Category: Pets

No Good Lousy Day!

I slept badly last night, dreaming the whole night about asshole guys running into my car, stealing my groceries and throwing random things at me.  It looks like I’ve been hit between the eyes with a hatchet! And my head is throbbing! And my neck is stiff and sore! Gawd!!  Why am I even out of bed?

And what in the hell is up with the fucking cat?! Teddy has taken over my office chair! He was eating his breakfast and then before I could hit the power button on the coffee maker he was in my chair!

When I got up to get a cup of coffee…..

When I went to open the family room curtains….

When I went to take a pee……

When I went to get another cup of coffee…..

He says he’s just keeping it warm for me but if that were the case he would be easier to dislodge; he wouldn’t be digging his claws into the fabric which necessitates a damned wrestling match every single time! As soon as I get his front claws unlatched, his back claws catch the edge of the seat. And he’s had the worst farts ever lately so every time I squeeze him in the middle he emits a noxious cloud of poo gas. It’s so bad I have to check to make sure it isn’t actual poo, and then more poo gas seeps around my face while I’m checking.

And he leaves gobs of his hair on the seat! And he and Izzie were playing with the stupid hair remover brush thingy and broke it! And now I’m going to have a hairy ass everywhere I go today!

Izzie isn’t any help either! While Teddy is rubbing his hairy body all over my chair, she’s taken residence on my keyboard. Or on my mouse. Or standing in front of the monitor.

I’ve loved you both up already! Can’t you see I’m in a bad mood? Stop looking at me like that! Why aren’t you harassing The Viking?! He’s not in a bad mood!  As a matter of fact, he seems to think my bad mood is fucking hilarious!

via GIPHY

And now I’m out of coffee and it’s only 11:40 in the morning. Fuck!  I suppose I may as well run some damned errands with my hairy ass. I’ll go get more of the good cat food so Teddy doesn’t smell so bad. And I’ll get groceries – and I swear to Gawd if even one guy tries to steal them in the parking lot I’m going to lose my shit!

And then I think I’ll get myself a Caramel Apple Cider at Starbucks. With whipped cream. And a piece of Banana Bread.

Because I deserve it.

Wonderful, Marvelous, Fantastic

Hello friends!  Let me clear a space on my table and push a cat off a chair.  Here’s your lint roller and a cinnamon bun.  I’m a little rushed today.  Junior is coming for his birthday dinner – he’s 30 years old already!  Not sure how that happened.  The Viking is cooking but I need to get everything ready for him to do his magic and I have laundry to do.

It’s also Izzie’s birthday – she’ll be a miraculous 1 year old – and it’s been a year paved with allergies, shouts, curses, scratches, bitings, blood, fury and tears. I can’t say that I’ve had to work so hard for another living thing in my entire life and I’ve never bled so much for one either. If not for The Viking’s colossal stubbornness I would have given up 5 months ago.

Izzie was as lovable as a Tarantula. Every cuddle ended in shouts for a “MEDIC!!” Every television program was interrupted by lightning fast attacks leaving us bloody. Every customer through the door received at least one smack and sometimes a bleeding bite too.

We scoured the internet for solutions to a cat that attacks us. Nothing worked. A Drama Queen Vet was zero help and once she awoke from her faint, she yelled at me. “NEVER DISCIPLINE A CAT!! EVER! YOU WILL MAKE IT FEARFUL!”

My wailing response of “But she races into the room, jumps on me, rips my flesh into bloody, meaty ribbons, and then races away before I can catch her! And she’s afraid of NOTHING!” didn’t seem to matter.

I read on one helpful tip that it’s my own fear that’s instigating Izzie’s attacks.  Not bloody likely!!  Hell will freeze over before I’m afraid of a damned cat!

But then a few things happened:

We introduced Izzie to Mim’s well-socialized cats, Dexter & Lucy.

We found sweet Teddy at the SPCA.

And then Dexter & Lucy came to stay at our house for 10 days.

 

Here’s what I learned:

Izzie had serious behavioral problems, duh! However, a Clowder of well-socialized cats is a magical thing and they can perform miracles. Dexter, at the great old age of 3, is the dignified chap that explains things to idiots. Lucy, Dexter’s young protégé, is steel inside a velvet glove and looks sweet the whole time she’s kicking ass. Teddy is the cuddly class clown who does the encouraging, spreading the love and providing a good example. And Izzie was the project.

They had 10 days to perform a miracle. I wish I had a “Right Stuff” slo-mo video of 3 cats strutting into battle because that’s exactly what happened. It was a Battle Royale for the first few days with me and The Viking as referees. Izzie was shunned, slapped, chased and ostrasized as the others refused to have anything to do with the mental state she was in – angry, bullying and nasty.

Dexter and Lucy loved Teddy immediately and played with him happily. Izzie sat on the sidelines, her Satanic Glare sizzling the carpet. But subtle changes were happening. Dexter would sit beside her and explain things. Teddy would offer to play but as soon as the aggression appeared, he slapped her and walked away. Lucy pummelled her with slaps when she approached with anything less than a relaxed state of mind.

By the end of the 10 days, Izzie was a different cat. Lucy was tolerating her, Dexter would play with her a little bit and Teddy would greet her with a kiss. She was even learning how to give Love Eyes. They still look like she wants to eat you but her body language is soft and sweet.

Once Dexter and Lucy went home, Izzie tried to revert to the Bully again, but Teddy took it for exactly one day before taking steps.  When Izzie got rough during play time, Teddy would give it right back and it was Izzie that yelled and ran away.  He then decided she needed to be bathed and when she objected he jumped on her and bit her neck until she submitted. She hated every moment but took it anyway.  She just heaves a heavy sigh now and let’s him give her a bath.

The transformation is complete and only needs minor fine tuning by Teddy once in a while.

We now have Wonderful, Marvelous, Fantastic! Her eyes are more round, her bites are Love Bites, soft and gentle and followed by a few licks. She’s almost polite and she comes for cuddles that don’t morph into The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. A customer gave her a pet today and she didn’t try to sever his arm. He was amazed because the last time he was here he left with a bloody laceration on the back of his hand.

