literature given to us, as well as did some research online about how to introduce a new cat to the existing one. I read that the cats were not to see each other for a full week, resticted to simply smelling each others' scent on towels or washclothes. Then, they were to be allowed to briefly see each other through a mostly-closed door, and even then, only while being given treats so that seeing each other becomes associated with positive things.
And I am so glad I disregarded all of that.
The layout of our house didn't permit it, and, frankly, I am too lazy to fuss that much over pets. I'm sure the advice is excellent, but, after only a few hours of segregation, Thor noticed Loki through the glass door between the kitchen and the dining room. He was shocked, it seemed, but he wasn't on the defensive. He wasn't yowling or hissing, his tail wasn't lashing, and he puffed up only when I unexpectedly opened the door to come to pet him.
The separation lasted a day.
When they met nose-to-nose, Loki was in her glory. A friend! A friend just like me - but bigger! Oh, yay! Thor was hesitant and wary, and his confusion resulted in Loki backing him playfully into the corner on more than one occasion. Really? My mighty thunder-cat, perplexed by a two-pound kitten? It was entertaining, to say the very least.
Even as I watched them play (or, in Thor's case, avoid playing), I was thanking God that they were getting along. I had heard horror stories of cats having to be separated permanently, or being returned to the shelter for not getting along with the existing pets - or children. That was actually another reason we had gotten Loki. The time will come when I do have a full-term pregnancy, and we didn't want Thor to lose his little kitty mind having to adjust his lifestyle. Now that he's adapted once to an interloper, hopefully it will not be as traumatic when we finally do bring home a baby.
Thor plays a bit rough sometimes, and Loki is certainly lively. But there haven't been many instances when we've actually been worried about them hurting each other. In fact, there was an interesting moment in the dining room just last week...
Ross had gotten home and was preparing the grill for burgers. He came back into the house and we were playing with the cats when, suddenly, Thor puffed up to twice his size and began hissing and growling. We followed his gaze; from atop the buffet table (his favorite spot), he was glaring angrily into the backyard at a little black female cat who was passing through. The Black Widow, as we'd nicknamed her (come on, people, if we're naming our cats after Avengers, we'd best keep the theme), had appeared before, sparking Thor's interest, but this time he seemed particularly aggressive. When his puffing and spitting finally intimidated (or bored) the cat enough for her to leave, Thor turned to Loki and protectively licked her ears.
Okay, so maybe I'm projecting a little too much humanity onto my cats. But that's okay. Clearly, they get along and Thor has accepted Loki as his little sister.
Oh, and if you think it's strange for us to name a female cat after the Norse god of mischief...put down your DVDs and brush up on your mythology. There's a lot more to Loki than Tom Hiddleston in a cape and horns - although his portrayal is certainly nothing to scoff at!
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Notes from the Litterbox
Dear Diary,
Today is gonna be AWESOME!!!
It's been great so far. First, when I woke up - before the big bright ball lights up the sky - I went to perform my most important duty of the day. I have to wake up my People!
They don't let me sleep with them in their Big Kitty Bed, even though there is room for me. (But that's okay. Sometimes, when they leave for the day, I test it, just to make sure it is still a good bed for them.) So I wait outside the door every morning and I meow to make sure they don't sleep in. Sometimes, they don't hear me and I worry that they won't wake up in time to feed me, so I meow louder, and I keep meowing. Usually it's the Short Curvy One who gets up first, and I follow her into the White Room. She uses her litter box (which transforms into a water bowl, OMG!) and pets me. If I purr, she hugs me. Which is great, but she squeezes kind of hard. Then the Furless One wakes up and goes downstairs. He looks at my bowls and ignores them. Sometimes he goes into my toilet and scoops out my poo. What could the People possibly want with that stuff? He puts it into little bags, like he is going to save it for later. People are so gross sometimes. After he looks at my bowls, I lick myself several times.
The Furless One doesn't feed me, so I play with his feet. He LOVES it! He picks me up and shoves his face in mine. He keeps making a noise that sounds like "NONOSTOPITNOCUTITOUTNONO!" Actually, the Short Curvy One does, too. That must be how they say they love me! That's so cute! They also try to give me baths a lot, with water from a little blue bottle, when I sit on the tables. Silly People. They don't understand that I clean MYSELF. Several times a day. In fact, I'm doing it right now.
I wait for the Short Curvy One to put food into my bowl. She keeps filling it with this hard crunchy stuff but it is SOOO gross. If I dance around and sing loudly enough, for a long enough time, when she seems pre-occupied with something that isn't me, she will sometimes reward my talents with some soft gooey food from a can. OMG I love that stuff! I could swim in it! I mean, I would if I liked to swim, of course.
Then they hurry to leave me alone and guard then house until they come home. I lick myself a few more times, and watch them leave from the back of the chair - my chair, that is. I heard the Short Curvy One say something about it being my throne. I don't know exactly what a throne is, but it sounds like something very special and I should probably be proud to have one of my own.
