Three

Looks like the family might be expanding very soon.

Why, it's another cat, of course!

For those of you who follow me on Instagram or Twitter, or who are friends with me on Facebook, you already know about the latest little four-legged sweetie to enter our lives.  But, for those of you who don't, I'll fill you in on the soft, fluffy details...

Three years ago, fairly soon after Ross and I got married and over a year before Thor showed up (literally) on our doorstep, a small, gray and tan female cat stopped by.  She visited over the course of a few weeks, staying long enough for a little snack and some kind words.  Once, she actually came into the house!  We didn't have any cat food for her, so we poured a saucer of milk.  Hence, her nickname: Two Percent Milk, or Twoper, for short, was born.  A few days after she came into our house, we saw her for the final time, sporting a fancy brand-new pink collar around her neck. 

I was crushed.  She had an owner?  Humph.  If I had a cat, I thought, I'd never it roam the neighborhood.  I knew a lot of people did that; even my childhood pets were indoor-outdoor cats until they became old, but I never liked it.  In fact, one cat ended up dying from eating poisoned garbage and another was hit by a car.  No way were my fur-babies going outside unless it was straight into the car for a trip to the vet!

About a year or so later, Thor came into our lives, then we adopted Loki during a Humane Society event.  Both have turned out to be pretty amazing animals we can't imagine life without.  Thor is moody but a mama's boy and a real cuddle-bug, and Loki, while clumsy, has shown an incredible ability to learn tricks, just like a dog.  We're a perfect little family right now - Mommy-Cat, Daddy-Cat, and the two feuding fur-babies.

Imagine my surprise, then, when I saw the unmistakable figure of Twoper on my porch just recently!  Of course I fed her and pet her.  She's a sociable and very affectionate little girl.  She's talkative and purrs loudly.  And I noticed that she was not wearing a collar.  I didn't think anything at first - sometimes Thor, who does not wear a collar inside the house, slips outside unnoticed for a quick jog around the neighborhood (but he always returns to use the litter box; despite being born and spending his first weeks of life as an outside cat, he categorically refuses to use anything except his litter box for his business).  I pet her again, called her a good girl, and went back inside.

The next day she returned. 

In fact, in the past two and a half weeks, only one or two days have gone by without her visiting.  And it's not a quick stop by to suck down some Fancy Feast before she's on her way, either.  She is waiting for me in the morning when I wake up and she sits on a specific corner of the porch while I am at work, running down the steps to greet me when I come home.  She has tried to follow me into the house numerous times (once she succeeded!).  She lets me pick her up and hold her.  (For those of you concerned with diseases and whatnot, I wash my hands after every time I touch her and she has had no contact with my indoor cats; nor will she until the vet clears her for any kind of infection or infestation.)  In fact, last Friday, for kicks, I put a collar on her to see if her "real" owners would remove it when she returned home.  (Wouldn't you freak out of your previously naked kitty suddenly came home with a swanky new leather collar and a bell?  Wouldn't you wonder who was trying to steal your cat-kid?!)  Well, it's Wednesday night now, and the collar is still intact.

I'm starting to call her Freyja now.  Twoper is certainly a cute nickname with a cute story behind it, but if this sweet little girl is gonna run with my fur-babies, she'll need a name worthy of the other Cats of Asgard.

I've contacted my vet already to see what steps we should take, and also placed an ad on craigslist to see if anyone has reported her missing.  I'm trying to do the right thing before adding to my menagerie.  I think my parents think I'm nuts for adopting all these cats, but I'm stopping at three.  For me, I'm temporarily replacing each of the three biological children I have lost.  I'm not giving up on having babies, but right now I have a lot of love to give, and these little friends are a great way to do that!  Frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if my mom, in Heaven, leaned over to God and said, "They look lonely.  How about another cat until it's time for the baby?"

I'm a proud cat-mom, right here, folks.  Twelve little paws pattering around the house?  I think it will sound beautiful.

(Get back to me around Christmas, though...when I'm lamenting all my broken ornaments...)

Blog Bit: Stuff My Cats Do (Part Two)

Loki plays fetch. 

At first, I genuinely thought it was a fluke.  What self-respecting feline, after all, would play with humans as a simple-minded dog might?  But then, Loki isn't exactly a self-respecting feline.

