O Mighty Cat

Thank you so much for, once again, killing a little rodent in the house. I also thank you for waking me instead of just leaving its little corpse where I might step on it.

I just have two little requests, if that is okay with you.

First, please don't ever again let me see you pull a dead animal out of my shoe. I understand that you hid it there for drama's sake, but now I have to burn my shoes.

Second, rather than just be proud of yourself for killing the poor little things, could you possibly take a 'tracking' class of some kind and learn how to show me where they are getting in the house in the first place?

Thanks again for the excellent hunting skills!

Three Years and 800 Posts

Can you believe that I just had my 3 year blogiversary, and here I am writing my 800th post? Wild, I tell ya.

I have had to rename That Damn Cat. Last night she demonstrated that she is exceptionally smart for a feline. She figured out how to paw open the patio screen door to let herself outside. Since she is an indoor/declawed kitty, this in itself was not enough to get her a new name.

The REAL excitement came around 11:30pm. I had finally kicked my good friends Loop and Mr. P out of the house, and was just winding down to head off to bed, when I heard huge thumping sounds in the house. I figured that one of the Sprouts had kicked the wall or something in their sleep, and figured I would check it out on my way to bed.

A few minutes later I was walking through the living room to head upstairs when I noticed something gray and fuzzy on the floor right by the bottom of the stairs. At first I figured it was one of Little Sprout's toys, and was just going to grab it and throw it at her toy bin. As I bent over, though, I realised that it was a bona fide dead animal, right there in the middle of my floor.

Ick.

It was some kind of rodent, smaller than a squirrel but bigger than a mouse, with a fuzzy tail. It was actually kinda cute. Or woulda been if it still would have been breathing.

Still, I have a rule that no wild animals are allowed in my home. It just gives me the creeps to think of bugs and rodents and things letting themselves in and out of my house. I figure that this particular critter got in while That Damn Cat was showing off her mad door opening skills.

That Damn Cat then hunted it down and killed it, leaving it where I was sure to find it.

Thanks, Cat.

Anyway. I was very grateful to know that the Cat was taking such good care of me. Cuz I really, REALLY do hate when there are wild animals in my house. So the Cat got lots of love, and much praise for killing the vicious beast. I gave strict instructions that the Cat was to kill any and all rodents that dared cross the threshold of Barefoot Manor.

Upon receiving this solemn charge, Cat looked at me with a certain amount of pathetic pleading and asked (oh, so politely) if I could PLEASE stop calling her That Damn Cat.

Overcome with gratitude (and a little soft in the head) I instantly granted her wish, naming her Super Smart and Ferociously Mighty Warrior Queen Cat of the Universe....Mighty Cat for short.

I think she is pleased with the new name.

Catnip Rehab

That Damn Cat has discovered catnip. We are in big trouble. This is the homegrown stuff, too, none of that wimpy store bought crud.

She has been alternately racing around the house and laying on her back with a dazed but completely contented look on her face. I don't think I have ever seen her this happy.

Still, it can't be good for her to be stoned THIS much, can it?

We might need an intervention.

'Tis a Puzzlement

Little Sprout, during her bath yesterday, pointed at her belly button and said "Uh-oh! My butt!". Did she really think her butt had migrated up to the middle of her tummy? I laughed.

Big Sprout was given chores last night. Lots of them. I figured out how many hours I had to work to bring home the $$ that she lost, and told her that she had to "work" around the house that many hours. I figured it just might help her understand the importance of money a little bit. The funny thing is that she seemed happier for having a whole pile of chores to do. Heck, if she is going to be that pleasant when I make her work around the house she can take over with ALL the housekeeping as far as I am concerned.

That Damn Cat has decided that my bed is the best place to hang out, especially if I am in bed. It is really nice, actually. When I was younger, I always slept with a kitty in bed with me. There is something so calming and sweet about having that lovely warm ball of kitty fur to cuddle with. That Damn Cat is a good snuggler, too. She knows how to position herself so that she isn't laying on any part of me that will get stiff from the weight of a (really fat) cat, and she stays out of the way when I am sitting in bed and crocheting or reading. She just kind of curls up at my side.

Anyway, that is about all I have....there is cleaning to do, and I am already behind schedule!

A Whole Lotta Lovin' Goin' On

That Damn Cat must have figured out that I am the one who buys her food and treats. Either that or I smell like raw meat. She has been snuggling with me every time I sit down for the last few days.

Don't get me wrong, I like it. It has been so long since I had a cat to snuggle with, and I have missed it terribly. I am just noticing.

Of course, That Damn Cat sheds like crazy. I had forgotten how funky cat hair up the nose felt. Blech. It is kind of gross to pet her and then see the cat hair flying through the air. Little Sprout stole the cat brush and lost it, so I am going to have to put that on my shopping list for the next time I am in town.

That Damn Cat likes to sit on my lap while I am crocheting, which is pretty durn funny. She lays across the yarn, and then when I tug on it to try and pull a little more out of the skein she goes completely bonkers. She starts pawing at the yarn, jumping around and biting at it.

Thank goodness she is declawed, or I would be in pieces right about now.

