Dangerously Cute

Not for rookies - if you haven't had extensive experience with cute kittens, you could lose consciousness or experience dizziness and a floating, euphoric feeling after watching this.

Reindeer Games

(here's Mr. Reindeer under the tree with his friend, Christmas Talosian)

Christmas is over for us but will go on forever for the cats.

While decorating the house this year I found a little stuffed reindeer toy in one of the boxes - a gift from someone at some point, it doesn't do much but it's cute, so I propped him under the tree.

A few nights after getting all the decorations up, I found the toy in the bathroom. Seems "someone" (Neo) found him and claimed him, then dragged him off to 'kill' him on the fuzzy bathroom rug.


(slain on the bathroom rug)


(on another night, slain on the bathmat)

I returned the reindeer to the tree and the next day found him in the kitchen. No matter how many times I put the toy back under the tree, the next day it would be gone, dragged off to some other part of the house.


(left just outside our bedroom - a gift)

Now the reindeer is sufficiently coated in Neo spit and dust and will remain a cat toy for the rest of its life. Probably more fun than living in a box in the basement.


The Christmas Talosian knows all.

New Cat Diet - Day 7

Captain's Cat Food Log, Day 7:

The Natives are restless... but in a more-active-than-usual, not-as-sloth-like way. We've switched them to an all-canned food diet - no more kibble.

So far, no complaints, though they still don't speak English, so how would we know?

We do know there's been no more cat puke since making the switch and we've also noticed they're not constantly visiting the water dish like they just got off a long bus ride from Arkansas.

As of last night, one native in particular was up at all hours playing Raccoon. This could be an unfortunate side-effect (for us) of having more energy and being more cat-like than sloth-like. On the plus side, Raccoon Boy needs to burn off some pudge, so, good for him, bad for my beauty sleep.

Why put everyone through this experiment? I was tired of cleaning up cat puke (not hairballs, just puke) and worried about why one of our cats kept doing it, no matter how I fed him or the quality of the food, which is always the best I can find.

After reading countless cat food labels I kept wondering, would a cat naturally hunt down barley or boil up a pot of rice? I would love to see my cats trying to cook rice.

I did some digging and found information about cats developing diabetes or pre-diabetes, possibly caused by the excess carbohydrates in typical dry food formulas. I wondered if Ninja's puking and repeated trips to the water bowl could be signs of serious trouble. He was getting up repeatedly throughout the day to get a drink.

Neo, the Bowling Ball, aka Raccoon Boy, needs to lose a few pounds but reduced-calorie kibble has more carbs, less protein, and has never worked to help him slim down.

I'd always thought kibble would help keep their teeth healthy, but after watching them inhale the bits and rarely chew them, that theory wasn't holding up. Every time Ninja puked up his kibble it was mostly un-chewed bits that could go right back into the bag.

So, I started reading Do Cats Hear With Their Feet by Jake Page. He includes some of the same info I'd found online (and much more - great book). Cats are designed to eat meat, not carbs. Also, very important - they need to get their hydration from their food, not the water dish.

His book mentions a website, catinfo.org, full of nutrition and feeding info for cats, written by a veterinarian. Another book he recommends for good nutrition info is Your Cat: Simple New Secrets to a Longer, Stronger Life.

Since we made the switch, Ninja hasn't gotten sick and isn't constantly visiting the water cooler - very encouraging signs. Litter box output all looks normal - no change in the size of clumps, no diarrhea. They still sleep a lot, but now they're up & playing in the early afternoon - not out cold from breakfast until dinner time. I'm also hoping to see the dandruff clear up, something the boy cats have had for years.

Some folks worry that too much protein is hard on their kidneys, but what I'm reading cites the lack of hydration as the main problem leading to kidney stones or kidney failure. If they're designed to eat meat and only meat, I suspect their kidneys are designed to manage that properly.

I'm not ready to start grinding up tubs of raw chicken just yet, so I'm using the canned food I've fed them for years - Wellness. It's pretty good quality though still has some ash in it, which I really don't like.

Catinfo.org mentions a couple of options - Feline's Pride and Nature's Variety - they're expensive. Wellness has come out with a new canned formula - Core - that has more protein & less starch.

Overall, all signs point to this working out well, unless they're all up and playing throughout the night, then they might be getting canned-food dinners with valium dust sprinkled on top.