I eat a couple more bites of that nasty crunchy stuff, but then I get really bored. I wish that they'd leave that bright box on for me. The one in the food room, that beeps and spins things in circles. That is the coolest thing I've ever seen! The best part is that when the things start to turn inside, they also smell really yummy! I keep hoping it'll pop open and drop a treat for me, but it never does. Maybe I have to dance better and sing louder for it.
Well, there's plenty more to do today, so I made myself a list so I wouldn't forget anything:
8:30 - 8:45 - Lick myself
8:45 - 10:30 - Nap on rug
10:30 - 11:15 - Watch birds
11:15 - 12:00 - Tease neighbor's idiot beagle
12:00 - 1:30 - Lick myself
1:30 - 2:15 - Nap on couch
2:15 - 3:00 - Explore basement
3:00 - 3:05 - Try to eat dry kibble
3:05 - 3:30 - Sniff in trash can for something better to eat
3:30 - 3:45 - Lick myself
3:45 - 4:30 - Nap on bed (remember: leave thank-you present!)
4:30 - 10:15 - Attempt to secure treats from the Short Curvy One
10:15 - 10:30 - Poop in litter box WHILE Furless One is cleaning it
10:30 - ? - Guard the People's bedroom from intruders and/or insects
Wow, so much to do! Well, dear diary, I'd better get started. I'm exhausted just thinking about it! Maybe I'll switch things up and take my nap first, after all.
Love and licks,
Thor "Thundercat" Godlove
Today is gonna be AWESOME!!!
It's been great so far. First, when I woke up - before the big bright ball lights up the sky - I went to perform my most important duty of the day. I have to wake up my People!
They don't let me sleep with them in their Big Kitty Bed, even though there is room for me. (But that's okay. Sometimes, when they leave for the day, I test it, just to make sure it is still a good bed for them.) So I wait outside the door every morning and I meow to make sure they don't sleep in. Sometimes, they don't hear me and I worry that they won't wake up in time to feed me, so I meow louder, and I keep meowing. Usually it's the Short Curvy One who gets up first, and I follow her into the White Room. She uses her litter box (which transforms into a water bowl, OMG!) and pets me. If I purr, she hugs me. Which is great, but she squeezes kind of hard. Then the Furless One wakes up and goes downstairs. He looks at my bowls and ignores them. Sometimes he goes into my toilet and scoops out my poo. What could the People possibly want with that stuff? He puts it into little bags, like he is going to save it for later. People are so gross sometimes. After he looks at my bowls, I lick myself several times.
The Furless One doesn't feed me, so I play with his feet. He LOVES it! He picks me up and shoves his face in mine. He keeps making a noise that sounds like "NONOSTOPITNOCUTITOUTNONO!" Actually, the Short Curvy One does, too. That must be how they say they love me! That's so cute! They also try to give me baths a lot, with water from a little blue bottle, when I sit on the tables. Silly People. They don't understand that I clean MYSELF. Several times a day. In fact, I'm doing it right now.
I wait for the Short Curvy One to put food into my bowl. She keeps filling it with this hard crunchy stuff but it is SOOO gross. If I dance around and sing loudly enough, for a long enough time, when she seems pre-occupied with something that isn't me, she will sometimes reward my talents with some soft gooey food from a can. OMG I love that stuff! I could swim in it! I mean, I would if I liked to swim, of course.
Then they hurry to leave me alone and guard then house until they come home. I lick myself a few more times, and watch them leave from the back of the chair - my chair, that is. I heard the Short Curvy One say something about it being my throne. I don't know exactly what a throne is, but it sounds like something very special and I should probably be proud to have one of my own.
I eat a couple more bites of that nasty crunchy stuff, but then I get really bored. I wish that they'd leave that bright box on for me. The one in the food room, that beeps and spins things in circles. That is the coolest thing I've ever seen! The best part is that when the things start to turn inside, they also smell really yummy! I keep hoping it'll pop open and drop a treat for me, but it never does. Maybe I have to dance better and sing louder for it.
Well, there's plenty more to do today, so I made myself a list so I wouldn't forget anything:
8:30 - 8:45 - Lick myself
8:45 - 10:30 - Nap on rug
10:30 - 11:15 - Watch birds
11:15 - 12:00 - Tease neighbor's idiot beagle
12:00 - 1:30 - Lick myself
1:30 - 2:15 - Nap on couch
2:15 - 3:00 - Explore basement
3:00 - 3:05 - Try to eat dry kibble
3:05 - 3:30 - Sniff in trash can for something better to eat
3:30 - 3:45 - Lick myself
3:45 - 4:30 - Nap on bed (remember: leave thank-you present!)
4:30 - 10:15 - Attempt to secure treats from the Short Curvy One
10:15 - 10:30 - Poop in litter box WHILE Furless One is cleaning it
10:30 - ? - Guard the People's bedroom from intruders and/or insects
Wow, so much to do! Well, dear diary, I'd better get started. I'm exhausted just thinking about it! Maybe I'll switch things up and take my nap first, after all.