I don’t know if this would work for any other cat, but it was a miracle for Izzie. Without the therapy of the other cats, she would have become a Barn Cat. We couldn’t let her near children – she bit a little girl for just standing in the house beside me – and she would definitely be more than any elderly person could handle. There are the occasional shouts from Izzie when Teddy has to get rough but for the most part they are best friends.

And, of course, The Viking and I are over-the-moon happy. We haven’t bled since Dex and Lucy went home. The thunder of cats charging through the house no longer sends chills down my spine. I’m not worried that Izzie will really hurt Teddy anymore either. Best of all is the whiskers on Izzie’s face; they are pushed so far forward the ends almost touch.

So, Happy Birthday, Izzie Girl!! We love you!

via GIPHY

Thanks to Nerd in the Brain for hosting Weekend Coffee Share.

This Food Smells Like Shit!

Welcome to Coffee. Leave your shoes on – there’s litter everywhere. I swear to Gawd the little beasts have a fertilizer spreader loaded with litter and they spend the whole night distributing it. Here, let me move a cat so you can sit down.

THE CATS

Sigh. Having a Clowder of Cats is not as fun as you might think. There is such a thing as too much of a good thing. I know Mim is excited that between us we have a good sized Clowder, but living with four cats has its challenges.

For instance, food……

Dexter: Eww! This food smells like shit!

Teddy: What? I LOVE this food! It’s better than anything I found on the streets.

Dexter: It’s shit. I can’t eat that.

Teddy: But this is organic with no chemicals and fillers.

Dexter: So it’s organic shit with no chemicals and fillers.

Lucy: If Dexter doesn’t eat it, then I won’t eat it.

Teddy: Fine by me! I’ll eat it.

Lucy: Okay. I’ll eat it. It’s not that bad, Dex. And I am hungry.

Dexter: Not one piece of that will pass my lips.

And then there’s the challenge of Poopers……

Dexter: Hi. I need to poo

Izzie: Hi. That’s irrelevant to me.

Dexter: There’s a pooper behind you that, I believe, I’m supposed to use when I visit.

Izzie: That pooper? That’s my pooper.

Dexter: May I use your pooper?

Izzie: No.

Dexter: So where am I supposed to poo?

Izzie: That, too, is irrelevant to me.

Dexter: I’ll just wait until you leave and then I’ll poo in your pooper.

Izzie: I have nothing else to do for the rest of the day.

Later…….

Dexter: Thank Gawd! Another pooper!

Izzie: That’s my pooper.

Dexter: No. That other pooper is your pooper. This pooper is for Lucy and me because you won’t let us poo in your pooper.

Izzie: Nope. It’s mine too.

Dexter: You can’t have both poopers!

Izzie: Why not? There’s no rule saying that I can only have one pooper.

Teddy: Is anyone going to eat this last bit of food?

Lucy: I really, really need to poo. Please, can I use this pooper?

Izzie: No.

Lucy: But I really have to poo!

Izzie: Irrelevant to me.

10 minutes later…….

Izzie: Oh, you are in trouble now! A poo on the carpet! You’re a dead cat walking. Haha!

Then it was the Cat Castle……

Lucy: Wow! That’s a fancy-shmancy palace.

Izzie: It’s mine.

Lucy: Lucky you! I think the very top platform is perfect for me.

Izzie: No it isn’t.

Lucy: Sure it is. I’ll just try it out.

Izzie: Didn’t you hear me? I said…..slap…..it’s….slap…..mine…..slap.

Lucy: You’re not very nice.

Izzie: That’s irrelevant to me.

Lucy: Oh, come on! It’s more than big enough for all of us.

Izzie: Yes, it is.

Lucy: So? Can I have a nap on it?

Izzie: No.

Teddy: Yeah. She won’t let me on it either. I feel your pain. It’s so close, yet so far away. I left a little food if that helps.

The worst challenge by far……

Izzie: Did you just let my Mom pet you?

Dexter: Yes. And it was lovely. She’s a great petter.

Izzie: She’s mine.

Dexter: That’s irrelevant to me.

Izzie: Really? Is….slap….this….slap….irrelevant….slap….to….slap….you?

Dexter: Hey!

Izzie: Never let my Mom pet you! Ever! Slap, slap, kick!

Teddy: Mom gave me a brush last night and it was amazing.

Izzie: WHAT?! She brushed you?

Teddy: Yup! By the way…are you going to eat those leftovers?

Izzie: Don’t ever let me catch you getting a brush again!

Teddy: She’s my Mom too.

Izzie: No she isn’t. You’re just something she dragged home.

Lucy: She scratched my chin last night.

Izzie: WHAT THE HELL?! You too?! Gawd!!

The challenges are not confined to the cats. We suddenly have hairy dust bunnies the size of Grizzly Bears. There’s hair everywhere! I went to buy groceries the other day…..

Nice Lady: I love your coat! Is it cashmere?

Me: No. It’s cat hair.

Nice Lady: Oh! Ew!

But, the thing is, it all turned out fantastic-ally. After the blizzards of slapping tapered off, and the chases morphed from terrifying to fun, and they worked out the poopers, they ended up liking each other.

Even better? Teddy and Izzie have become friends. Mim and I were totally excited when Teddy started licking Izzie’s face. Of course she was repulsed at first but then she must have decided it was not un-pleasant. She even gave him an experimental lick while Mim & I did a quiet happy dance.

Thanks for coming for coffee. I needed some human contact. Here’s a lint roller. No, take it with you – cat hair will turn up for days and you’ll probably need it.

 

Thanks, as always, to Part-Time Monster.

Doughnuts and Death Stares

Coffee is on! Come and get it! We all have to share one Doughnut because I ate the others. I didn’t intend to eat all the others, it just happened. You can’t leave fresh doughnuts lying around and not expect me to eat them. The odds are only slightly better than leaving Toffifee unattended around here.