Cooked in my Sleep

Didn't sleep well last night - the cats are killing me. Pinning me down on both sides so I can't move and turning the bed into a Mongolian BBQ.

I'm convinced that as they sleep their body temperature rises and they can direct that heat wherever they want. They *could* send it into the room and take the chill out of the air, but NO - it's all directed to me.

Last night I woke up in an uncomfortable, sweaty configuration to find the little one smack up against my stomach and the medium-large one behind my knees. It had to be 400 degrees under the covers.

If I do manage to turn over at any time, they reposition and re-pin in moments. Later during the night I woke up on my back with my hands clasped above my head behind the pillow. I had one on either side of me. Even in my sleep, I move my arms out of the way to accommodate them. How the hell are they doing this???

I turn off the heating blanket when I get into bed - I only use it to take the chill off before I get in and David can tell you, I'm no thermogenic wonder. He gets my ice-cold feet on his legs every night. I know they seek out warm snoozing spots, but that generally isn't me.

So that tells me I must smell like chicken wrapped in bacon. Or maybe it's all those times I've moved the cats around the house with my mouth.

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.

Heartsick

I have to admit that I might be hormonal at this moment, or it could be an accumulation of stress, but I can't believe how sad I am about being away from the animal kids.

When I rolled into town Sunday night, I realized I wasn't going "home." No one would be at this house - there's no home here anymore - just the house.

A house that now smells like it did before we moved in - like someone else's house, with someone else's things in it. Not my house. And no one in it.

That first night, every noise I heard made me expect a cat to be right behind it. No cats. When I made pasta and put it into a bowl, I automatically thought to find a small dish for Henry. No bird.

This year has been difficult with David away for most of it. I hadn't realized until now how much more attached I'd become to the fuzzy kids. It's killing me to be away from them. I want to leave right now to race home to them. Because home is wherever they are and they aren't here.

Kickass Wednesday

I dunno, maybe because I'm getting old, or the world is getting old, or we're all getting old, great days are fewer and far betweener than they used to be - or seem to be - so when one comes along, I can't help but get all giddy and sickeningly cheerful about it and want to tell the whole world what a great day today was (and still is, technically).

Nothing momentous happened - I didn't even wake up feeling particularly refreshed - but the day was great, nonetheless. Beautiful day with perfect weather, good mood, nice people, no stress.

I won't bore you with the details, but the best part of the day was watching Ninja, or Carpey Flapjack*, watch a bee buzzing around just outside the window screen.

The way his head bobbed all around, tracking his new friend who sounds just like the noises in his head - I couldn't stop smiling. I think it was the sweetest thing I've ever seen.

*He'll silently "swim" through the house and very lightly brush up against your leg - sometimes you almost don't feel it - like a giant carp. Flapjack is for being just so big and dumb, like a big dumb flapjack in a giant skillet.

Whose Crap is This?

I keep unpacking box after box of crap and stuff and junk. Even after getting rid of so much stuff before the move, it's obvious we had no idea just how much crap, stuff and junk we actually had.

Evidently I have a bag problem. And a bit of a shoe problem. And most likely a jacket/coat problem. I knew about the shoes, but the bags and jackets were sort-of a surprise.

We had a lot of hooks in our closets in Alameda. Things have a way of blending in when they're hanging up. Very different than when piled one on top of another in a large box.

And David has a book problem. A book and games problem, but I bet that's not a surprise to anyone who knows him.

The cats have a bit of a toy problem. Faux mice and tiny sparkly balls have been pulled out of the cat tree cubbies and littered all over the house. Countless more were found while unpacking and have been tossed.

All this crap seems to attract more crap - it's a friggin crap fest. I'm not even done unpacking and already I have a pile of stuff to take to Goodwill.

Horsey Pill Monday

Neeeeeeeeeeeyyy! [paws ground with her hoof]

While I love me some homeopathy, I'm glad I didn't try to fight this nastiness with 11 herbs and spices. The horror forum was right - cats are the Komodo dragons of our living rooms.

Within just a few hours of the bite, the swelling spread from the wound point across the back of my hand and pinky finger and sweet chocolate christmas, it hurt like a bastard. My left hand has become a throbbing Smithfield ham.

If I weren't on these horsey pills, that damn cat would be waiting for me to drag my diseased body into a corner where he could start gnawing my flesh.