She's pretty much half dog and half skunk.

Thankfully, though, that "half skunk" part is diminishing, as we recently changed the cats' dry food to an indoor variety.  Up until about two weeks ago, I swear, that animal smelled like the devil's feet.  The odors coming out of her were otherworldly.  She farted when she got excited...when she was startled...when Ross came home (she loves him)...when she was picked up...so, pretty much, she farted dozens of times daily.

Ick.

But about that dog half...

Two weeks ago, when I was in the kitchen baking (unusual for me), I noticed that Loki had gotten yet another one of my hair elastics (I practially buy a new package every month, thanks to her) and was playing with it noisily on the floor.  A little frustrated at her claws tap-tap-tapping on the floor, I picked the thing up and tossed it into the basement.  She shot after it.  Then I returned to the counter.  I turned around, and she had already flown back up the stairs and deposited the elastic at my feet.



Loki with her preferred human companion.

Freak, I thought, and kicked it back downstairs.  Down and back, like a rocket.  I abandoned my baking and kept throwing the elastic.  We went back and forth maybe nine or ten times before she flopped down on the floor, tired.

That was cute, and kind of creepy, I mused.  Cats do strange things all the time; it's part of their nature to be spontaneous in the most inconvenient and odd ways.  Like the time I saw Thor puff for no reason and start to dance sideways.  Or the time he licked the shower walls for, like, an hour.  Or when the house is perfectly silent, and they leap to their feet out of a dead sleep and fly through the kitchen like furry meteors after each other.

The next day, I was making dinner and listening to an old radio program and there she was again, begging to play.  She even danced around like dogs do when they realize they're about to get some attention.  I threw the elastic and ignored her, but she added another rule to the game.  I was no longer allowed to ignore her, as she kept nuzzling against my feet and legs until I played.  This was a clearly new tactic; Loki is extremely affectionate, but she is not a leg nuzzler!  Perhaps she had seen Thor employ this clever strategy in order to snag a piece of ham or glob of tuna from me while I was cooking!  She was perhaps less simple than we had originally guessed.

Anyway, long story short, Loki and I have played fetch maybe seven or eight times in the past two weeks.  She's particular that we play with the elastics; even her small mouse toy won't make it back up the stairs with her.  And they have to be thrown down the stairs.  If I throw them into the other room, she won't bring them back to me.

So, fetch.  On her own terms.  I guess she's still a cat after all.

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!

Blog Bit: Stuff My Cat Does (Part One)

We've known since the beginning that Thor really wasn't a normal cat.

First, the way he came to us was strange: in late spring, during a raging thunderstorm, and right before a time in our lives when we really needed the unconditional love of a pet.

Second, his name: we gave it to him, granted, but who names a housecat after a heroic and incredibly masculine Norse god of the weather?

Third, his eating habits: I admit, even though I was dead set on never feeding him "people food", I have become the ridiculously over-indulgent squealing pet-owner who slides him nibbles of lunchmeat as I am making Ross a sandwich. 

Thor has gotten to the point of exploring our kitchen in a new and fun (for him) way.  If anything is in a bag, sealed, on a countertop, he firmly believes that he needs to chew the bag open and sample the contents.  This doesn't apply to things that are interesting and crunchy, like potato chips and carrots.  No, this applies to carbs.  Pizza.  Sweet buns.  Jewish rye.  Challah bread.

Hey, my cat is kosher!

Thor has done this at least five times.  He'll nimbly leap upon the counter (when we're not home, of course), and with perfect little razor-sharp white fangs, he nibbles through the cellophane.  In the case of a whole loaf of bread, each individual slice becomes a victim.  I walked into the house a few weeks ago to find my delicious artisan marble rye bread all over the kitchen floor, with a kitten-sized nibble taken out of each and every piece.

Then, last night, Ross confessed as he was getting into bed, that Thor had taken his art of carb thievery to a new level.  That little turd actually got into my purse, which housed a small bag of delicious, homemade chocolate chip cookies.  He carefully - and apparently very quietly - gnawed off one end of the bag, selected a cookie, and began to eat it.  Ross caught him in the nick of time and rescued the cookie...by eating it himself.

Like "father", like feline, I guess.

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.

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.