And I have an excuse for eating all the doughnuts – it’s because I’m an idiot.

You know when you think you are fixing one problem but it turns out you’ve only made another problem and the other problem turns out to be a monumentally stupid fuck-up? Yeah? Well, I did that.

The Viking probably wasn’t listening to me when I convinced him to go along with the scheme. He does that quite often – not listening to me – and it’s something he should work on immediately because shit happens when he isn’t paying attention. He stares at his computer screen while I discuss the current problem and he nods and says “uh huh” and then I wrap up my case and he says “uh huh” so I carry out the plan.

Unfortunately, he hasn’t got a bloody clue what ride he’s just agree to and by the time he actually realizes what the ride is he’s halfway across the Grand Canyon on a zip line yelling “WTF?!!”

On this particular occasion, it’s the cats. I see you aren’t shocked that I am having cat problems. You must know me better than I know me and if you had been paying attention you might have saved me from myself. That’s why you only get 1/16th of a doughnut with your coffee – you’ve let me down.

 So, here’s what happened. Izzie hasn’t been the most welcoming of cats to her new playmate. For the most part she has adopted an “I hate you but I’m fascinated” stance and slapping happens frequently. We were coming to the realization that she may never be a socialized, normal cat.

But then she deeked us out last night. Teddy was sleeping on one side of my leg as we watched a movie and she came over, lie down on the other side of my leg and put a paw on Teddy’s leg. They slept like that for over an hour! I was over-the-moon happy! Until he woke up and she beat the crap out of him, again. The aggression was particularly bad after that, almost like “I may have slept on you but I still hate you.” Sigh.

I was worried leaving him on his own overnight. You see, we close our bedroom door at night so they have a chance to interact without us being the cause of jealousy. So, we decided to put Teddy in a room where he was safe for the night. But that didn’t seem fair. Why should he be locked up when it’s Izzie being the beast? And here’s where I went wrong.

You already know what I suggested, don’t you? I can hear the collective moans of disgust.

The Viking “uh huh-ed” his way into this arrangement and we moved Teddy’s litter box into our room, brought a water bowl and a food bowl in and supplied him with a couple of toys.

This morning, all hell broke loose. For two hours. By the time I got out of bed, The Viking was wide-eyed and slightly twitchy. “We never should have kept him in the room with us! Izzie is going nuts!”

Well, hell! Realization dawned quite quickly. Crap! I was so busy trying to save Teddy’s bacon that I didn’t think about how Izzie would feel about this betrayal. But, here’s the weird thing. Teddy somehow found a backbone no one was using during the night. And after the first couple of slapping blizzards, Izzie settled down and they are actually playing. Playing!

Have I managed to stumble us all to the base of some turning point? As far as I can tell, I haven’t managed to do a single thing right but Izzie just greeted Teddy with a nose touch and not a single slap. It was so casual, like they were old friends meeting at a pub. I’m not accustomed to such clear successes. My finished products are usual in the line of “We Can Live With It Even Though It Isn’t Perfect” or “Better Luck Next Time”.

Yet, I think I see a light at the end of the long, dark tunnel. Or….it could be Izzie’s Death Stare reflecting in the dark. Who knows?

Thanks to Part-Time Monster…..

Two Cats, One Week – A Review

Hello!  Come in!  We don’t have to huddle in my bedroom this week and can have our coffee at the kitchen table like normal people do.  Muffin?

First things first, we finally settled on a name for poor Kent: Teddy Bear. Because he’s quite literally a fuzzy, sweet Teddy Bear and since he’s already a year old I can’t see him outgrowing it. He looks bigger than Izzie but that’s because his fur is ridiculously fuzzy. It’s like he’s wearing Chinchilla pajamas.  There’s no other way to describe the way his fur feels. So, while he looks bigger than Izzie, she actually weighs more.

Mim approved of the name, The Viking liked it and, best of all, Kent came running when we called the name.  So, ‘Teddy’ it is.

The first couple of days were….well….hair raising. The profanities and curses were completely out of control. I had no idea cats could be so precise, eloquent and long-winded in their opinions and the blizzards of slapping were, to be honest, appalling.

But that was then and this is now and the situation has calmed down significantly. Izzie has transformed from Indignant, Profane, Furious Feline to Resigned, Defeated, Slightly Confused and Excited Feline.

And while the household has eased back to normalcy, there have been complaints.

“Something is playing with my toys. Make it go away.”

“A turd was on my Castle and now it has The Stank.”

“You touched it and now you have The Stank.”

“A very large hairball is in my tunnels and I like it not!”

“It touched my tail! My TAIL!”

“The Turd put a turd in my litter box! I can never use it again. Ever!”

“The Hairball ate all of my food and now I’m starving to death.”

On several occasions she didn’t bother with complaining at all but took matters into her own paws.

Me: Is that some of Teddy’s fur between your toes?

Izzie: Maybe.

Me: Stop slapping him! He just wants to be your friend!

Izzie: ……

For his part, Teddy is just happy to be here but he’s not above disturbing shit.

“Hey Izzie!  Look! I’m sitting on your precious Mama!”

“Oh! Oh! I’m touching your castle!! “

“YooHoo! I’m in your tunnel! Ha HA!”

“Are you going to finish that? No? Perfect! I’m still hungry.”

And it turns out that Teddy isn’t too nice after all and is quite capable of defending himself, as evidenced by a few well-placed slaps of his own.  However, as the week progressed, the slaps lost momentum until now it’s more poking than slapping.

They are experimenting with chasing each other at the moment but there seems to be some tricky negotiating going on. Apparently Teddy got too close for comfort once……“Whoa!  That’s my Lady Parts, Buster!  Back off!”…….and then Izzie was just a little too enthusiastic for Teddy’s taste…….Holy Shit!  It’s just a game!  Dial it back, Sister!”…... so there is a flurry of shouting, cursing and name calling.  Playing has never been so complicated. A short burst of Spontaneous Patty Cake went surprisingly well though.  I call it a win.