The pharmacist was right about taking them with food. They're a little rough on an empty stomach, resulting in wooziness and stomach cramps. Tonight I followed the dosing directions and wrapped my big pill in an entire pizza. That should do the trick.

Just nine more days of this and I'm cured!

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.

The Nervous Crapper

A nice salesman from United Van Lines came by last week to give me a quote for the move. That morning I made a point of not only scooping out the cat boxes, but also cleaning them to ensure the house would not smell like a cat-crapping emporium, not even a whiff. With three cats, it's a daily battle.

Right after kitty breakfast time, as I walked through the house with my coffee to turn on the laptop & check email, BLAM! Smacked in the face by one of the worst cat shit stink bombs ever set off in a domestic kitty litter box.

They know something's up and they're not happy about it. The anxiety has a less-than-desirable effect on kitty's digestive system.

I re-scooped and re-cleaned the offending box, opened the windows, turned on the fans and then found the super-powerful deodorizing air spray. It took a while for the toxic off-gassing to dissipate. Thank god the salesman wasn't coming for a few hours.

After he arrived, we went through the house room by room so he could build an exhaustive list of all our stuff. As we moved into the bar, a terrible smell crept up on us. He'd done it again! Neo jumped out of the box and ran through the bar like his butt was on fire, which apparently it was.

Not only is our little kitty bear cub a nervous eater, now he's also a nervous crapper. I can't wait for the 16-hour drive to Vancouver with him in the back of the car.

But that little, stinky cat growler was an omen. When the salesguy was all done with the estimate, he printed it & showed me the bottom line. He'd documented all our stuff accurately, and the estimated cost to move a 3-bedroom house, a greatly pared-down 3-bedroom house - really more like a 2-bedroom with a tiny office house, was $8,500.

$8,500. I couldn't believe it. I was expecting $3K, maybe $3,500 - that seemed likely - but almost $9K??? I thanked him for his time and showed him the door. I wanted to curl up on the couch and stay there in a catatonic state.

Instead, I went to the bank, then I went to the store and bought some groceries in a daze. I got home and ate a potato and some chocolate. Then I did some laundry. Then I googled for more information that might help get us moved for under $5K.

Lo and behold, there's this little company called ABF/U-Pack Moving. They drop off a commercial trailer at your house, you load it, then they drive it wherever you want it to go. Their estimate to move a 3-bedroom house? $2,500.

They couldn't have been any nicer on the phone and they have great reviews on epinions and Yelp. I'm very encouraged and no longer feel like I need to shield my rectum from large moving companies.

And if we don't use as much space as estimated, the cost goes down. One of my many talents is being able to pack a car (or a dishwasher) so tightly and effectively, every square inch of space is used. This might actually be a little bit fun.

The Engineer's Guide to Cats

From the UK Metro.

Very Restless Natives

Neo & Nikita

Since Nikita's last projectile pukey episode several weeks ago, the kids have been on a new feeding plan.

No longer do we leave kitty kibble out for grazing - cats aren't grazers by nature, though if you try to tell Neo (aka Medicine Ball) that, he'll slap your big human face.

They get two hearty meals a day - a bit of kibble and some very delicious-smelling ground up fish in a can. Mmm mmm mmm mmm MMM!

While this new routine is supposedly much healthier for them (they haven't yet told me if they feel more cat-like and better nourished), it's created another new routine.

Every morning the bed is covered in cats, starting around 6:30am. They assemble and parade all over everything until we get up, their way of letting us know it's TIME FOR BREAKFAST, BITCHES. NOW.

They've always been helpful in waking us up early in the morning, but now they do it with so much more purpose. You have to admire their tenacity. They will wear you down until you put some damn food in their damn bowls.

In the afternoon, as it gets closer to 3pm, they begin to follow me wherever I go, maybe just in case I have their food in my pocket - they'll be right there in case I decide to feed them on the couch, or in the bathroom, or on top of the clean laundry.

And as the clock approaches 5pm, the hour we decided best for their dinnertime, they collect around me like a tiny gang of cat thugs, staring at me and maneuvering closer and closer to me as time ticks down to the magical hour.

If I'm working on my laptop, usually standing up at the pub table in the bar, one will sit on the chair behind me, one will sit directly behind the laptop, and the third will sit on the bar next to the chair - each no more than 1 foot away from me.

