The Pet Taxi...aSpring Rerun

It was this past Tuesday night and Sonny, the little Russian Blue kitten had an appointment for Wednesday morning with Dr. Lawhon, our beloved Vet. He was going to have a little, well shall we say procedure? We hadn't yet broached the subject with him, I just planned to pick his little highness up and place him in the taxi without much ado. Placing the Pet Taxi to the side of the bookshelf, I left it open so that the cats could explore it's innards and figure out that there was nothing inside to hurt them. Pyewackit and Hound being the most recent passengers avoided that open door like the plague. They tried to warn Sonny and Cher, but they're kittens and they don't listen to their elders any more than any other teenager. They romped around inside it, chasing each other in and out of it and all the while the two adults just sat back and watched. They were cringing. I remembered when I had taken Pyewackit for the same procedure twelve years ago. He talked to me all the way to Hartsville, we sang and laughed and he was Mama's boy and all was fine in his world.

On the trip home the next day, Pye presented me with his back. He did not speak. He did not sing. He was no longer Mama's boy...he was just angry. As I drove I talked to him, promised him shrimp when we got home, promised him it was going to be alright. He turned and hissed at me. He didn't speak to me for two weeks.

Hound, being a little lady, had a different procedure, but a procedure she did have. When we took her in, she was a sweet little baby who, having been raised by us before her eyes were even open, thought we were the biggest cats she had ever seen. She would curl up on my shoulder to sleep and purr like a proper princess. After her little op she changed gradually. She got bigger, not fat, just tall. She became very bossy and demanding. A few weeks ago Sonny got out by accident and spent all night under the porch. The next morning he showed up at the patio doors asking to be allowed back in. I opened the door and he ran to Hound who proceeded to beat him to within an inch of his life. She had not given him permission to stay out all night, and was asserting her authority over him.

So today we went to pick Sonny up and bring him home. He was so glad to see us, he purred and chattered all the way home. I was reading the post-op instructions about using paper litter etc. etc. I looked over at Mac and told him that I had just thought of something. "What?" he asked. "I hope Hound doesn't jump on him for having another overnighter." He laughed and said that when Hound saw him come out of the pet taxi, she would take pity on him. He was right.

When we got home, his sister Cher was all over him, asking where he had been and that she had been worried about him. She was giving him a good bath and Sonny was enjoying the attention. They were so glad to see each other. Cher pointed to Sonny and asked "what happened there?" Sonny, in mid bath stopped and stared at himself..."dunno, they were there when I left home." Since neither of them particularly cared that a change had indeed been accomplished, I felt good about Cher's little trip in two weeks time. I haven't told her about her appointment yet. It seems to work better when you keep it a secret.

Photo Friday/ Pyewackit for Prezzydent

Pye and a young Campaign worker discuss stratcategy

MindyLou for VEEP...a vote getter by golly! AGE IS NOT AN ISSUE

He's a tawny seal point Siamese with a passion for politics. He is running on the Democatic ticket and can't abide democratic wannabees or Republicat flibberty jibbits. His theory is every cat for himself and to hell with the mice. If it's his mouse he sees no reason to share the bounty with any other species or even with his own kind. Birds need not apply to sit on his cabinet, though they can be canned and in his cabinet, no problem. While he is not into dogs, per se, he is running with a dog as his Vice President. She's a real bitch, so don't mess with MindyLou. You think Hillary was a tough nut? You ain't seen nothing yet! We're not sure how many votes Pye can anticipate, most of constituency can't drive, nor do they have thumbs...but he feels that he has a good chance against the weiny competition that's set up against him so far. Why? Because he never claims to have passed any law right by himself, changed any condition all on his own or to have scratched his way up from kittenhood without the help of the people who actually raised him. Yes, he figures he stands a good chance. He just needs the vote of the people in blogland to get him to the pinnacle of popularity. A vote for Pye is a vote for honesty!

Pye for Prezzydent

And Speaking of Cats

I have a very dear friend that I made while in the employ of the Sheriff. We came in contact with each other mainly at the jail. We always joked that I was busy locking them up and she was busy getting them out! We frequently did not see eye to eye but that didn't hurt our friendship one iota. In fact, I think it made it stronger in the long run. I always admired her for her strength and tenacity in the face of horrible odds. You see she wasn't always an attorney. She was a wife and mother who worked in the harsh conditions of a tool manufacturing plant, and whose marriage was not the happiest; but this indominatable lady made the best of the cards that fate had dealt her and plowed through life like a bulldozer. When her son decided that he was going to become an attorney, my pal decided that she too wanted to continue her education. Now a widow and her children grown, she went back to school. She worked hard to complete that goal, her son urging her on. She graduated, passed the bar and went to work. She was known for defending the underdog and the underpaid. She was a perfect choice for Public Defender if there ever was one. She works long hours (so long that I'm lucky to get a returned phone call from her these days...) But along with all the people she helps, she also has a soft heart for animals. She keeps cats, dogs peacocks every assortment of God's creatures live on her place outside town. Her herd of cats outnumber mine. And then some. She found a Vet in North Carolina who will "fix" at a reasonable cost if you bring in more than one cat to be spayed or neutered. I always laugh when I think of it, leave it to her to find a 2 for 1 sale Vet. She had so many cats at one time that she actually took a couple of them to be "fixed" that had already had surgery! They all looked alike, apparently. She puts me in mind of the lady who wrote to Dear Abby and said she wanted to be a Doctor but if she went to school she would be 50 years old when she graduated. Abby's answer was classic...and how old will you be if you don't go to school? I wonder if my good friend read that piece of advice?