And then, there was ‘The Incident’. While Izzie was taking a nap on my keyboard, Teddy figured out how to get on top of the fridge and invaded her Secret Place To Sleep. He settled himself comfortably and then called:

“Izzzzie! I’m in your BE-ed! It’s so nice I think I’ll sleep here forrrrr-evvvvver.”

Izzie launched herself off the desk and onto the window sill, behind the curtains and then a big jump onto the fridge. Every bone, sinew and muscle was ready for battle. Except Teddy wasn’t easy to push around anymore and he was settling in for a good, long nap.

 

 

 

Which necessitated another complaint.

“Mom, we need to talk about Hairry. He has to go. Seriously. He has taken over my bed and now I won’t be able to sleep ever again.”

Obviously, I had better get another bed. Pronto.

They are greeting each other with nose touches and Ring A Round The Sofa is a success. Teddy has taken to The Viking and The Viking has taken to Teddy. It’s a Bromance. Just two guys hanging out, watching TV. In the meantime, Izzie curls up with me, just a couple of girls hanging out, making fun of the two guys hanging out and watching TV.

I am cautiously optimistic at this point.  Izzie is learning how to give Love Eyes that don’t look like she’ll kill me in my sleep and Teddy has learned that a collar isn’t the end of life as he knew it.  The only problem left then is that our desks simply aren’t big enough……

Perhaps The Queen of Mean has met her match.

PS:  The cover photo isn’t mine – I found it on the Internet.  All other photos are actually Izzie & Teddy.

 

Kent Isn’t Superman. Apparently.

Hello! Come on in. I’ve got fresh coffee but no Toffifees or any other delectable treats because I’m on the wagon. My sugar intake was getting out of hand and steps had to be taken. However, if you have smuggled something, I’m completely ready to fall off the wagon for a few minutes while no one’s looking. Because I’m weak.

We have to sit in my bedroom because I have a problem. And it’s getting bigger by the day. And it’s all of my own devising. We should be safe here though.

Never let it be said that I always make good decisions. If someone were keeping track, I’m probably only batting 40%. It’s not that I don’t think everything through because I do, and if you asked anyone who knows me, they would add ‘ad nauseam’ to the statement. I think my problems begin when I start thinking that everyone thinks like me despite the mounting evidence to the contrary.

What I would do in any given situation, it turns out, isn’t what most normal people would do.

Don’t ask me why. I think I’m perfectly logical and can critically think my way out of most wet paper bags when necessary.

My newest problem involves an old problem that I thought I found a solution for, but it turns out that I’ve only made the problem bigger. And louder. And more painful.

You see, the adorable, sweet Izzie isn’t actually adorable and sweet. Think Queen of Mean and you’re not far off. One moment she’s lovey and the next she’s got a claw at your Jugular Vein.

via GIPHY

We believe it’s because she’s frustrated that we don’t play with her as much as she wants us to play with her – which is every damned waking moment. We play an average of 3 to 4 hours a day with her but that’s not enough because she won’t play by herself. At all. We have all the lastest in Cat Entertainment plus all the Golden Oldies toys and nothing engages her. She needs a playmate. To be certain that was the issue, we tried it out with Mim’s cats and she played wonderfully.

So, on Thursday, The Viking and I went to the Humane Society and adopted another cat. Yes. That’s what we did. And the regrets are piling up. I searched through every SPCA within an hour’s drive of Calgary and finally found an adorable, 10–12 month old cat that had experience with other cats and was calm and chill. We went out to meet him – Kent – and WOW! This little guy came right over to us and climbed on The Viking for loves immediately. We talked to the staff and they all adored him. He was the perfect!

So we brought him home.

And Izzie lost her damned mind!

She couldn’t hiss and spit fast enough, loud enough or long enough to fully articulate her feelings. Honestly, the X-Rated curses and name-calling was enough to curl my hair and my hair is firmly and determinedly straight – just ask my hairdresser. Her future playmate fainted and he’s lived on the streets for several months.

We put poor Kent in the spare room with a litter box, 9156 toys that Izzie won’t play with, food and water and reinforced the door with 6 inches of solid steel.

Imprisoning Kent calmed Izzie slightly but when I went to sit and love her a bit she slapped me 4 times in quick succession. I think it was Morse Code for either

You! Cheated! On! Me!

Or

What! Is! That! Thing?!

Or

Make! It! Go! Away!!

Or

You! Will! Die! Slowly!!

And every single time I touch Kent, I get slapped by Izzie. Hard! I’m not talking ‘love taps’, I’m talking ‘bitch slaps’!

via GIPHY

I am only thankful that she isn’t using her claws which indicates that there is a small portion of her soul that hasn’t fully gone to the dark side.

So, there you have it. Kent isn’t sticking up for himself so The Viking and I are rotating cats through seclusions using the spare bedroom and our only bathroom. We communicate via walkie-talkies:

Me: I have The Evil One contained in a sack in the kitchen. It’s a rodeo so you should hurry.

The Viking: Roger! I have The Sweet One and moving to the family room.

Me: Roger…..Wilco….I think. Transferring The Evil One to the Bathroom in 5….4….3….2….1!

The Viking: Has the package been delivered?

Me: The Package is secure.

……..

Me: I probably should have gone pee before we put The Evil One in here. If I’m not out in 4 minutes send help. They should wear armour.

The Viking: For Fucksake!

There isn’t much change today except Izzie only slapped me twice. And Kent isn’t Superman. Apparently. Because he just cowers when she growls. Perhaps he’s too nice. That should never be a problem but when you are dealing with The Queen of Mean you have to stand your ground.

I hope I don’t have to get a third cat to save the second cat from the first cat.

PS:  We aren’t sure about Kent’s name.  He came in with two other cats – a female and a male – and the staff at the SPCA named them Lois, Clark and Kent.  Witty, but I’m not sure I like the name Kent.  Kent.  Kent.  Kent.  When The Viking, with his accent, is calling him….it sounds so close to….well, you understand.  On the other hand Clark Kent was a bit of a wuss until he became Superman.  And it will take Superman to tame Izzie, I’m afraid.  But Izzie’s name is Isolde so we thought Tristan was a great name.  Maybe I’ll go and make The Viking yell ‘Kent’ over and over to make sure it doesn’t turn ugly…….