If I do not acknowledge their presence, especially the one directly behind me on the chair, he/she will proceed to "climb" up my back and rest forepaws there until I turn around.

There are times I've given into them way earlier than 5pm, because they all have very sharp teeth and dozens of claws between them.

If they manage to trip me in just the right spot, I'm done for. And then David comes home late from work and finds them snacking on my face.

Ninja (El Retardo, Chimpee the Ass Monkey, Big Walking Rug, and a number of other nicknames)

Mmmotherhood

In the middle of the night last night I was awakened two seconds too late to shove a puking cat off of the bed, where he upchucked a hairball onto the comforter directly on top of me.

I'm sure it mustn't be any fun for a cat to be surprised by a hairball in the middle of the night, but come on - right on top of me while I'm in the damn bed? You're a CAT. You're known for your quick reflexes, remember?

Getting up at 1:30 in the morning to clean cat puke off the bed is such a pleasure. For a moment I considered just moving to the other side of the bed to go right back to sleep.

Then after his breakfast, he blew a few more chunks, with me telling him "It's OK, get it out," while trying to keep him from spewing it onto the carpet.

Then the bird wants his breakfast and doesn't want to be left out of the fun, so he starts mouthing off for attention, then the other boy cat leaves a monster crap in the box and neglects to cover it, his way of sharing with us what he can make all by himself.

For a moment, it felt very much like taking care of my brother's kids when he was in school on weekends. There was always someone hungry, someone crapping, someone wanting something, every second of every minute of the day. It made me nuts.

If the late-night cat barf alarm keeps up, I'm going to leave piles of food all over the house and join David across the pond.

Skypetacular

Skype is great for staying in touch remotely with free calls and online games, but what's really important is being able to hold a cat up to the webcam so all your husband can see is a giant furry face kicking his ass at backgammon.

Furry Diffusion

Tonight David and I tried to have a perfectly good stupid argument but were continually interrupted by a meowing kitten rolling around at our feet.

She does not enjoy raised voices, or voices that aren't talking directly to her or about her.

We were forced to abandon our argument before we could get it started. We both had half-baked positions we were set on defending with hollow logic and circular blaming tactics, but couldn't stay focused on our lameness long enough to build up the necessary momentum.

Not even a minute into it we realized it wasn't going to happen and our focus shifted back to the only priority there is - serving The Kitten, always and forever.

Cats Are Needy

Which means, it's a good thing I don't have kids. What is up with three cats all needing attention from me when I'm trying to work, watch compelling guilty-pleasure television, or use the bathroom? The whole point of having three of them was that they could bond with EACH OTHER.

Things haven't worked out according to that plan. Each thinks he/she is the only cat, or should be the only cat and demands attention throughout the day and will not be ignored. If they had thumbs they'd be throwing things at me and breaking my shit.

Every time I'm on the phone they demand more attention and then the bird joins the clamoring chorus, yakking along with me in his unintelligible dialect. People on the other end of the phone think I have boisterous family visiting because he sounds like me, only louder and more garbled.

Neo, the street kitty who now resembles a small bear cub demands (and gets) lap time, which involves rolling around while I vigorously scratch his thick noggin and then he starts to climb - first up into my armpit then up the front of my shirt, purr-meowing the whole time, coating my pants and shirt with fur. Swell. When he hits overload limit he gets dumped onto the floor and I get to go wash everything he's touched - he makes me itch, that one.

The others aren't as bad, but they still get mouthy and clingy, instead of being cool, detached and aloof. Where are *those* cats? Those are the kind of cats I need.
Can you imagine if I had kids? Yee-ikes.

Mutual of Alameda's Wild Kingdom

I'll stay inside the screened-in porch while Jim investigates what's happening outside...

Tonight I was working on riveting IT content edits when I heard a strange noise outside - something I hadn't heard before. The cats were out on the porch, but the noise was beyond the porch, somewhere in the yard.

I jumped up and went out to have a look, but I couldn't see anything. It smelled like it could be a skunk, which we've never had in our yard before. I went back inside to get my flashlight.

Light in-hand, I shone it all along the side yard but saw nothing. I went out and explored the front yard, the other side of the house, the back yard, and still saw nothing. I came back inside thinking whatever it was, it had taken off when it heard me walking around.

