Tag Archives: pets

Samson a.k.a Hitchhiker, Aug 2010 – April 6, 2011


Celebrating Mardi Gras

Last night Samson didn’t come home when I called him. I was busy making a pie, so I hadn’t paid much attention to his whereabouts, and didn’t look for him until almost 11 p.m. When he didn’t respond, I slipped on a pair of sneakers and headed out the door. I walked out the driveway to the street, and saw him, his mangled body lying in the road. He had been hit by a car.
No more purrs.
No more cuddling.
He will never again hit the other cats with surprise attacks as they come around the corner.
He will never crawl into the washer.


Or eat my salad
Or knock over plants

Hide-and-Seek


Today I buried him in the back yard.

All I have to show for my troubles are blistered hands and a broken heart.

I miss him.

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Samson the Hitchhiker


You remember this guy? The kitty who followed me hiking?

Such a pathetic, poor little Kitty...

As you may have guessed, he is still here. Looks like he found a home- mine! This is Samson now:

Look at the little angel! *gag*

 

Now, before you start in with the ooohs and the ahhhs and the oh how sweet, this is how he looks 98% of the time:

Someone get him a sedative please.

Just a blur of fur.

So exactly how many things can a kitty get into in a day?

  • the toilet (while it’s flushing and he also likes to perch on the seat behind whoever happens to be seated there)
  • the washing machine (as it’s filling with water no less)
  • the dryer
  • my breakfast
  • my dinner
  • the plants
  • the microwave (I was tempted to shut the door and turn it on ;))
  • the trees
  • the roof
  • the kitchen sink
  • the closets
  • boxes and bags
  • and the guinea pig cage

I could continue, but there is only so much space on the page.

Samson also wants to be a cowboy when he grows up. How do I know? Well he likes to ride the backs of the other two cats like they’re bucking broncos until they manage to throw him off. He isn’t real popular with them. This is when they like him best:

Please stay asleep!

So sweet little Samson has earned the nicknames of Maniac Squirrel (mom thought he was a squirrel when he was in a treetop), just plain Maniac, and most recently P.I.T.A. (pain in the ass). Just the same, I’ll end this post with an oooh and ahhh picture:

Recharging the batteries.

Ā©2010 frayedges and http://www.frayedges.wordpress.com


Hitchhiker


I went on a hike today at a local natural area park. As I made my way down the trail with my companion, my dog Susie interrupted our conversation by tugging on her leash behind me. I looked over my shoulder, and there was a small grey tabby kitty running full speed toward us. He ran up to Susie and started rubbing against her legs, then proceeded to follow us meowing. I just couldn’t take it, so I picked him up and headed off down the trail with him sitting in my arms purring. I tried to take him to a shelter, but they wouldn’t accept any more cats. I couldn’t leave him there in the woods, poor thing. He is so tiny and skinny. So…

Anyone want to adopt a kitty?

Argh! I am a sucker!


Night Music


I was inspired after pet sitting for my niece šŸ™‚

Bang, bang, crash!
I sit up in bed and curse under
my breath
That hamster will certainly
bug me to death

He makes it his hobby
to escape every night
and sometimes that noise
will give me a fright.

So I jump and I fetch him
and lock him away
and if Iā€™m lucky
heā€™ll sleep through ā€˜til day

But more often than not
heā€™ll keep me awake
ā€˜til Iā€™m ready to shout,
ā€œThatā€™s all I can take!ā€

But come mornā€™ when I find him
asleep in his bin
I forget all my troubles
and with them his sins.

Ā©2010 frayedges and http://www.frayedges.wordpress.com


The Troll Under the Bridge- Er, The DogĀ Under the Deck


Lover Boy Nicolas

I am sitting on the deck watching my cat, Nicolas, saunter across the yard in search of prey. His white coat offers a sharp contrast to the green grass. He is one of my Mexican kitties. He found me on the campus of the university in Puebla where I was studying and working, and followed me around for six hours. I took him home, and he’s been with me ever since. I call him Lover Boy. He wants nothing more than to get full body massages all day. Plus, he is always jumping my cat Cristina, but he can’t help it- she’s hot.

He’s a lover, but he’s also a hunter, and a good one. Last summer he was perpetrator of the Peter Rabbit Massacre- 6 headless bunny bodies strewn across the front porch, made worse by the fact that they were found when my sister stepped on one of them. Well worse for her, hilarious for me.

Today, Nicolas is hunting, and I am glad to see there are no baby birds or bunnies about. I watch him move lazily across the yard as he heads for the stairs to the deck. He is about to climb them when I hear a muffled bark. Nicolas shoots straight up into the air, his fur on end. I distinctly hear a muffled giggle from below.