Thanks for stopping by. Hopefully we can sit in the kitchen for coffee next time you come.

 

Thanks, as always, to Part Time Monster for hosting Weekend Coffee Share.

A Fart in the Wind

Like a fart in the wind, Christmas is over for another year. We ate and drank and laughed and spent time with loved ones……..well, the ones we loved at the time. It was all wonderful until Junior decided it wasn’t Christmas until the entire family was dead from disease. I’m pretty sure it’s the Hanta Virus. I had Ebola last year and this feels different.

We probably should have dipped him in a vat of disinfectant before allowing him in the vehicle with us but he looked completely healthy. He was smiling and joking and lulling us into a false sense of Christmas Spirit while the entire time he was incubating and encouraging the virus that would send us straight to hell on a wave of snot and diarrhea.

By the time it became obvious that he was sick it was too late. We should have thrown him out in the snow and burned the house down. That’s what we should have done but we didn’t because we were still harbouring some love for him. It’s amazing how quickly that love disappears though when one’s nose is a faucet and one’s legs have fallen asleep because you’ve been on the toilet for 42 minutes with no end in sight.

via GIPHY

The Viking went down like a ton of bricks and I followed shortly after. Our bathroom door became the centre of our existence. The toilet seat didn’t cool off for 48 straight hours. The only small blessing with the Hanta Virus is that it took up residence in our sinuses so we couldn’t smell the by-products. And when one wasn’t cursing Junior’s name to the Gawds, the other one was. In the space of two days he wiped out The Viking, me, Mim, MimsMan and Stanley – his father. No military operation could have been as efficient.

Mim sent me a message on Facebook: “It’s official. We’re dying. Our cat is the only nanny we have right now.”

I sent a message back: “You’re lucky you have a Nanny cat. We have a…..a……well, the OPPOSITE of a Nanny cat.”

Izzie bit me while I was in a Buckleys/Nyquil stupor and drew blood because she wanted to play. I explained we were deathly ill, in all probability dying, and she just stared at me with those flat, dead eyes. I finally just gave in and started rubbing her head but I nodded off and my hand stopped moving. Her little black body stiffened and her head whipped around to give me the stink eye until I started petting again. No Nanny here.  Here is a couple of pictures of our angel for your enjoyment:

Eventually we had to do something about sustenance. So far the only things we’d eaten in two and a half days are Dayquil/Nyquil tablets washed down with Buckleys. So, I put a toque on my head to cover my disaster of a hair-do and shlumped to the store. Pale and weak, my eyes running from Eucalyptus Oil fumes, I draped myself over a cart and slowly trolled the produce department. A mother pulled her kid out of my way, one woman grabbed the cross around her neck and held it toward me and an old man helped me get a bag of carrots into my cart but then he ran away immediately after. I didn’t mind because everyone sort of got out of my way.  Even in the check-out lane – 3 people let me go in front of them.

Shaking, sweating and nauseous, The Viking and I made Chicken Soup. I don’t remember exactly what we put in it aside from chicken and carrots. There is something green in there which may or may not be leeks and I think I recall peeling onions.  Oh!  And some soup noodles.

Junior called last night to tell me he’s feeling much, much better and I said “Whatever! Your days are numbered, boy! The rest of us are conspiring revenge. We are only in the initial phases of discussion but so far I can tell you it’s going to be ugly. Oh! And Mim is now my favorite child.”

He laughed. “Parents aren’t allowed to have favorites, Mooom. Dad loves us equally.”

“No, he doesn’t. You ensickened him too if you remember correctly.”

So, instead of catching up on newly released movies, we are sitting listlessly in front of the TV watching episodes of Midsomer Murders, wrapped and muffled with blankets, reeking of Eucalyptus. At random intervals one of us makes a mad rush for the bathroom and the other one pauses the show. Not that it matters because we keep nodding off and have no idea how they solved the damn murder anyway.

And now there’s an undertone of competition happening between The Viking and I.  He coughs and then I cough, except my cough sounded a little worse than his cough so he coughs again only more miserably.  I can’t let him have the win so I sneeze and then cough but then he doubles down on the sneezes and his cough turns into a gagging thing so then I have to make my cough be more gagging and finish off with a prolonged wheeze.  But he’s better at wheezing than I am so I have to up the ante with a higher fever which I’m better at because Menopause.  It’s exhausting being us.

And Damn You Junior!  You will rue the day…….

 

Coffee Gawd

Bless me Coffee Gawd, it’s been a month since my last visit. In my defence I’ve been busy. First there was the holiday to Arizona and then there was the fallout of said holiday.

What is it about a vacation that makes you more tired when you get home than you were before you left? Are the Vacation Gawds assholes? Shouldn’t we be leaping out of bed on our first day back at work, excited to see what the day has to offer? Shouldn’t the ringing phone be a pleasant sound instead of a deafening siren of impending doom? I thought the whole purpose of vacations was to revitalize and re-energize, but I have about the same amount of vitality and energy as a damned Bassett Hound.

We’ve been home for six days and our Overnight Bag hasn’t unpacked itself yet. I’m tired too, but that’s no excuse to make me search the bag repeatedly every day looking for another toiletry. And the laundry hasn’t sorted itself either! It’s only one bag and it only takes a minute to start the washing machine. What is it waiting for?  It hasn’t been on vacation! There’s a bra in there that I need!

I dragged my ass to the grocery store so we at least had some coffee and a sandwich. The fridge is behaving as though it has all the time in the world to restock. Where are the salads and cheeses?! This is the perfect weather to make a nice beef roast with mashed potatoes and gravy and maybe some sesame carrots. The stove is just waiting to get going. You’re holding up the proceedings, Fridge!

