Q&A -avoiding fashion faux paws

Navigating new trends can be tricky.  But with a little common sense, accessorizing with cat hair is a breeze.  Here a a few questions and answers to steer you in the right direction.

Q: Patti from St. Paul writes:  How many cats do I need to hair cover all the colors in my wardrobe?
 A:  One or two calicoes should do the trick.

Q: Mimi from Miami writes:  Do I have to change cats each season to keep up with the color trends?
A:  Of course not.  Just choose your cat wisely.  One black cat, one white and one orange should get you through any fashion emergency.  Or to keep things simple, get a multicolored cat.  Cats instinctively know how to put white hairs on dark garments and dark hair on light clothes.  And even if the colors don't pop, like with orange on orange, you still have an interesting texture.

Q: Pearl from Peoria writes:  Do I have to use special fabrics to accessorize with cat hair?
A: No.  Cat hair will stick to anything, even bare skin.  My personal favorite is fleece.  The cat hair works right into the fabric and I can never get it all out.  For added texture, let your felines sharpen their claws on and knead the fabric.  Pulls and tears look excellent on silk and knitted items.

Q: Mark from Mansfield writes:  How do I stick the cat hair on?
A: Buddy, get a dog and ride this trend out.

A few readers have offered economical beauty and decorating tips:

Hanah from Hawaii: Dry cat food makes an excellent body scrub.  I use it to keep my skin smooth and ready for the beach.

    
Nancy from Nashville:  I dab a little liquid from cat tuna on all my pulse points for a unique and personalized fragrance.
Nancy, please stay in Nashville.

Bob from Boisie:  At Christmas, instead of stringing up beer cans for decorations, I string up chains of cat food cats.  In the summer, I re-purpose these shiny noisy chains to the garden to keep the crows away from my corn.

And there you have it, folks.  Some handy advice and tips to get you started.  

Cat hair--the new black

In seconds and for little expense, any outfit can be easily transformed.....with cat hair!  Accessorizing with cat hair is so easy anyone can do it, as long as you have access to a cat.

Since cats come in many colors, cat hair can compliment any hue.  Want to punch up those bland neutrals with a bold pop of color and texture?  Cuddle Ginger or Midnight on your way out the door and you are good to go. 

Cat hair is an appropriate accessory  for any occasion.  To really glam up that little black dress, let a white cat lie on it and presto!  That little black dress has a whole new look.  Or go tone on tone and opt for interesting texture by letting your big black cat lie on that little black dress. 

Cat hair is an excellent accessory for formal occasions.  Gold and diamond bling are so overdone.  Break the mold and be a trendsetter by adorning your gown or tux with a lovely dusting of...you guessed it!  Cat hair!  Cat hair is inexpensive and even better, UNISEX!  Cat hair covered garments are flattering to both sexes.

Cat hair is extremely versatile.  It works for office wear and is great for informal gatherings.  Be a sensation at the next outdoor office outing.  Wear the clothes Fluffy has been napping on the last two days.  This serves a dual purpose.  Your outfit be instantly accessorized and when ever the wind blows, extra seasoning will be added to the food.

There are also seasonal benefits to accessorizing with cat hair.  Cat hair adds an extra layer of warmth to winter clothing.  In the summer, cat hair sticks to exposed skin and helps blot perspiration.  

There are so many reasons to accessorize with cat hair.  Whether you want to nail that interview and get the job or detect allergies, cat hair is the go-to multi-tasking accessory.  Besides, if you have cats, you have cat hair.  Might as well enjoy it.  

Mi casa? Not so sure anymore.

It seems crowded around here lately and I've been feeling a little treed.  It's like the balance of power has shifted in my house.  It happened gradually and wasn't a hostile take-over, like when my in-laws swoop in.  And swoop in they do, like a pair of nasty old buzzards. 

 

The voracious Buzzards circle and and hover.  Weekends are their favorite feeding times.  And they would feed every blasted weekend, if they had their way.  Thanks to my in-laws, I've developed a deeper empathy for roadkill.  When these old Buzzards alight in my kitchen, the atmosphere quickly becomes toxic.  The mother-in-law's razor tongue flaps much faster than her leathery old wings.  Insults and criticisms fly faster than dandelion fluff on a windy day.  It only takes the old she- buzzard five minutes to make my head throb.  She honks her own horn that loud.  A visit from the buzzards, oops! I mean in-laws, is a perfect example of a hostile take-over.  I am aware of what the Buzzards are doing and I fight it.  They will not win.