Ah, so that’s where Susie is. I hadn’t seen that dog all day. Nicolas lands with a hiss and a dirty look at the dog under the deck. Rather than use the stairs, he opts for leaping up onto the deck railing to avoid contact with that “thing” hidden below. Although Susie believes differently, Nicolas and she are not friends.

Cristina Potosina- drives all the boy cats crazy!

Enter stage right, Cristina. Well, that is a pleasant surprise. Until recently, Cristina never bothered to come outside. She was perfectly happy in the bathroom sink or shower, or hidden in a closet somewhere. Nicolas spies Cristina and, unable to resist her tempting, sexy figure, he jumps off the railing and jumps on to her. She is not amused. Nicolas begins enjoying himself immensely as Cristina growls in irritation. I am beginning to think they missed something when they neutered him. He is always so feisty.

I hear another muffled bark, and this time two cats shoot straight up in the air. That worked better than a cold shower for Nicolas. Cristina lands and looks angrily between the boards on the deck below her. Nicolas decides to head for the dog-free zone of the front yard.

Ok, I decide to intervene. The dog is bored and needs to walk. I head inside and grab her leash. I step onto the deck, the leash rattling in my hand. There is a commotion below me. I can feel the excitement emanating from the deck boards.

Susie, A.K.A "Psycho"

“Come on, Susie! Let’s go for a walk!” I hear a thud as Susie tries to come through the deck. There is more excited shuffling below and another thud.

“Come on Susie, you fool! Come around the deck.” She is apparently still not fluent in English (she is from Mexico, like all my pets) because she tries to come through the boards again. I move towards the stairs, trying to lure her to the direction of the hole in the deck siding that she went through. This does not work. In her excitement, she tries to dive through the deck siding to come out between the stairs. I sigh and try again.

“Come on Susie! Come around the deck. Come out the hole on the side, you idiot!” But who is the real idiot here? The dog, or the human who is trying to reason with the dog? I hear more shuffling below. The dog is still trying to come out the wrong way. I decide to go down the stairs to the hole in the deck siding. I approach the opening carefully because the dog is psycho. I know in her excitement she will produce enough energy to light a small town. Sure enough, as I near the opening, Susie tears out from beneath the deck like her tail was on fire. She zips past me, runs in a circle, then leaps chest high before landing on my foot. OUCH! I utter a few choice words and tell her to sit.

She sits for a half second, then leaps straight up into the air before doing a quick lap around the yard, pausing only long enough to run up on the deck to scare the bejeezus out of Cristina, who runs inside to hide behind the door, and coming full circle to sit on my foot, once again. OUCH!

“Dammit dog! Calm down!” She tries. Her whole body quivers with excitement. Her little behind rises off the ground repeatedly, but drops down quickly as she remembers she is supposed to sit. I reach down to put her leash on, and that sets her off again. Another lap around the yard. At this rate we’ll never get out of here.

When she returns, I tell her to sit, and this time I manage to leash her. Thank god! I head for the gate. We are going to take a nice, long walk.

“Good riddance,” I hear Cristina mutter behind me. I smile as we take off down the road.

Susie as a pup in one of her spastic moments

Ā©2010 frayedges and http://www.frayedges.wordpress.com


A Tail of Two Pussies


Now, now, get your dirty little mind out of the gutter you pervert. I am referring to two pussycats, Peni and Ari. This month marks one year since they passed on, but that is not the focus of this post. I simply want to share a little of them with you.

Peni was never really my cat. Mr. Brat, my first cat, brought her home one day to be his, ahem, lover. I sat on the couch reading when he walked in the door with this little creature in tow. Now Mr. Brat was a big cat- he stood knee high and was three feet long from head to to tail. When he was normal weight, he was 16 pounds, but he was fat and weighed 19 pounds. This little skinny kitty trailing behind him couldn’t have been more than 6 pounds, and she was full grown. She also had a strange feature- her tail was

Peni 2001

flat. Completely flat. I had never seen anything like it.

I sat there stunned for a moment as they filed into the kitchen. Mr. Brat didn’t like other animals. What the heck was he doing bringing home a kitty? He came out of the kitchen towards me, meowed loudly, and ran back in. I got up to follow him as he repeated the gestures. He kept running to his food bowl and meowing excitedly. She sat eagerly next to his bowl, waiting. Since Mr. Brat was so fat, I kept the bowl empty. He was like a Hoover, inhaling every bit of kibble he could get his tongue on.

I assessed the situation. Clearly he wanted me to put food in the bowl. But if I did that, would he suck it all down, sending his diet into a tailspin? I debated, then decided to add some food. I watched in amazement as Mr. Brat lay down nearby. He made no move toward the food (this would be the only time in his life he would do this) and allowed this new kitty to eat.