Izzie seems to be the only person happy to be home again. She’s running and leaping and jumping and whatever the fuck else she does in the middle of the night. “Yes, I know you want to play but can’t you see that I’m in no shape to be moving from my computer chair? And the lacerations and bitings are not helping your case! And we aren’t in the truck anymore so find somewhere else to sleep that isn’t my shoulder!

The Viking comes into the house and plops in his computer chair. “Is there anymore coffee?” He’s so tired his lips barely move, combined with the Danish accent it comes out more like “Z en mo kuf e”. I mumble back, “S” while I jerk myself back to a vertical position and my eyes snap open. Where the fuck is Daylight Savings Time when you need it?! NOVEMBER 6th?! I can’t wait that long! I need that hour now!

It didn’t help that we must have eaten something on our way home that didn’t entirely agree with our intestinal tracts. That’s the problem with driving 2300 kilometers (1430 miles) in a day and a half – you are at the mercy of the Fast Food Industry. The Fridge didn’t help matters by being empty; it’s not like it didn’t know when we would be home. I specifically told it so we wouldn’t be shocked and surprised if it had a date over.

Anyway, that’s why I haven’t been by for a visit, Coffee Gawd. If you think about it, it’s probably for the best that I didn’t come sooner. I wouldn’t wish myself on anyone in this condition. It’s Saturday though. Maybe The Viking won’t notice that I’m not getting out of bed. If the fucking Fridge and Stove would cooperate and put something hot on the table for him at dinner time I could conceivably stay in bed until Monday morning at 8:58am. I need time to dress and commute to my computer chair. Apparently the phones won’t answer themselves.

Bastards.

 

Dear Road Trip Diary

Day One

The Viking and I have a 37 foot Fifth Wheel trailer, two Seadoos and a little Honda motorcycle in storage in Lake Havasu City, Arizona.  Every April and October we drive down to visit our belongings and enjoy the sizzling heat for 3 or 4 weeks.

This October’s trip began without much ado, which concerned me.  Every  vacation must have its drama and I prefer mine to happen before we actually begin the vacation rather than in the middle or near the end.  Let’s just get it out of the way so we can enjoy.  There should be hair-raising curses, arm waving, tears and mumbled threats while we try to find all the shit we haven’t used since the last time we went to Havasu.  We should sit in the truck in stoney silence until we hit the Tim Horton’s in Fort McLeod where we strategically pee, order coffee, breakfast sandwiches and Tim Bits.

But I changed things up this time.  I decided to try a new approach – leave everything to the last minute and then panic.  As a strategy for a fairly long vacation, I don’t recommend it.  At one point, The Viking looked at me like he was about to say something so I screeched to a halt and said “Just do yourself a favor and don’t comment on my organization skills, alright?  And it might be a good idea not to talk to me at all!”  He must have decided it was sound advice because he didn’t make a sound – he just backed up slowly, not making eye contact until he was close enough to the door to make an escape.

And that’s where we made the mistake.  He should have accused me of being lazy and I should have yelled that he was insensitive and then he should have questioned my intelligence and I should have outlined my theory on why he’s never been married and he should have hollered about my procrastination and I should have bellowed about him leaving everything on my shoulders.

But we didn’t and I dared to think that this trip would be different than all the other ones.  Sucker.

Once the cat, The Viking and I squeezed in the truck with all our shit, we set off.  It became clear almost immediately that Izzie wasn’t happy with the mode of transportation because she started shouting and calling us names, some of which I’d never heard a cat use before.  And, to be honest, I was a little impressed with her eloquence.  The Viking and I are constantly surprised by her capacity to swing wildly between beautiful, gentle sweetheart to a biting, vengeful Harpy in a micro-second.

izzie-in-the-back-window

She carried on for several hours, only stopping for a few moments when The Viking and I started shouting and yowling too.  She wasn’t amused.  Eventually, she crawled up between the back of The Viking’s head and the head rest.  It was the perfect position to minimize the bouncing and bumping of the truck, but it also gave her the ability to stare at my left ear with The Stink Eye for the next 300 kilometers.

Having failed miserably to get me to return her home, she then took up a position between my head and the head rest in order to gift The Viking with The Stink Eye.  And that was her location when we crossed the border into Montana.

Border Guard:  What’s the purpose of your visit?
The Viking:  Vacation.
Border Guard:  And what is your destination?
The Viking:  Lake Havasu City, Arizona.
Border Guard:  How long will you be staying in Arizona?
The Viking:  Three weeks.
Border Guard:  That’s a long vacation.
The Viking:  Yes.
Border Guard:  Do you have $10,000 or more in your possession?
The Viking:  I wish!  I mean, no.
Border Guard (squinting suspiciously):  Any firearms?
The Viking:  N….
Border Guard:  Is that a cat?!
The Viking:  Um…yes.
Border Guard:  Does she ride there all the time?
The Viking (turning to look at Izzie behind my head):  Um….yes.
Border Guard:  She’s a cutie.  It’s okay.  I don’t need to see her documents.
The Viking:  ……
Border Guard:  Here’s your passports, have a wonderful day.
The Viking:  Um….thank you.

We were both a bit stunned for a few minutes.  Finally, I said:  “I guess he’s a cat-loving Border Guard”.  In hindsight, I think he was just taking pity on us.  He could probably see the sheer evil residing in the eyes of the ‘cutie’.

She was very needy but overall she weathered the first day sort of fine.  The Viking and I were sort of fine as well.  We arrived at our target of Arco, Idaho about 8:30pm and Izzie was….well…..fucking ecstatic!

Day Two

We loaded all our shit back into the truck to an audience of 3.  I don’t know who these people were, they didn’t appear to be staying at the hotel, but they seemed to like what we were doing.  Maybe it was a new thing the residents of Arco were supplying to tourists.

Without really trying, The Viking and I can produce a Laurel and Hardy-esque performance.  I would try to help load stuff up and The Viking would unpack the things that I packed and then pack other things instead.