 

A different take-over technique was used by a group of furry, funny, big eyed creatures.  Their methods were so subtle, it was over before I even noticed.  Maybe it was because their intentions were different than the selfish motives that drive the Buzzards.  The little creatures, not so little anymore, took over my life for my own good.  Dumb humans must be looked after.   The perfect way to look after a human is to make her a servant.

 

Cinderella, or in my case, Humanella, feed us.  Humanella, brush us.  Humanella, play with us.  Humanella, clean our litter boxes.  Of course, it's a two way street.  My feline masters generously help me out with these chores and many others.  They even decorate my clothing with their own fur and decide how long I will sleep.

 

Motive makes all the difference in a take-over.  My parents were crazy dog men and had a couple of dogs.  Because the dogs were big and there was grass and even those tree-thingys(!) growing around the house, my "hair dresser" mother-in-law, labeled me a "farm person".  Apparently, in Buzzard world, hair dressers have a higher place in society than mere "farm people".  The old battle-axe has been breathing rancid buzzard breath down my neck and trying to put me in my lowly place ever since.  Her methods and message do not feel friendly.  And now I've delivered a really humiliating blow to the Buzzards' imaginary prestige.  Instead of a couple pedigreed yappy dogs, old MacDonald got herself some cats!

 

In a friendly take-over, the motives are pure and beneficial to all parties.  Why, just this morning, Leo jumped up on the table and stuck his head in my cereal bowl.  Obviously, the dear boy wanted to taste my food to make sure it was safe for me!  Angie only howls at me when I go near the stove because she's concerned for my safety.  A couple of the others worry that the houseplants will get scraggly and dry.  These creatures look after me out of love and not concern for social standing.

 

Sorry, Buzzards.  If you don't like my cats, go get yourself a yappy dog and stick it where the sun doesn't shine.  Or even better, stay away, because Humanella is having a ball with her furry friends.!

 

And I shall go to the ball, even if my gown is covered with cat hair.

       

  

Pissing in the posies

When it comes to gardening, people disagree about the proper planting times, soil conditions, types of fertilizers and plant placement.

Cats have a more refined and civilized attitude towards gardening.  Feline gardening philosophy can be broken down into two major schools of thought, although neither group of feline farmers is appreciated by humans.

If I had a choice and could select one of the two feline gardening techniques, I'd go with the Angie.  Angie is a very laid back gardener.  She believes a  pot of posies is the ultimate sweet smelling bed to curl up in.  Although the plants are slightly chewed up and somewhat flattened when she is through, they remain sweet smelling.

Salem, Ginger, Peggy and Ms. B, are a human gardeners nightmare.  Sweet smelling does not apply to their techniques.

 Salem insists that all freshly tilled soil must be augmented with her own version of organic fertilizer.  She also believes that any potting soil can be vastly  improved by her amendments.  Although I don't particularly care for Salem's fertilization methods, she doesn't care that I don't care for it.  And I don't care that she doesn't care.  I've done everything from placing sharp sticks in the soil, to topping the soil with big rocks, to jailing the plants in screen cages.  It doesn't matter.  Sooner or later Salem will find a way to fertilize my plants.  What ever Salem does, Miss B. will be supportive by adding her own contributions.

Peg and Ginger insist on over "watering" all plants.  Instead of lugging heavy watering cans around, they have built in sprinkler systems and they know how to use them.  The last couple of years I've given up gardening on the ground.  To thwart the feline gardeners, I tried gardening in pots on the deck.  Apparently, Peg and Ginger had the same idea.  Every time I looked out the window, one or the other was squatting in a pot.  Last year, I tried several different types of barricades to keep them off the deck and away from the plants.  Nothing worked.  The pair of piss pots is unstoppable.

What vegetation Peg and Ginger don't water, roving tomcats do.   

Unless I can devise a method to keep these evil creatures away, I probably won't even bother planting this year.  And I doubt I'll be stopping to smell the roses any time soon.       