Back on the front porch, I heard it again, this time off the ground, so I swept the light up toward the neighbor's garage roof and there it was - Mommy Raccoon. Mommy and baby were perched on top of the neighbor's garage, peering into the porch where all three cats had been on display.

The neighbor's garage roof is directly opposite the main side of the porch. A raccoon could probably make the jump and an outside cat could easily leap from the roof to the outside ledge of the porch. I gathered up the cats & moved them inside. They never made a peep and seemed happier to be inside.

I started making what I thought might be scary sounds to run them off - hissing, guttural growling - I sounded really rabid, I thought. They weren't buying it. So I started talking to them, asking Mom what she thought she was doing crawling around rooftops with her baby and such. My boring questions and one-sided conversation quickly motivated them to retreat.

For quite a while Mom explored the area, climbing down from the roof onto a fence while the baby trilled and chattered for her to return. I thought the baby couldn't figure out how to get back down from the roof and Mom might be trying to find a way down for it.


baby on the roof

But every time she returned to the roof, instead of using Mom for leverage and climbing down onto her and then onto the fence, the baby would swipe at Mom, wanting to play instead of get down & move on.


mom on the fence

As I watched Mom climb down the fence to the ground and go around to the neighbor's front yard, I heard another noise coming from the back of the garage. It was another raccoon - another adult. Mom was not happy about this.

I tried to scare off the other adult - it was about to climb up onto the neighbor's roof after the baby and I really wasn't in the mood to watch a tragic nature drama just before going to bed.

When Mom's hissing wasn't shooing The Other away, I grabbed the hose to help out. I shot the hose down the side yard and that ended the standoff. The Other ambled along the top of the fence toward the back yard.

But the baby was still stuck on the roof, so Mom went back up. Wanting them to get down & move on, I went back out to the side yard and propped a long piece of lumber up against the roof, hoping they'd find it and finally get the hell down.

I came inside to the front porch and waited. Mom and baby were now playing on the top of the garage. Baby kept climbing all over Mom, having a great time, and Mom didn't seem at all anxious to find a way down and continue their adventures.

From the porch I could see the other set of shining eyes on the fence coming from the backyard, but I couldn't stay out there with the hose all night. A few minutes later as he got closer, I saw that it wasn't The Other raccoon, it was the neighborhood tomcat, Norman.

This ought to be interesting, I thought, but Norman lives out there and he knows that scene better than I do. I just know that raccoons will go after cats, so I couldn't imagine what Norman thought he was doing out there. I did think, however, that a raccoon *could* solve our problem with Norman constantly trying to fight our cats through the screens...

He slowly and quietly made his way along the fence, then silently crawled up onto the garage roof. I was so busy watching him, I hadn't noticed that in the few seconds it took for him to get onto the roof, the raccoons had taken off. They hadn't made any noise, but they were gone. I guess the baby wasn't stuck after all.

With the raccoons gone, Norman sat at the very top of the garage, as if surveying his domain. I told him I had to admit it, he *is* a badass.

Cat Power

I worked from home on Friday to go back through a 90+ page copy deck for a major site enhancement. The deck is based on almost 60 pages of wireframes and after the first pass I like to go back through at least one more time to review and catch whatever I missed.

It's a tedious, time-consuming process. It generally goes faster on the second pass, but it's a methodical thing that shouldn't be rushed.

I brought home a new set of wireframes, knowing they'd changed yet again, but hoped the changes would be minor enough that it wouldn't slow down the review process. I was mistaken.

A third of the way through the wireframes I came unhinged. They *had* been approved as final two weeks ago, as they should be before copy begins, but as always, there is no lock down at any phase of any project - ever. The review became all about finding minor tweaks in the wireframes instead of completing a thorough second pass.

I vocalized my frustration to no one in particular, since I was in my living room by myself except for the bird and a couple of cats. Nikita was napping in her kitty bed when I started mouthing off.

She got up and jumped onto the back of the couch, behind my head, and tried to creep down the front of me to get into my lap. I stopped her because I still had my computer in my lap, but she wouldn't be shoved away.

She was purring loudly and ended up nestled against my neck under my chin. She's never jumped on me and started purring before.

I think she was trying to take the wind right out of my lame sails. Why I let this crap frustrate me like this I don't know, and as she forced herself into my shoulders and under my chin, all I could do was laugh. She'd calmed me right down.