El Retardo Strikes Again

He did it again – thankfully that doesn’t include biting me again.

The boy cats play/fight fairly frequently, sometimes very early in the morning, but something sounded very different this morning.

At 4:30 am I jumped out of bed knowing something was wrong – Gato Tardo and Neo had raced into the bedroom fighting, but I saw Neo still in the doorway while Ninja was somewhere else, hissing and meowling like he was dying. I thought a raccoon or another cat somehow found a way into the house.

On the other side of the bed I found him. He'd managed to get a claw on his back foot caught in his wooly “security blanket” and he panicked. He was hissing and fighting the blanket – and fighting with us as we tried to get it free.

While he was struggling Neo pounced on him - attacked him for real – almost like he wanted to put down the rebellion or take out a weak herd member. We got Neo out of the way and I scruffed Ninja as hard as I could but he still got free and almost chomped me.

He tore out of the bedroom and all through the house, finally stopping in the kitchen where he rolled over onto his back, as if to plead for help. I grabbed the kitchen shears and managed to cut the blanket near his foot and he ran off.

I followed him up to the loft where I talked to him to try to calm him down. As soon as he relaxed, the little shred of blanket that was left on his foot came right off.

It took over an hour to calm ME down and get back to sleep. We would like to trade him in for some Tupperware.

Cats Amaze Me

carpey flapjack

Because obviously I'm easily amazed. And I like shiny things.

I've spent a lot of time with our cats this year. Despite being around cats all my life, I still expect them to be aloof and cold, not needing any human interaction beyond feeding times.

And there are days when, if they had thumbs, I know they'd trip me so my head would crack square into the corner of a table and they'd no longer have someone nagging them about getting down off the counters or to stop stealing my socks and hiding them around the house, or to please cover the goddamn giant crap in the box.

But most days, they surprise me with how social they are. While they have bonded together somewhat as a tiny pride of living room lions, they still seem to prefer being with humans, or since I'm the one home all the time, me.

Neo, always a street-tough bulldog of a cat in my eyes, follows me from room to room, curling up near wherever I am. He doesn't have to be right on my lap like Nikita, but he's gotta be in the same room. He's a total badass yet he purrs the moment you touch him - that amazes me.


neo & nikita

With so much more observation time, I've seen much more of their personalities. They're all very different from one another - their only commonalities are bad breath, crapping in a box and loving ground up fish mush.

Ninja is the soft-headed gentle giant, content to play with a tiny carpet fiber or chase his tail on the couch. He doesn't rub his cheek against your leg, but instead gently brushes by like a fish in a lagoon, earning him the nickname Carpey.

He has a surprising range of expressions for a cat so mentally challenged. When he's happy the top of his head becomes rounded and fluffy and a ridge in his fur appears down his back. He's so at ease with the world he's totally comfortable sleeping flat on his back with his belly fully exposed. It's amazingly soft.

Because we see him as so, well, retarded, I was astounded one day when I figured out he was trying to tell me to clean out his crap box.

Like most cats, Ninja is particular about where he craps. The other two are fine with any box and any type of litter, but Ninja's gotta have it exactly the way he wants it or there could be trouble. Like a puddle of urine on the kitchen floor trouble. Or a box of books soaked in cat urine trouble.

As I sat here one day typing on this here computer dealie, he kept carping my leg and meowing softly - something he never does during the day. Normally right after breakfast, he's down for his all-day nap-a-thon - never up before 3pm when it's time to start bullying me into feeding them.

I watched him closely and he didn't look unhappy or stressed - he looked intent. We have two cat boxes in the closet behind me - that's the only reason he comes up here, except for bullying time.

Figuring it couldn't hurt to take a look, I grabbed a plastic bag and took the top off one of the boxes. Sure enough, it was due for cleaning. I scooped all the boxes and as soon as I finished, in he went to pollute it once again. And then he went back to his nap. Amazing.

I could go on and on about them, but if you have cats you know all the funny, weird things they do that make you wonder what planet they came from.

The scary thing is trying to stay on this side of the crazy cat lady line where I'm not talking to them like I know what they're saying back to me, but I gotta tell you, that line is getting blurry.

Werekitty Kitty Kitty

Just when you think you've gotten through a rough patch, something else happens and you're dealing with another problem. It's always something.

Yesterday I was under the weather all day dealing with either mild food poisoning or a lower GI bug - either way, it wasn't a fun day. I like a good purge as much as the next girl, but a full day of cramping and weakness was a killer, especially with so much left to do for the move.