Interesting.

When Peni had her fill of food, Mr. Brat led her into the bedroom. I stood in the kitchen staring at scraps of kibble trying to figure out what had just happened, then went back to the living room to finish my book. A while later, I went into the bedroom to get something and found the two cats entwined on the bed. They both froze and looked at me as if I had just walked in on something. I grabbed what I needed and got out.

Peni and Mr. Brat 2004

For the next 11 years it would be that way. I would always feel like a third wheel in the room, like I had just walked into an intimate moment. They were inseparable. Peni was physically attached to Mr. Brat at all times, unless he shook her off because he needed some space. When he died in 2004, I expected Peni to die. She stopped eating and spent all her time sleeping. But she pulled through and lived another five years. The main difference was that for the rest of her life, she was physically attached to me at all times, unless I shook her off because I needed some space. But she was still never mine. She was always Mr. Brat’s.

Ari was mine from the beginning. Some young girls brought him and his two siblings into the emergency veterinary clinic where I was working. They had found them in a parking lot. Since these kittens were only about 10 days old, they needed ’round the clock care. So I took Ari home. I bottle fed him and carried him around in my backpack (protected) to all my classes at college. I would take him out and feed him every four hours. We named him in philosophy class, Aristotle, and I had big plans for him. I would train him to walk on a leash and do tricks.

Then I noticed he wasn’t normal. His reactions were odd, his gait was off, he was clumsy and would fall constantly, never landing on his feet. As he got older, I noticed his eyes were just a tiny bit crossed. He was my Jerry’s cat. If a cat could be autistic, then he was. Looking at him was like peeking through a crack in a wall. You could see someone was on the other side, but never get a full view of them. The only way you could have contact with them was by touching the wall. So I touched him a lot. I held him and hugged him and carried him and scratched his ears, and he would purr, or try to bite me, depending on his mood. He offered me joy and laughter, lots of laughter, and in his own way, he loved me, saw me as his mother.

When he was a couple of years old, he lost the tip of his tail. I was talking on the phone with a friend, pacing around the living room, when Ari ran in from outside growling and snorting. Still talking, I wandered out the door and looked around. I saw what looked like one of those black snake fireworks, the little black tabs that you light and they start to create ash in the shape of a snake. I picked it up and rolled it between my fingers. I stopped talking. EW! I realized I was holding the cap of his tail! I hung up the phone and ran inside.

Ari Dec 2001

Ari stood squarely, in the middle of the living room, growling and snorting. He flicked his tail. A stream of blood painted the wall behind him and the ceiling above. Damn! As I said, his reactions were not normal. In his anger, he turned and started chasing me. I ran, frantically looking for protection. He ran, looking to take his frustration and pain out on me, painting my apartment walls and ceiling with blood. I leaped onto the bed and grabbed a pillow, holding him at bay like a lion tamer. He circled me, snorting and growling. I don’t remember how I did it, but somehow I managed to corral him and throw him in a carrier without losing any fingers.

I toted him off to the vet where I worked, and we repeated the lion-tamer scene to sedate him. Once he was out, I could see why he was so distressed. There was nothing but exposed nerves and bone at the tip of his tail. The doctor removed that, stitched it up, and then we bandaged the area. When Ari woke up, he checked out his bandage and seemed pleased. He liked it and paraded it around proudly.

Two weeks later, we removed the bandage, and had to sedate him to do it. I took him home, and when he woke up, he was NOT happy. He growled and snorted and whipped his tail around breaking open his stitches and streaking my newly painted walls and ceiling with blood. I was not happy. I corralled him and toted him back to the vet to repair the damage.

This time, we bandaged the end of his tail so well it was like a ball on the end of a chain. The bandage ball was heavy and the end of his tail drooped with its weight, but he was pleased when he saw it. Now he paraded about the house swinging the ball on the end of his tail and bonking the other cats on the head with it. They hissed and growled, but I swear I saw Ari smile each time he clubbed one of them. The bandage stayed on for a full month, mostly because Ari got a bit hysterical if I made a move to take it off. By the time it was removed, he was completely healed.

Ari 2008

Ari lived to be 14 years old. He developed a squamous cell tumor behind his eye July of 2009 and had to be put down two weeks later. I had expected Peni’s death, but Ari took me by surprise. And while I was devastated by his passing, over time I knew that he was off in some better place, the wall that blocked him from the world removed. I like to imagine that he gives joy and amusement to some giggling god in some afterlife. At the very least, he made my life a little richer just by being a part of it.

Ā©2010 frayedges and http://www.frayedges.wordpress.com


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