Rolling in catnip

 I love catnip plants.  Unfortunately, I'm not the only one.  Catnip is to some cats what chocolate is to some humans.   

My cats can take or leave dried catnip but living catnip plants don't stand a chance around them.  They've also demolished cat mint plants and they like to lurk in the apple mint bed.

I don't mind them attacking the apple mint because it's taking over my yard.  These monster mint plants grow about waist high and are nearly indestructible.  The cats prowl in it and lie in it, but the stuff just keeps spreading.  Although the apple mint flowers attract hordes of bees, the strong smell must repel other kinds of bugs because the cats lounge in it all summer long.

Unfortunately, cat mint and catnip are not as sturdy as the monster mint and can't withstand a feline assault.  Cats can't resist the stuff and will kill a catnip plant within a few days.  I've tried caging the plants with wire fencing and discovered the fence has to be staked into the ground to stop the cats.  Even then, they still manage to get their paws in the fence holes and tear off most of the leaves and flowers.

Pet stores sell those expensive little pots of catnip and I've bought a few of those for the indoor cats.  But it only takes a day or two for six cats to demolish a four inch pot.  I've tried hiding the pots of catnip and doling the leaves out a few at a time but it still doesn't take long to strip a little plant of leaves.

Last summer I grew a flat of catnip from seed on the screen porch.  I was even able to protect the seedlings until they got big enough to defend themselves.  Unfortunately, towards the end of summer, the leaves began developing mold.  I tossed them.  Then in the middle of winter, the big plant I had in the house developed mold, too.  I haven't had much luck getting catnip seeds to germinate indoors so I'm back to buying pricy little pots.  But soon, the weather will be warm enough and we'll all be rolling in catnip again.    

Little cat, big game

Ask any hungry blackfly or ravenous mosquito and she'll tell you:  You don't have to be big to be ferocious.  But pick on something bigger than yourself and you just might get swatted.

One summer day, I stepped out on the porch and looked around.  There were cats on the picnic table.  Cats in the grass.  As usual, there were cats everywhere.  But they weren't relaxed.  They were tense and watching something.  I looked in the direction Vixen was gazing and saw why they were all tense.  A few feet away from them strolled a huge turkey.  The first thing that struck me upon seeing the wild turkey was its size.  It was huge.  The second thing that struck me was how small Frodo looked as she stalked it. 

The adult cats weren't messing with the turkey.  Neither were the rest of the kittens.  I figured there was probably a good reason for this and that Frodo was going to get hurt.  I opened the screen door to step out.  The creak of the screen door opening must have startled the turkey.  It took off across the yard, waddling at a rapid pace.  Unfortunately, little Frodo went running after it, so I ran after her.

Maybe being stalked by a kitten didn't worry the turkey, but when the human started chasing it, the turkey got worried.  It ran faster.  Frodo wailed in anguish as her dinner flew up in the air and landed on a branch high above her head.  I grabbed the crazy little kitten as she began to climb the tree.

With Frodo in protective custody, I raced back into the house to get the camera.  I wasn't fast enough.  I was only able to snap a picture of Frodo's turkey dinner as it raced off into the woods.  

    

Doggie dyeing?

Oh, those CRAZY DOG MEN.  What is wrong with these people?  Doggie bandanas.  Doggie bling.  Doggie diapers.  Okay, these things are weird and fairly harmless.  But when crazy dog men puff up their egos with canine mutilation, like cropped ears and tails for fashion's sake, that's not so harmless.  

Let's not forget canine humiliation.  At one time, it was just those ghastly poodle cuts with the pom poms and topknot bows.  Come on, people, no self respecting dog wants to be seen in public like that! 

But every time I think the crazy dog men have reached an all time low, they fool me by sinking even lower.  Now these nuts are dyeing their doggies!  Give me a break!  Unlike shallow humans, dogs don't care what color their fur is.  They have more important things to worry about, like nightly barkathons, chasing cars and biting mail men.  And since most dogs would rather roll in nasty things than be bathed, it is quite possible that dogs don't even like being dyed.