I went to bed a little early and got a good night's sleep. Until the big, retarded cat started making noise as only he can at 6:30am. As he woke me up, I realized I felt a lot better and would be able to catch up on the stuff I couldn't do the day before.

El Gato Retardo found his way into an old, empty moving box - a weird one that folds over on top and tucks into handles on the sides. It was up on its side, propped open, so the cats couldn't get trapped inside it, as had just happened the day before (two got inside then the third curled up on top, holding the others captive - an impressive trick, when you think about it).

He was sitting inside the box, pulling old tape off the cardboard with his teeth. I really wanted to go back to sleep, so I got up to remove him from the box.

As he typically does, he becomes three times heavier and sinks down into the bottom of the box, refusing to vacate. So I did what I always do, I tried to upend the box to help him find his way out.

Unfortunately, the dumbshit stuck his foot through the hole in the side and FLIPPED OUT because the WORLD WAS ENDING WITH HIS FOOT IN THE HOLE. Meowling like he was being branded with a hot poker, I tried to free his leg, and that's when he chomped down on my hand like it was a tuna steak.

As I screamed bloody murder, he got free and tore out of the bedroom and I ran to the bathroom sink. The cold water felt like kerosene in my pretty puncture wounds. I bled and bled, then washed the wounds with soap and poured four gallons of hydrogen peroxide in them.

When the foaming subsided, I found a band aid and went online to refresh my memory on treating puncture wounds. That's when I found the website with user posts about the WORLD ENDING BECAUSE OF A GANGRENE HAND AS A RESULT OF A CAT BITE.

Totally freaked out, reading about super strong IV antibiotics, tetanus shots, days in the hospital and hand surgery, I called the 24/7 nurse line. A kind, sleepy RN recommended I skeedaddle right down to my local clinic for some of those antibiotic horsey pills.

But wouldn't my oregano oil and probiotic capsules knock it out? Maybe, in time, but since I'm about to drive to Canada in a matter of days, I thought it smarter to get the big guns and nip it in the bud. I'll slam the pills any day if that means I don't have to get that effed up tetanus shot.

Now I'm on the horse pills - Augmentin - staggering that with probiotics in hopes of avoiding the yeast infection side affect. If things continue in this manner, I suppose I can look forward to starting my period with a yeast infection as I drive to Canada with a throbbing hand the size of a football.

Huge thanks to Cameron for letting me drag him to the Walgreens after lunch to pick up my Rx, and for his help choosing the right Monistat - there's the One Day, the Day & Night, the Three Day, Five Day, Twelve Day All Day, Gentle Applicator Day, Topical Anti-Itch Day and the Six Nights and Three Days varieties - they all look like so much fun, I wanted to get them all.

Cat Lady Goes to the Vet

And what does she wear? A white t-shirt. Because I'm the crazy cat lady and I don't care how much black cat fur ends up all over me. I don't mind walking around with a sort-of black angora shirt with tufts of hair drifting off of me into the breeze.

It was just a simple trip to get their vaccines updated and the requisite paperwork to import them into Canada, but after what Ninja did, I think we might leave him here with a bag of food and a deck of cards.

He's 60 years old in cat years and it shows. What a ferocious, cranky asshole he's become. Couldn't weigh him, couldn't check his temperature (in the dignified way every cat loves) and almost couldn't get the shot in his leg.

As he lay there on the table, scruffed to the limit with a towel over his head, he suddenly grew four extra paws with straight razors at the tips and his teeth were ginormous. He almost chomped me twice and I had to apologize profusely for my big, angry retarded cat ass.

The vet and the vet tech backed away like, "he seems fine, bye!" Meanwhile Neo, the street-tough thug, was all sweetness and love, meowing calmly as he explored the exam room and all its surfaces. He didn't flinch when he got his shot and later rubbed against the vet's legs.

The best part of the visit was the small bottle of kitty tranquilizers they gave me - some for them, some for me - for the drive north. We very well may drug the cats, mainly to see how they behave all doped up, but it might make their trip a little less stressful. I'll want to put a gun in my mouth if I have to hear 16 hours of nonstop meowling.


Neo & Nikita, inspecting the equipment


Neo, thinkin' about dinner


Stack O Cats

p.s. I would like to add that it's all David's fault for collecting cats like souvenir mugs. I happened to find a stray one day, but the other two were intentional "go out and adopt another cat" acquisitions. But who do people point and laugh at? Me.

Update:
Everyone seemed fine yesterday, then this morning, little Nikita didn't get up for breakfast. She stayed on our bed all morning and into the afternoon before finally getting up around 2pm to slowly amble into the kitchen for a nibble.