He says “Please stop.”
I say “I’m just trying to help.”
He says “You’re doing it all wrong.”
I say “I didn’t know there was such a thing as a wrong way to put shit in the truck.”
He says “There is and you’re doing it.”
I say “Just because it’s not your way of doing things doesn’t mean it’s wrong, you know.”
He says “Yes it does.”
I say “Fine.” and stand on the sidewalk beside the other 3 spectators and watch him do something like solving a Rubik’s Cube in the back seat of the truck.  It makes me want to go pull something out from the bottom like ‘Jenga’ but I keep my impulse under control.

We wave goodbye to our audience and hit the road.  And that’s when things got interesting again.

Izzie is howling like we’re torturing her.  When we stop, just down the road, to fill up with fuel, I make a small change to the backseat Jenga puzzle.  I move the Sirius Boom Box from the middle of the back window to the right side of the back window and make a bed for the damned howling cat so she can see out the front window.  It didn’t help.

We had barely cleared the town limits when Izzie lost her fucking mind and in a complete frenzy of slashing claws and snapping teeth she attacked The Viking!  Yup!  It was a rodeo in the front seat as he tried to push her away and stop the truck while I tried to get a grip on the scruff of her neck.  Once I got a handle on her we sat in shocked silence, staring at the cat who was still spitting.

“Holy Fucking Hell!”

I wrapped her in my arms and put my hand over her face in an effort to calm her down.  “I guess we know how she feels about another day in the truck.” I ventured.

I had packed a small spray bottle of stuff called ‘At Ease’ and sprayed it in the truck.  She calmed down, closed her eyes and hunkered down against my boobs.  And then I noticed a pronounced rattling in the back seat.  It was the damned Boombox banging against the window!  Fucking Jenga!  Another stop to rectify that problem and several moments of The Viking staring at me in accusation and enduring the silent lecture on doing shit his way all the time from now on!  Gawd!  I hate it when he has proof to be self-righteous.

When we reach Wells, Nevada, we stop for a pee, coffee and some Dunkin’ Donut equivalents of Timbits.  The Viking went in to pee first because it was already getting hot and we couldn’t leave Izzie in the truck without the air conditioning.  While The Viking was inside, I sat watching a cluster of state troopers – six of them – and a couple other people fiddling with the engine on a car two parking spots down.  I thought maybe an animal got caught in there or something because I couldn’t quite explain to myself why 6 troopers would be fixing a car like mechanics but apparently that’s exactly what was going on.

In the meantime, The Viking came back out and I went in to pee and buy the coffee and donut holes.  Then things got even more interesting.

While I had been fetching refreshments, Izzie was berating The Viking, calling him names and biting and he had finally had enough!

“I’ve had enough of this fucking cat!!  What the fuck is her problem?!  This is bullshit!  Does she need more space?!  I suppose I have to take everything out and put it in the back of the truck?!  FUCK!!”

And he proceeded to do just that.  The carefully constructed Rubiks/Jenga puzzle in the back seat was unceremoniously tossed in the box of the truck: power inverter, our orthopedic pillows, the CPAP machine, the cooler and a couple other things were heaved out, accompanied by shouted curses and death threats against the cat.

I grabbed Izzie and pushed her into her kennel.  I tried to calm The Viking but there is no talking to Blood-Eye the Beserker – ‘At Ease’ doesn’t work on Vikings apparently.  I climbed into the back of the truck and tried to arrange things so they wouldn’t fly out of the box while we were driving.
Blood Eye shouted at me to “Leave that fucking shit right where it is!!!!!!” and he promptly got into the cab and waited for me to join him.

As I was getting out of the box of the truck I happened to glance up and 2 of the 6 state troopers were walking past.  At that point I may or may not have actually rolled my eyes and tipped my head back in resignation.  I got into the truck and was putting on my seatbelt when there was a tap on the driver’s side window and there were the 2 troopers.  The Viking rolled down his window.

“Afternoon, sir.  Is everything alright here?”

“The fucking cat is driving me nuts!”  The Viking said reasonably shouted.

The closest Trooper looks past The Viking over to me.

Okay, let me just say that I’ve have only been pulled over by police once in my entire life and that was a routine traffic stop checking everyone’s driver’s license and registration.  I almost cried.  I was 24 years old.  I’m more than twice that age now.

And I’m fairly sure that I looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Sir.  Would you step out of your vehicle please.”  It wasn’t a question.

The closest cop puts his hand on the pistol case on his belt.  The second cop takes a position slightly behind and to the side of the first cop.

“Shit.”  A small part of me wanted to just drive away and leave him with his new friends.  I’m a reasonable woman though, and decided that instead of making a shiv out of his toothbrush, I should probably go and save him.  I can hear The Viking shouting about the Boombox and the cat and the Rubiks Cube construction in the back seat and his frustration.  I should probably intervene.

I got out of the truck and smiled nervously at the troopers.  “Sorry.  It’s just been a long drive, and we’re a little tired and the cat is being bad and we just needed to blow off a bit of steam.  We’re fine now.”  I smiled again.

The second Trooper takes a step towards me and looks me in the eyes.  “Are you sure, ma’am?”

“Yes.  I’m completely sure.  Sorry for the bother.”

“No problem, ma’am.  Have a good trip.”

And with that, The Viking and I climbed into the truck, put our seatbelts on and left Wells, Nevada.  Gawd.  We won’t be able to stop here on our way home.

We spent the remainder of the day not speaking to each other.  Izzie spent the next hour and a half in her kennel until she finally stopped name calling and making threats.  Our plan was to overnight in Laughlin, Nevada but apparently there isn’t a single hotel/motel that allows cats.  Fuck you, Laughlin!

We found a place called the Red Roof Inn in Needles, California though, that would allow the cat.  The room was spotless and very nice.  So, for anyone travelling with pets – especially cats – go to The Red Roof Inn in Needles, California.

Day Three

I had a lengthy conversation with Izzie about getting back into the truck.  It’s only for about an hour and then she can go into the trailer.  It seemed to have worked because she was completely reasonable, curled up on my boobs.