I'll bet these doggie dyers worry about their "carbon foot prints ".  They probably recycle and fret about global warming, too.  So why don't these crazy dog men worry about subjecting "man's best friend" to an unnecessary exposure of possibly toxic chemicals?  Could it be that these crazy dog men are only thinking about themselves when they subject their doggies to being dyed?  Absolutely!

Ego.  This is the only reason why a person would dye his or her dog.  These sociopaths are unable to recognize and appreciate their canine companions as separate beings.  To doggie-dyeing crazy dog men, their dogs are mere fashion accessories. 

These crazy dog men are missing the whole point.  Dogs are not little people or fashion accessories.  Dogs should be respected as unique individuals, regardless of fur color, blinged diapers and idiotic owners.  Even though dogs tend to bite cats, like cats, dogs are wonderful beings in their own right.  Animals are not toys.  They are equal to humans and have their own special wisdom.  If we just learn to listen to them, they could teach us a lot.    
   

Clyde, the ghost cat

Because of a family member's allergies,  for about ten years, no animals (besides us) lived in our house.  Except for the occasional mouse, there were no animals we could see.  But even if we couldn't see it, something was there.  In the middle of the night it would jump up on the bed and walk around. Some times it would wake me by walking on my legs.  Whenever this happened, I'd turn on a light.  There was never anything visible.  I was never sure who it was but I never felt threatened.  And as weird experiences go, that one is pretty mild.  What is strange is that in many of the weird occurrences I've experienced involve cats.

The most recent happened last summer and involved Clyde. 

When Clyde was a kitten, I knew someone that wanted a cat with his coloring.  So while he was eating, I not so cleverly grabbed him.  Since he had no plans on going anywhere, he scratched the living daylights out of me.  I had to let the little hellcat go.  After that, traumatic experience, Clyde had no intentions of ever being grabbed again.  During feeding time, he always tried to keep an eye on my hands. Wary as he was of hands, he had no issues with walking into traps.  When I was catching females cats to have them spayed, what I kept catching was Clyde.  The fool couldn't stay out of the trap for five minutes.  To keep him occupied and out of the way, I finally sent him off to be neutered.

Clyde reigned as king of the outdoor cats for several years.  He loved the place and rarely wandered.  He had his own dish and a favorite feeding spot spot on the porch.  When Clyde was present, the other cats didn't dare trespass on his turf.


One morning last summer, Clyde didn't show up for breakfast.  This wasn't unusual.  All the outdoor cats occasionally miss a feeding.  On this particular morning, I stepped out to feed the cats.  As usual, they all ran up onto the porch.  But instead of eating, the other cats hackled up and shied away from Clyde's dish.  I finally had to move the dish away, before they would eat.  The whole time they were eating, they kept nervously looking towards Clyde's spot.  Their fear of Clyde's spot would continue for weeks. 

I finally figured out their problem.  Clyde was dead, but he didn't know that and kept showing up for food.   Even though I couldn't see him, the cats could and it scared the hell out of them.  And though Clyde had never been indoors, he kept coming in to visit.  Occasionally I'd see a blur race by.

I discovered Clyde lying at one of his favorite hanging out spots.  Because he was happy there, that's where he was buried.  Clyde hadn't wanted to leave.  All through the fall I could feel his mournful presence around the yard.  I haven't felt it lately.  Hopefully, he's moved on,     

     

  

Tail talk

Body language gives a lot of insight into a being's state of mind.  If I had a tail, it would be angrily waving back and forth right about now.  Every time I think I'm getting the hang of this blogging sport, the computer shows me who the boss is.  Unfortunately, it isn't me. 


Kali Twelve-Cats, I tried to answer you.  My computer won't let me.  I'll have to find a toddler that can teach me how to work the stupid thing.  But thanks for reminding me about an important part of the feline language.  Tail talk.  Feline tails do speak volumes.  My favorite tail "phrases" are the "fluff" and the "question mark" tail.  My least favorite is the "you are so annoying that I'm getting ready to scratch the crap out of you" wave. 