She looked like she hurt all over and ate only a few bites before heading right back to the bedroom to where she spent most of the day.

I followed her and massaged her a little, checking the back leg where they injected the vaccine. She mewed loudly at that - she wasn't a happy kitten.

I called the vet to find out if hers was a normal reaction to the rabies vaccine - she's not reacted like this before and with only a few days before we move, she'd better be OK.

They called back and said she was having a "borderline normal" reaction, but for next year's vaccine, it might be a good idea to give her some Benadryl before she gets the shot.

Really? So, she's already having trouble with the vaccine, which is administered "one shot per cat," not adjusted for weight differences, and you're telling me I should put additional substances into her tiny body before you shoot her up with too much of the thing she's allergic to? Really?

This is why I don't like taking healthy cats to the vet. Sure, sometimes it's necessary, but like human doctors who are happy to hand out Rx meds like candy, most vets don't seem to care much about how they're treating different animals - just slam the shot in there and if that doesn't work, throw another chemical down there to even it all out.

No wonder Ninja wanted to rip her hand off - maybe he's not retarded after all but some sort of idiot savant with the ability to sense quackery from a mile away.

At this point, I'm happy to report she's doing much better. Stupid shitty vaccines, and for cats that are exclusively indoor cats and well cared for, they definitely do not need annual shots, no matter what the vet says - even mainstream Prevention magazine agrees.

Here We Go

We're moving. Just a few things to take care of before we go, like purge a whole house full of crap going back to when my grandmother still lived here, paint the entire house inside and out, clean up the yard, put in a heating/AC system, and maybe some light vacuuming.

I know it's going to be an ordeal, but I'm looking forward to the adventure we're about to begin. Maybe we'll live in a house where we're not just 10 feet away from our neighbors and in the summer with all the windows in the neighborhood open, won't hear everything going on all around us.

And maybe Ninja will feel at home amongst the moose - he's about the same size and would probably enjoy standing around in a pond for several hours. This morning he chewed something off of his paw/claw and moments later was hopping around the room, like he was trying to run away from whatever he found on his foot.

A few seconds later, he was foaming at the mouth and drooling. I pried open his gullet but didn't see anything. Then I looked at where he'd been on the floor. He must have stepped on a red pepper flake - we'd had pizza and a few of those suckers drifted onto the floor, what with all the fans going yesterday. Poor kid. If only we had some milk in the house...

Anyway, I digress, sort-of on purpose. It's going to be an interesting summer but also overwhelming at times. It's easier to think about the cat eating hot pepper flakes than think about all the packing we're about to do.

Neo, Program Director

Neo in his favorite chair, San Mateo, 2001

We live with gifted creatures. Intelligent beyond our understanding, we're lucky they tolerate us and our Neanderthal ways.

The oldest, Ninja, enjoys accosting expensive gabardine trench coats and sleeping smack in the middle of the floor in a high-traffic area. Some of his favorite toys are air, lint, plastic bags and socks.

His younger sister, Nikita, likes to enforce strict bedtimes by standing on your chest, obstructing your view of the book you were trying to read. She'll do this until you give in and turn off the light, then she'll leave.

Then there's Neo. Neo isn't so much a cat as he is a muppet, a bear cub, and a bulldog in the shape and form of a cat. He runs the house and there's no way he's not getting what he wants when he wants it the way he wants it.

The other morning at 4:30 a.m. he paid us a visit in bed demanding attention. He doesn't just jump up on the bed and meow. He jumps up onto the foot of the bed and walks up David's side, meowing all the way up to the headboard where he stands on top of the books, meowing and rubbing his cheeks on the bindings as they slide this way and that off the headboard.

He'll stay there until I can get my hand up to pull him down onto the bed, where he'll sometimes settle on the fleecey blanket near my feet, but oftentimes he'll make several more laps around the bed, meowing, rubbing, and walking on your hair.

He made another lap and as I tried to get him down, he stepped onto my clock radio, which has several buttons on top of it. One turns on the radio, one turns it off, one is the snooze and one turns on the CD player.

I heard the buttons clicking and started to get annoyed. I was struggling to get my hand around his shoulder to pull him toward me and called his name loud enough to rouse David. Now we were both awake at 4:30 a.m. and annoyed at Neo for being a giant needy baby.

As I tried to wrangle him off the radio he stepped onto the CD Play button and a second later we heard the soothing Sounds of Nature's ocean waves. As he jumped onto the bed, David and I simultaneously said, "Hey, that sounds nice..." and put our heads right back down on the pillows and back to sleep.