My Heart Just Can't Take This

Well, I worked the awake overnight shift last night. On the way home from work, I stopped off at my folks' place to pick up the 5 (yes, that is 5) grocery bags full of tomatoes that my Dad picked for me. I headed out to the garden and picked cabbage (5, I think), jalapeno peppers, green and red bell peppers, a few onions, and a couple potatoes. Quite the haul for a seriously neglected garden, if you ask me.

Mom came with me to Barefoot Manor and watched the Sprouts while I whipped up fresh salsa, tomato~basil salad, baked cabbage, and prepped to make hobo meals (venison hamb, potatoes, onions, carrots all wrapped up in foil and grilled/baked/cooked on an open fire). It was a BLAST! I had so much fun putting together that meal! We had corn and venison wieners, chips and dip, I don't even remember it all.

We had quite the crowd by the time the food was already. Mr. Barefoot's Mom, Sister and BIL, Cousin, DD, and Grand~Sprout came, as did my folks and Bro. Everyone ate massive amounts of food and had a great time visiting. I was tired and a little cranky, but it was so worth it to have the whole family hanging out at MY HOUSE.

At about 3pm, Mom and I headed off to pick up.....dun~duh~DAH! our new cat!!!! I was so excited to finally be able to bring home a pet. Callie (the cat) is a very pretty calico that I have been told is very cuddly and sweet. After chit~chatting with her former owners for a bit, we headed back to my folks' place to drop Mom off before taking Callie to her new home.

Poor Callie cried almost the whole way home. She really did not like the car ride, and I felt so bad for her. Excitement mounted as I neared Barefoot Manor. I could hardly wait to see the joy in the Sprouts' faces when they saw our new kitty. The pet~less years of apt living had been hard on all of us, and I knew that the addition of this frightened little bundle of fur would make our house a true home. Visions of sitting in my comfy chair with a cuddly cat in my lap danced through my head, taking turns with warm fuzzy thoughts of how happy it would make Big Sprout if Callie decided to sleep in bed with her.

When I brought Callie into the house, I set the carrier down in the middle of the living room and opened the door so that she could get out. I expected her to be shy, but she hopped right out and began exploring her new surroundings. I had warned Big Sprout that when Callie arrived she might not feel like socializing. In order to distract Big Sprout, I enlisted her to help with the unloading of all the cat accessories that Callie's former owners had sent with her.

About 15 minutes went by while I set everything up for the new cat, and when I looked around I didn't see her. I figured she was just hiding somewhere, but started looking for her so that I could keep an eye on her to see how she was adjusting.

I couldn't find the cat.

Really, I couldn't find the cat.

Anywhere.

I started in the basement, knowing that the basement had the best hiding places for a nervous feline. I slowly worked my way up through the main level of the house and all the way to Big Sprout's bedroom which was the only room with an open door on the second floor. As I was checking in Big Sprout's playroom, I noticed the window was open. No problem, I thought, there is a storm window in place. Upon further inspection, however, I noticed that the bottom of the storm window had come free of the window and the entire thing was literally blowing in the breeze.

Oh, no! Could the cat have gotten out onto the roof? Where in the world could it be?! At this point I started to panic. Big Sprout ran outside to get a look at the roof, and I ran downstairs to let Mr. Barefoot know that the cat was apparently missing. We all looked everywhere. In the bathrooms, in the cupboards, under furniture....basically any place that looked like a cat could fit we checked. At some point during all this, Little Sprout woke from her (late and too short) nap and began crying. I checked on her and, finding no blood or broken bones, cheerfully shut her back in her room with some toys while the search continued. The sounds of her indignant screams echoed through the house, causing even more anxiety.

Soon, we moved our search outside. Big Sprout took her bike around the block, looking for any sign of our fat little cat. I ran up and down the street and through neighbor's yards in my bare feet hoping for any glimpse of her. Mr. Barefoot wandered the yard and the house searching. I was near tears.

How, oh, how could I let this woman (a friend of my mother's) know that I had lost the cat that she cried over when she gave it up to me within an hour of getting it into it's new home?! What would she think of me? What was I going to do? The cat is totally de~clawed, so there was no hope that she would be able to hunt or defend herself. Did the cat (Incredible Journey style) begin the long trek back to her former home?

I kept telling myself that this was a fat cat. One obviously used to a comfortable life and lots of spoiling. The likelihood that she would go very far or be gone for very long was slim. Things would be fine. We would find her.

But I didn't believe it.

I was heartbroken.

Big Sprout, in a last ditch effort to coax the cat back to our loving arms, decided to take a double handful of cat food out into the yard and call for her. Mr. Barefoot and I went to the living room to discuss the next step in our cat recovery efforts.

Mr. Barefoot, in a moment of pure genius, decided to rock our couch a bit. We had looked under and behind it already and seen nothing (the sofa is really low to the ground), but when he did that, the cat came out from behind the couch and stood in the middle of the living room looking for all the world like she couldn't figure out what was wrong with us humans that we were rushing around so.

Sweet relief! I called in Big Sprout, Mr. Barefoot rescued Little Sprout (who never did get over being cranky), and Callie decided that we were all nuts and went back behind the couch.

I think Callie is too nice of a name for a cat that could carelessly cause so much concern. Her new name?

That Damn Cat.