The fluff is supposed to make the cat look bigger and more intimidating.  Hopefully, if a strange cat approached me hackled up with its tail fluffed, I would be wise enough to be wary.  Unfortunately, when my house cats do it, it just looks cute.  But the adorable tail fluffing actually an important clue to the tail fluffer's state of mind.  A fluffed up cat is not a happy cat.  My indoor creatures tend to fluff when they hear scary noises or encounter one of their feline house mates in a bad mood.

When I come home, sometimes a cat comes to greet me with his tail straight up in the air and the end curled to the side like a question mark.  This tail talk feels friendly.  I figure the cat is either glad to see me or is contemplating snatching an interesting object out of my hands.

When they're mildly annoyed, some cats tap their tails impatiently up against something, the way a human would tap her foot or drum on a table with their fingers.

Not only does the feline tail aid in communication, the tail also multitasks as an entertainment aid.  Leo likes to sit on the back of the couch behind my head and repeatedly tap his tail against my head.  Since he does this often, I assume this amuses him. 

Also entertaining are the tail chasers.  Angie is so much more than just a pretty face and a wonderful vocalist.  She has mastered the fine art of tail chasing.  Her own.  No matter how many times she catches her naughty tail and reprimands it, the thing will just keep sneaking up on her.  I used to think this was hilarious.  Now I wonder if she's not a little OCD.  She's started over grooming herself to the point she's removing patches of fur.  I took her to the vet and the vet seemed to think Angie's obsessive cleanliness was caused by stress.  Before she becomes a Siamese Hairless, I probably should try a different vet.

Tommy, the money cat was the other extreme tail chaser.  Tommy is a such big boy.  To spot a cat that size chasing his tail in circles on the lawn was a magnificent sight to behold.  Then I found him with his tail severely mangled.  When the vet said Tommy's tail had to be amputated, the image of Tommy's tail chasing popped into my mind.  The memory caused me to start blubbering like a fool.  The vet warned that because Tommy's tail had to be cut so short, there was a risk that the nerves running into his spine would be damaged.  This would have left him unable to control his bowels.  Fortunately this didn't happen.  For a while after the surgery, Tommy had trouble judging distances in the litter box.  His creations often landed in front of the litter box, instead of in it.  But he's finally mastered the art of tidy litter boxing.  And now instead of chasing his tail, he eats compulsively.  He also has acquired the endearing habit of attacking my husband in the morning when he tries to put his shoes on.  For some strange reason, my husband doesn't like this. 

Cats aren't the only ones entertained by their tails.  There have been a few times I've been bored enough to try counting the rings on some of my cats' tails.  Although they are troubled by this peculiar human behavior and squirm around, this practice has been informative.  Salem, Miss Potty Mouth, is the champion ring tail with a whopping nine distinct rings around her tail.  It's possible that Ginger might be serious competition in the ring department.  If I ever get bored enough to check the rings on the tails of the outdoor ferals, I'll let you know the results....as soon as I finish tending my wounds.

              

New York state of meow

I've had the pleasure of observing several generations of ferals from the same feline families.  Since a female cat can have several litters a year, the meaning of a generation is tricky. For my evil purposes, generations mean the kids of kids of kids, etc.  


I am aware that cats have different voices.  Ninety per cent of the time, I can tell which cat is howling on the other side of a closed door.  I also know they use an impressive vocabulary of sounds and "words" when they're speaking in cat.  But until I met Vic and her daughter Ginger, I didn't know cats could have accents.

Vic and Ginger speak with  New York accents.  This sounds strange but their meows sound stranger.  The pair don't meow, they may-yew.  Like all the rest of these ferals, Vic and Ginger were born in the same 'hood.  None of these cats have traveled out of town, never mind out of state.  None of the outdoor cats have been exposed to television.  It's not likely they can afford internet service or Ipods.  Being local yokels, there's no reason why a single one of these cats should have an accent.  But two of them do.

Vic and Ginger have been examined by vets.  Except for the extra digits on their front paws, there is nothing physically different about the pair.  One time a vet did mention that Ginger had bad breath.  But neither Ginger's halitosis or Vic's cropped ear should affect their accents.

I suppose it's possible Ginger and Vic have hung out with some out of state ferals and picked up some of their lingo.  But until I actually meet some New York ferals in person, I have no way of knowing if they really say may-yew instead of meow.