Bravo 2-Squeaker

"Jimmy, you gotta go. You're our best climber & we need to know how to get from here to the kitchen."

"But, there's three of them - three! I'm gonna need someone to run interference or cause a diversion."

"Sorry, we have to send you alone. We're just getting set up down here & need everyone else focused on finishing the nest."

Jimmy spent all night prepping for his mission. He planned to set out just before dawn. Climbing the furnace would be the easiest part. There was no way to plan for what might happen when he made it above ground.

He'd smelled three of them and listened closely, trying to identify patterns of movement. In the early morning hours they were usually quiet - not near the floor furnace. He'd have to be quick - the fastest he's ever been - to scale the furnace and get above ground before they were on him.

Just after 6:30AM, Ronald wished him good luck and god speed. Jimmy said goodbye to his rat family and darted towards the gas pipe leading into the furnace.

Leaping onto the gas pipe, he sped across the pipe into the furnace, up onto the steep metal plate and sprinted up the side of the old metal box. In seconds he was at the top and popped his head out of the grate in the floor.

All was quiet - they hadn't heard him. If they had, they were slow to respond and he would have time to stay ahead of them. He darted up from the iron grate towards what he thought must be the kitchen, towards aromas of peanuts and food - and in moments realized his critical mistake.

He'd found the birdcage - many yards from the kitchen - and now he heard trouble quickly approaching. Suddenly a black & white was on him and he started running. He ran blindly towards what seemed like refuge with the black & white close on his heels.

Jimmy was cornered when he heard someone coming - maybe this was the diversion he needed! He was trying to find somewhere to hide when a door opened and he was able to run for cover. The black & white quickly followed, but now he had plenty of cover and time to figure a way out of his predicament.

By this time, the other black & white joined the pursuit, but Jimmy found a good place to hide. He could wait it out for a while. He hoped the boys would soon lose interest. The third furry one approached and began circling his hiding spot. With three of them, he knew one would always be watching.

The someone he'd heard moments earlier was the woman - she was now engaged in an animated conversation with the man. They were talking so fast Jimmy couldn't keep track, but he had more important things to focus on.

The black & whites and the other one were still out there... waiting. Jimmy didn't know exactly where he was, so he couldn't plan his escape. He needed time to explore & find a way out. He needed to wait, but now it was fully light out and he was anxious to get back underground. Waiting would be excruciating and he was dehydrating.

Every hour waiting would bring him closer to death and he could wait all day and still be nabbed - he might die regardless. Jimmy decided he'd rather die trying to escape than from dehydration.

He tried to remember the approximate path he took when he started running and very slowly peeked out to see if he could start making his way back to the furnace. He ran, but they were close by and spotted him. He darted under a storage trunk and waited for the next moment to make his move.

He had good cover under the trunk, but the trunk itself was out in the open with clear vantage points from all sides. This was not going to be easy.

Jimmy waited. Hours slipped by until in his gut he could tell dusk was approaching. Over 12 hours since his mission began. He was wildly off course, nowhere near a water source, with hostiles on all sides, and no clear way to safety.

Resigned to his fate, Jimmy relaxed and dozed. He hadn't been asleep for long when he was startled awake - the trunk had been moved and he was now completely exposed. He froze in terror and before he could make a move, a box descended on top of him, trapping him on all sides.

Suddenly the box was moving, dragging him along with it. He protested but the sliding continued. The box stopped and he tried to stand up and get his bearings. He'd been hiding for hours in a space as tall as a pancake - this was his first chance to stand up since 8AM that morning.

Just as he was finding his balance again, the box began sliding again, this time, up onto a platform. Moments later he was moving. The whole thing was moving - the box, the platform - everything. Whatever was happening, while frightening, seemed much better than dying of thirst or being eaten alive by the enemy.

He could hear the woman again - she was talking, he thought to the primary black & white, and she didn't sound happy. The movement continued and moments later he could smell the outdoors - he was outside. Still trapped in a box, but outside.

Jimmy was exhausted. There was no way to know what was going to happen to him. He'd never been trapped in a box before - he could dig or chew his way out of anything, but he couldn't try escaping until the movement stopped. And suddenly, it stopped.

He was no longer moving forward, but the box started to drop. Seconds later the box was lifted and Jimmy was deposited onto the entrance of the sewer drain. Water. He could smell water. He might live through this after all. Unsteady, but on his feet, he climbed up the ramp and into the underground tunnel.