Epilogue

Izzie slept for two solid days once we were settled in the campground.  The Viking didn’t break any laws for a solid week.  And I did my level best to stay relatively sober.  Someone needs to keep their wits about them around here.

Coffee With Izzie – Disney, Destiny & My Inner Assassin

Good Morning! Come on in! The Coffee is almost ready and I’m in a terrific mood!

So, yesterday started like every other day. The Viking is supposed to get up at dawn but he rarely ever does. It’s almost like he doesn’t know he’s supposed to get up with the sun. It’s left to me to get him out of bed; it’s a chore but I try to have fun with it.

Once he’s vertical, we can talk……

Me: Play time! WooHoo! Come on! The plastic straps, the plastic straps, the plastic straps! Fuck! Okay. The fishing rod, the fishing rod, the fishing rod!  Really?  The crinkle toy, the crinkle toy, the crinkle toy!

The Viking: Coffee first.

Me: Dammit! Fine! Hurry up. Faster! Is that the absolute limit of your speed?

The Viking: Give me a minute! Stop sticking your feet under the faucet! I’m not drinking coffee that tastes like your fucking litter box!

Me: My feet are clean! I cleaned them myself!

The Viking: Are you ready for your breakfast?

Me: Now that you mention it, I’m starving!! Oh, wow! I am seriously starving! Hurry up with that food! Gawd! Are you ever slow! You’re useless! I bet you come from a long line of useless people. It’s a wonder you can dress yourself in the mornings. Come on Asshole! Get a move on! I am seriously going to shit on your pillow if you don’t get that food in the bowl…….

The Viking: Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m coming.

Me: It’s about fucking time! Leave. So I can eat. Now.

I know, right? The shit I have to put up with. Of course I actually say that to him.  I’ve never claimed to be a nice cat.  Really?  Why not? Then you are human whipped.  I say whatever the hell is in on my mind.

The Missus played with me for a little while – not nearly long enough in my opinion. I told her exactly how useless she is as well. So I had a short nap until The Viking came in for his morning constitutional. But he casually went to the bedroom like he might be thinking of playing with me, so I followed him and then he made a mad dash down the hallway with his tablet in hand and closed the bathroom door against me! I said:

“HEY!! HEY!! WHAT THE FUCK! THE DOOR IS CLOSED! LET ME IN RIGHT NOW! THIS IS THE KIND OF THING THAT MAKES ME LIKE YOU LESS! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU LOCKED ME OUT! YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I ENJOY LYING IN THE SINK, WATCHING YOU. I DON’T CARE IF IT SMELLS LIKE SHIT! I USE A LITTER BOX! TRY GOING THROUGH THAT FLAP DOOR AND THEN WE’LL TALK ABOUT SMELLING LIKE SHIT! OPEN THE DOOR RIGHT FUCKING NOW OR IT’S SHIT ON YOUR PILLOW. I SWEAR I AM GOING TO SAVE AN ESPECIALLY SMELLY, LARGE ONE JUST FOR YOU! OKAY…..YOU ASKED FOR IT BIG GUY! I WILL NEVER LAY ON YOU EVER AGAIN!”

And then he finally opened the door – that threat almost always works. No, I didn’t say ‘thank you’ because I shouldn’t have had to make those threats in the first place.

The remainder of the day went by slowly because The Missus only played with me once. There was one guy, though, who came through the door. He stuck his hand toward me and I thought I was going to get a bite in but then The Missus was all “Careful! She bites!” and he jerked his hand away. I did slap him a good one on the back of his hat when he walked past me to leave though. It’s something, I guess.

It was after supper that things got interesting. The Viking and The Missus were watching TV and I was laying on my castle perch. Then I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. It was moving slowly in jerky movements so I got down to get a closer look.

IT WAS A THING!! A LIVE THING!

I tried to high-five it but it took off running. I bounced after it and stepped on its tail. It smelled interesting. Why has The Viking and The Missus never brought me a toy like this before? It made little noises when it ran and I batted it around and tossed it into the air. I think the THING really liked it! We had a great time. The Viking wanted to know what I was doing but The Missus said:

“Shht! Leave her alone! She’s not bugging us!”

Eventually, the THING quit moving. I thought it might be sleeping so I lay down beside it and waited for it to wake up.

What did it look like?

dead-mouse

Oh! Haha! You mean before I killed it?

live-mouse

What? Well I didn’t know I killed it until The Missus said I killed it. I didn’t know it was called a mouse until The Missus said it, either! Don’t look at me like that! It’s instinct! I couldn’t have stopped myself from killing it any more than a bird could stop flying…..unless it’s an emu or an ostrich…..well, that’s just muddying the waters now.  The important point is that it’s our purpose in life! Embrace your inner assassin.

After a while The Missus went past for more water. On her trip back into the living room she stopped and really looked at the toy.

She said: “Holy Shit! That’s a real mouse!!” The Viking didn’t believe her at first but he got up and took a look for himself.

He said: “Yup. That’s a fucking mouse. How in the hell did it get in here?”

Her: It’s a pity mice don’t actually make and mend clothes like Disney would have us all believe.

Him: What?

Her: You know! Cinderella? The mice that made her dress? And birds don’t actually help the mice make the dress in real life, either.

disney-mice

Him: ….

Her: I’m not picking it up.

Him: I’m not either until I find something to grab it with.

Then The Missus turned her attention to me and she was all “Good girl, Izzie!! You killed a mouse! Yah!!!!” What followed was an orgy of treat giving and petting and praise and exclamations of “She’s only six and a half months old!” I basked. I think I like basking. Especially in praise.

And that’s why I’m in such a great mood today. I found my life purpose. And I’m still young! I can channel all my energy in one direction. I’m focused, like a lazer! I’m creating a patrol pattern throughout the house so I can be certain the perimeter won’t be breached without detection. I need a chase strategy – I can’t allow the intruders to find ‘bolt holes’ where I can’t reach them.  Soooo much to do!

Well, I suppose it would have been better to have found my purpose helping cats in need or in cat search and rescue, but that’s not up to me. I just answered the call of destiny, my friend.