Since Vic is about six years old and Ginger is five, it's not likely I'll ever figure out why they have accents.
 The best way to cope with this mystery is to be philosophical about it.  So, may-yew.  It's just a New York state of meow. 

 

The sound of mews-ic

THE VOICE

People are always waxing rapturously about the singing of birds.  I don't understand what all the fuss is about.  When a flock of crows start squawking, it's as soothing as chalk squeaking on a blackboard.  There's nothing remotely  poetic about crows whooping it up over fresh roadkill.

 The screeching burglar alarms of blue jays are more annoying than appealing.  Hooting owls are just plain eerie.  Here is a translation of their ghoulish hoots:  Some field mouse is going to die tonight. 

MUSICIANS RELAXING AFTER A GIG

Nobody rhapsodizes about barking dogs.  There's a reason for this.  At least their distant cousins, the wolves, have evocative howls.

Without a doubt, the most versatile singers are cats.  The most well known cat concerts are those that have inspired many horror movie soundtracks, the howling and yowling of fighting tom cats.  But because it's more subtle, the real feline verbal and musical artistry often goes unsung.  The feline vocabulary is not limited to meow.  Cats have a lot to say and many different words and sounds to express themselves.  Like humans, each cat has a distinctive voice.  Most of the time, I can tell who's yowling.  The problem is since I'm not bilingual or psychic, I can't always figure what the yowler is saying.

MISS POTTY MOUTH

The two most talkative cats in my house are the little  Diva and Miss Potty Mouth. 

Although she's the smallest cat, Miss Diva has the loudest voice.  She has much to say, an impressive expressive vocabulary and rarely has to resort to saying meow.  When she gets annoyed, she can bring the house down.  Her problem is that even when she's telling me off, she's so adorable that her tantrums aren't very effective. 

Miss Potty Mouth is quite the talker.  Several times a day she will find me and spend five or ten minutes chattering at me.  Sometimes, I suspect she's squealing on or gossiping about the other cats.  Other times, the tone of her voice makes me think she's cussing.  I'm often grateful that I can't understand her even though many of her words sound eerily human.

A certain calico with big feet does amazing bird imitations and actually chirps when she wants something. 

When Tommy, the money cat, speaks in his creepy deep voice, he sounds like a Furby.  Fortunately, he does most of his speaking when he's hungry.  Unfortunately, he's hungry all the time. 

The most needy cat, the one wearing animal print, wails and howls when she gets lonesome for human company.  She growls when she hears scary noises.

And then there is a handsome, rather mischievious gentleman who rarely speaks.  The strong silent type, he   would rather show than tell.  When he wants to attract attention, he will do something naughty, like fight with Tommy or stick his paw under a door and start rattling it. 

But the strangest conversationalists of them all are a mother and daughter team that live outdoors.  These cats speak with thick New York accents.  I don't know how or why they do this but it is very distinctive.

The most entertaining feline conversations are the ones held between felines, especially when they are angry. 
 So instead of listening to the birdies sing, listen to your cats.  They have a lot to say.                  

Cats just wanna have fun

Humans aren't the only species plagued by boredom.  Cats get bored, too.  Why else would they do some of the things they do?

Outdoors there is plenty of mischief for the average cat to get into.  Indoors, cats are bored.  Move outside cats inside and all hell breaks loose.

There is usually a grace period.  At first the house is a scary place with weird noises, strange people and all kinds of things to investigate.  But you can only explore the same place for so long before it becomes monotonous.  And then boredom sets in.

That's when the fun begins.  If there is more than one cat, fighting is the first entertainment choice.  But for some strange reason, humans discourage this form of amusement.  This could be due to an odd human  dislike of blood and vet bills.  But cats are creative beings.  Discourage the squabbling, and they will entertain themselves more covertly.

This is the stage where the human begins child proofing the house.  Anything the little buggers can steal gets put away.  My daughter lost a couple sets of earbuds before she figured this out.  Next, any possible object that could be breakable or harmful to the cats is removed by the human.  That's where I encountered a slight problem.  It seems carpets and walls are not easily dispensed with.

I'm not sure why they hate the carpet.  Maybe they don't like the color.  Possibly they would prefer a more neutral shade.  And it's true the carpet is old and needs to be replaced.  But when my husband spots another new place they've torn up, he gets annoyed.  I attempt to calm him by explaining that the cats are just trying to help us take the ratty old thing up.