Happy 4th of July all, hope your day is filled with peace and contentment, and fire works!

Ariel the Ancient

Everyone who knows me knows that it's a Cat's World here at the Cottage. It all began over 2o years ago with Bela (Lugosi) my older son's cat that adopted us when we lived on Main Street in Chesterfield. Just after we moved out to the country, Bela being the sole cat in the family, Ariel came to live with us. Mac, having retired from the Navy and now bored with having time he never expected to weigh so heavy on his hands, took a job with the County Chain Gang overseeing the Prison Camp inmates that did not go out on the road. There was a mother cat there who had had her litter of kittens in an old abandoned car on the edge of the property. At about six weeks of age they started coming onto the back porch at the Camp Kitchen to get leftovers the inmate cooks would leave them. One day Mac found that four of the five kittens had been run over on the little dirt road and killed. There was one left, and he managed to capture her and kept her inside his coat for last hour of work. I had already gotten home from my own job with the Sheriff's Department when he came in. He walked into the dining room where I sat having coffee and opened his coat to reveal two huge green eyes attached to a ball of fur. I sort of groaned my disapproval, all the while reaching for the tiny furball. This was in the end weeks of 1999. I took her to our Vet and had her spayed, got all her shots and Bela took over the training of Ariel. I was afraid he was going to kill her, but he was very protective of her. We had just lost our Digby, the Old English Sheepdog, the month before and Bela had gone slightly crazy with grief. I say slightly, but that's being kind. Bela went totally round the bend, once hitting Mac with a balled up paw so hard it knocked his glasses off and left a red spot on the side of his face. Credit to Mac for not punching him back...but Bela took to the tiny Ariel like he was her father. The little black kitten grew, but not very much. She was and is tiny and slender, the only cat I've ever seen with such a pronounced profile, and rules this place with an iron paw. She will be 19 years old in September if our math is right. She sits with me at the computer when I blog, so picture me typing and looking over her Majesty as I try to make sure there are no typos. My girl is slowing down these days. She doesn't do much but eat and sleep . I know that she may be nearing the end and when it happens there will be no consoling Mac. She is such a central part of the family that it will take us a while to recover. I'm trying to prepare myself for the inevitable, but I know that when she goes she will be joining Digby ,Duffy and Ripley...Bela, I'm not so sure...God may have him in Purgatory for a bit, doing penance for smacking his master.

Release the Hound

I'm hoping everyone remembers the kitten in the well house that we found the third week in April...if I was smart and knew how to say "see here" and have the link pop up, that's what would be going on right now. Smart people have tried to teach me. Smart people have failed. Other than keeping my sons here full time to "ghost" for me, I'm afraid you're just going to have to take my word for it...we found a two week old kitten in the well. Mac and I took loving care of her and bottle fed her (every two hours the first two weeks....talk about tired, my own babies weren't that much work). Like all kittens or cats, she was easily litter trained, so at least there were no nappies to change. She grew so attached to me, she would run across the floor when I entered the room and climb up my leg to get to my shoulder. Now that was all well and good when her highness was 4 weeks old, weighed a feather, and no one had put the steel in her claws. Now I need to don chain mail to enter a room. She plays rough, too. She has no siblings to learn how far she can go, therefore she goes as far as she wants. She bites the hand that feeds her. All in play, of course. Like a lot of people I know, she doesn't know her own strength. I was on the phone with Evil Sister the other day and the wee one was fighting with my hand....run jump on the couch, attack my hand, run back down to the floor...repeat...and I said "ow" quite loudly. Evil Sister said, "what happened?" "I think she may have drawn blood," I said. Evil Sister told me to take two fingers and tap her sharply on the forehead. "That's what the mother cat does to correct the kittens," she said knowingly. They had adopted a four week old motherless kitten named GrayC...and believe me, I'll be writing more about that tyr...er, sweet kitty at a future date. So anyway, I take two fingers and tap her sharply on the forehead. As I peeled a pound of fury off my arm, I asked ES "any more smart ideas?" "It didn't work?" she asked, and I swear she didn't believe me. "Not only did it not work, I think I may need stitches!" Even now, as I sit in the office and write this, I can hear the thundering herd that is my sweet baby as she runs from room to room looking for fresh meat. We named her Lady Wellington, isn't that precious? Now, in the mornings when I arise, Mac lays in bed and says in his best Basil Rathbone voice "release the hound!" which means to let the baby come in and jump on the bed and gnaw him till he's bloodied or says "calf roe". So guess what? Her name is now and forever more will be, Hound.

And the Baby Grows Up

Safe in the arms of love...yes she is a spoiled little miss who thinks that all the world stops and waits for her. In fact, it does.










Just look at that face...wouldn't your world stop for that?


And to think, abandoned in the well house for I don't know how long.











Here she is with "Uncle Pye" and we still can't believe he didn't
slice and dice her...no, he loves her truely.


And here in her little hidey hole with her toys...We believe she was born April 1st, which makes her about six weeks old now. Will we find her a home? Well, it's quite apparent she has already found one.

Our Lady Wellington...she's a menace with those newly developed teeth and claws...More on the young Miss in a few weeks...