Love and licks,
Thor "Thundercat" Godlove
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Four-Legged Surprise
Two weeks ago, as I was snuggled up in bed, Ross burst into the room, grabbed a shirt and a flashlight, then ran out the door.
I have been married to him for eighteen months now, so I rarely question his behavior. I returned to my reading as the thunderstorm raged outside.
I have been married to him for eighteen months now, so I rarely question his behavior. I returned to my reading as the thunderstorm raged outside.
Fifteen minutes later, Ross returned to the bedroom.
Holding a kitten.
"...what's that?" I asked, as what I was seeing was not properly registering in my brain.
"...it's a kitten," he replied with a lop-sided grin.
"I know that," I was able to choke out, "...but why is it in my bedroom?"
"It was crying outside the basement window. In the rain."
The poor thing was still shrieking like a feline banshee, all grey and white and soggy and shivering. It clung to Ross's chest for dear life as I approached it.
"We'll take him to the Humane Society first thing tomorrow," I declared as I bunched up my bright pink robe to dry it off. I grabbed an old shoebox, stuffed in a towel, and we wrapped the screaming little thing up to keep it warm. With nowhere else to put it, we stuck the box in the bathtub, popped open a can of tuna, added a dish of water, and turned off the light.
"Meoooowowowow!" it sobbed.
The next morning, when we went to gather up the kitten, it had not moved a single inch. It was still wrapped up exactly as it had been eight hours before. The tuna and the water remained untouched. It hadn't even pooped. I kinda felt bad for it. It was so tiny and so scared. Every time we approached it, it panicked and hissed. It never moved to scratch us, but I attributed that to the fact that it was literally petrified stiff. Poor thing. We nicknamed it Thor, since it came to us during a thunderstorm.
The Humane Society opened its doors at ten on Sunday morning, so, unfortunately, we had to miss church to take the kitten in. Once there, we learned two things: that Thor was not, in fact a girl kitty (like we had guessed), but a boy kitty, and that, due to his slight sniffle, young age (about five weeks), and weight (under two pounds), they could not guarantee that they would not euthanize him. Apparently, if he had a respiratory infection, he would get all the other cats sick, and based on his weight, he was too little to send out for foster care. The tech we spoke with, Erin, was very friendly but very honest about his chances for survival there as she did a once-over of the mewling kitten.
While Ross asked about a cat's general health care needs, I watched the tiny grey striped kitten panic in Erin's gentle hands. We couldn't take this kitten home. No way. We were allergic. In fact, as a surprise two weeks before, Ross had conspired with one of my co-workers and brought home an absolutely gorgeous female kitten he had named Simone. After I got over the shock, I fell in love with her, then proceeded to have a violent asthma attack. I even got hives on my lips where I had kissed her perfect little furry forehead. I felt horrible when Ross had to drive all the way back to Washington to return her to her litter-mates.
Plus, we didn't know the first thing about raising a kitten. When I was a child, we had three cats, but they all came to us as strays, and my mother was the one who took care of them. I just pulled their tails and cried when they scratched me. Years ago, Ross had been given a crabby old Maine Coon cat named Oliver and he despised the thing. The feeling was mutual, as Oliver eventually stowed away in Ross's parents' van and then ran away. To an Amish farm. No joke.
Ross had nearly wept with joy.
So, you see, we're not cat people.
Plus, we were about the leave for vacation the following week, and we didn't know who could possibly take care of the kitten. My dad could, of course, but his idea of "taking care" of cats generally involves shotguns and target practice.
No way would we be taking this guy home.
Ross turned to me with vibrant blue puppy-dog eyes and said, "I don't like the idea of knowing he may not make it, especially when what he has is treatable."
The kitten came home with us.
Just until we could find a "buyer", so to speak. Another co-worker had expressed an interest in adopting a kitten, as had one of Ryan's friends. So, regardless, the kitten would not be headed back to the shelter and, possibly, to his death.
Within a day, he was eating wet food and pooping in the litter box. Within two days, he was very carefully exploring his surroundings, tending to hide awkwardly behind radiators and under chairs. I kept waiting for the inevitable allergy attack, but it never came. Ross and I were a bit more sniffly than usual, but that was it.
Within three days we had determined that we weren't getting rid of him. A family from church, who live close to us, agreed to take care of Thor during our trip. He was the absolute darling of the veterinary clinic just minutes (mercifully!) from my house. Plus, the vet determined that there wasn't much wrong with him other than fleas and worms, which we had already expected. He is due for booster shots next week.
His first bath was a traumatic experience for everyone involved. No photographic proof exists. It's better this way.
He has already learned how to climb stairs, perch on top of his scratching post, attack my leopard-print slippers, eat dry food (although he doesn't like it), hide behind everything with at least 1/2 inch of clearance, and chew on my toes.
My personal goal: to train Thor, the mighty Thundercat, how to eradicate the home of centipedes and stink bugs.
This will be good.
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