I am aware that these cats hate closed doors.  And anyone could mistake the woodwork around the doors for giant scratching posts.  Confusing potted plants for litter boxes is a common enough error that could happen to any one of us.  The cats have patiently taught me that screens and drapes are designed for climbing.  I've learned that pens and pencils don't belong on table tops and counters.  Writing implements are actually chew toys that belong on the floor.  I can even understand why these cats think that books don't belong on the shelves of book cases.  It's obvious that those shelves were designed for reclining.  But for the life of me, I can't understand their issues with drywall.  For some reason, they feel that the paint needs to be peeled off the walls in certain sections with the designs enhanced by deep claw marks.

Toy mice and jingly little balls are so boring.  To make the cats to lose interest in interior decorating and revert to hunting, I would have to bring live mice, birds and fish into the house.  I'm not quite ready to do that, yet.  For now I'll just admire their creativity.  Being creative is fun.  And cats, they wanna have fun.           

 

Spring feverish

They're back.  I've never seen them.  I don't know what the hell they are, but every spring evening, I hear them. 

Whenever I ask anybody about the noise, they just say, "Oh, those are peepers."
"Peepers?  What are peepers?"
"Oh....you know.  They're just peepers."

Nobody knows what peepers really are.  I never met anyone that's actually seen a peeper.  Peepers must be pretty big to create the racket they do.  But I've never heard anybody complaining about a herd of peepers trampling their shrubbery.  Nobody gets in a car accident because because a peeper or two have wandered into the road.  I've never even seen peeper road kill. 

What do these mysterious peepers eat?  I've never met anyone that's been bitten by a peeper.  Vets give rabies shots but they don't vaccinate against peepers.  Raccoons, bears and skunks pillage trash cans.  I've never heard any complaints about peepers scattering the trash or tearing down bird feeders.  Local farmers complain about birds, raccoons and deer ravaging their crops.  Maybe these animals are just innocent scapegoats taking the blame for ravenous peepers.

 Scientists and game wardens scoff at the idea of yetis existing because yetis don't leave carcasses or scat.  I've got news for you.  Neither do peepers.  So maybe what's really peeping out there in the swamps at night is yetis.  It's time our lazy scientists got off their duffs and stopped wasting their time looking for brain activity in dog owners.  Finding a working brain in a dog owner would be like discovering a heart in my mother-in-law.  Forget it.  These things do not exist so scientists will never find them.  Instead those silly grant gobbling scientists should turn their attention to those mysterious nocturnal creatures that keep us awake all night with their whooping and screaming.

But once those mysterious peepers start peeping, it really is spring.  Another sign of spring is ticks and I've already seen a couple of those.  The ticks of the flower world, dandelions, are also popping up.  Before long, it will be time for the good stuff, the lilacs and black flies.  Some time during the black fly reign of terror, their pals, blood thirsty mosquitoes, will join them.  While the black flies and mosquitoes are driving me indoors, their comrades, the ants, will be raiding the pantry. 

By June, June bugs will be smacking themselves senseless against the windows.  Fireflies will be flickering and flirting with fiery ends of my cigarettes.  Zombie tomcats will have breached the barricades and commenced to obliterate the garden.  Oh, well.  At least the poison ivy will continue to thrive.

Will the warm weather cause the house cats to start shedding?  It's hard to tell.  I'm still waiting for them to stop.  But by the time the humidity dampens my doorway, I'll be wishing for snow.

               

Feline teachers, school of hard knocks

My feline pals have taught me many things.  For instance, I've learned that I am a sucker.  A sick or injured cat will cause me do stupid things.  I don't even like Darryl, the zombie tom, but when he was hurt, I had to save him. 

That's something else I've learned.  I love some cats but not all of them. 

And just like with human friendships, a person can pick the wrong one to hang out with.  Sadly, affection and dislike are not logical.  Even though Tommy was an outdoor feral cat, we became buddies.  And though the nosy fool was dumb enough to keep getting hurt, he was smart enough to come to me when he got in trouble.   

Tommy can't stay out of trouble to save his life, so I have to keep saving it.  It's a good thing I like him.   Since I can't afford any more of his nonsense, Tommy has been forced to become a house cat.  If Tommy had his way, he would come and go as he pleased.  But after his last escapade, which nearly killed him and cost him his tail, he lost his say in the matter. 

Because I've already adopted five cats, bringing  Tommy in caused some problems.  Although the  outside cats love Tommy, the inside cats hate him.  He's been in for over a year and there's still friction and fighting.  Squabbling hasn't been the only problem.  When Tommy moved indoors, he brought some baggage with him.  The first problem was ticks.  Tommy and the others all had to be treated.  They hate the tick medicine and I hate subjecting them to it.  Another nasty surprise Tommy brought in was worms.  Again, the whole group had to be treated.  Before they could be de-wormed, Golddigger's Animal Hospital insisted they all have physicals.  Dragging all six cats to the vet was a nightmare.  The pills were big enough for a horse and had to be administered by the hospital staff because I just couldn't do it.  The whole ordeal was expensive and very unpleasant for the cats, especially little Angie.  Angie hates the vet because she thinks the vet bit her. 

After all that trouble, it's no wonder the Fab Five hate Tommy. 

Since then, I've learned that there are worse things than fleas, ticks, and worms.  I've discovered that Tommy has feline HIV.  By bringing Tommy in, I've jeopardized the other house cats' health.

The whole point of this is if you already have indoor cats, think twice before you bring in a stray.

Now that calico, Vixen, is such a nice cat.  Sometimes I'm so tempted.... 


   

Brushing Kitty's Teeth

Since I've become a feline servant, I've had to do some pretty weird things.  In the process, I've discovered that even a tame cat is not fun to doctor.  Chasing a semi-tame outdoor cat and trying to put antibiotic ointment in his eyes is even worse.  Once the cat knows what's going to happen when he's caught, things get even more difficult. 

Trying to force liquid antibiotics into any cat's mouth is not a job for sissies.  The cats tend to get mad and resist quite forcefully.  I've purchased tuna flavored antibiotics.  The tuna flavoring doesn't help.  The smell is enough to knock you over while measuring the dose.  The first time you administer the fishy smelling medicine, the cat is confused and doesn't struggle so hard.  But once he's gotten a taste of the stuff, it's all over.  Administering the next dose is a major battle.  Apparently, the stuff does not taste like tuna and the cats hate it..

The vets at Golddigger's Animal Hospital hate me and are always conjuring up new and innovative ways to get me killed.  One time, during a cat's exam, the vet began peering intently at the cat's teeth and gingerly tapped his eyetooth.

Then she said, "There's a little bit of tartar there.  Don't you ever brush their teeth?"
Stunned, I replied, "Are you out of your mind?  I'm not suicidal!"
We both laughed and that was the end of it.  Or so I thought.

But thinking is a dangerous thing.  As I kept thinking, my thoughts became more dangerous.  Before long, I had convinced myself that I was a monster for depriving my lethally fanged and razor clawed kitties of white smiles.  Next time I was at the pet store, I looked around and sure enough, they really sold cat tooth brushes and tooth paste.  I bought the feline tooth brushing supplies, brought them home and set them on a counter.  For the next week I glanced at those supplies and shuddered as I passed by.

After another week, on a day when I was bored, I decided to give feline tooth brushing a shot.  Since I wasn't fond of the ground beef look, I decided not to mess with Tommy.  Instead, like a laser, I honed in on the other five indoor cats.  Leo was my first victim.  Leo allowed me to give him his asthma inhaler every morning.  How much worse could brushing his teeth be? 

Much worse.  Cornering him, I opened his mouth and touched his eyetooth with the tooth brush.  That was more than enough for him.  The look he gave me as he bolted said it all.  "What the hell is wrong with you, lady!" 

It went worse with the others.  The fact that I was giggling madly probably didn't help.  Even though the tooth brushing was not successful, something good did come from the experience.  My dear sweet kitty cats avoided me like the plague for the rest of the day.  So next time they're ganging up on me and being pests, I know just what to do.  Grab a tooth brush and start giggling.  The rest of the day should be nice and peaceful.