19 posts tagged “pets”
Last night, I dropped the cap to my bottle of iced tea and before I could pick it up, Sylvester pounced it. He found this thing more entertaining than any cat toy we've ever gotten him. Guess I figured out one more way to cut corners with the rising costs of groceries and gas, huh?
Anyway, he was having so much fun whapping this thing around the house that I let him keep it. But later, when Lee had gone to bed and I was still reading, I realized he'd gotten pretty darn loud with it - scooting it across the floor and clanging it into walls. Lee's a light sleeper, so the next time Sly got near me with his bottle-cap toy I swooped it up and put it in the pocket of my jammies. Yeah, I know, how lazy can you get? But I was in the middle of a really good chapter.
Anyway, I forgot all about it and went to bed. And then, I kept "dreaming" all night that something was poking me in the hip. I pulled a muscle a while back that still aggravates me now and then, so I just assumed it was acting up again. I woke up this morning with a little round bruise on my hip, and a bottle cap in my pocket.
Why yes, I AM a dumbass.
It was a miserably hot day here today, so I found all sorts of indoor chores to avoid going out in the heat, even though the fridge is empty and was practically crying for me to take a trip to the grocery store. Lee was braver and did a boatload of yard work.
And now, I'm freshly showered and contemplating making a pot of coffee. The boys in my house are all snoozing. Vin is curled in his hammock, Lee is crashed out in bed for a nap after a swamp-ass hot day of yardwork
The Vinster's under his blankie, and you can't see much more than a covered lump. No real photo op there. I'd take a picture of Lee, but he'd get me back. No one likes to have their picture taken when they're sleeping. He did that to me once, when I was in one of those deep, dreamy sleeps that just might involve drooling a little. I'm a little gunshy with the camera after that, knowing that revenge is sweet
But Sylvester, on the other hand, is fair game:
He's crashed out on a tiger blanket in our old recliner. I guess he's showing the Big Cats who the real king of this jungle is, huh?
Heading out to the pub a bit later (its one of those days where I won't brave the swamp-ass weather in the daytime, but will venture out at night - I sometimes feel like a vampire in the summer) to hang out with my mom and perhaps my friend Sully. Tomorrow we plan to tackle the grocery store (or so we say anyway) and then hit the pool, which is the only place I AM guaranteed to go when the Swampass Season arrives.
Wouldn't it be awesome to just be a cat, snoozing away the hottest days in air conditioning and nary an errand to run, and finding yourself amazed for hours by a bottle cap?
Like people, most animals have annoying traits that drive you a bit bonkers sometimes. The Vinster has a habit of scratching at the floor of his cage if he thinks I should have already let him out for the day. And at some point, I’ve said the following to every single cat I’ve ever shared my home with:
“I love you, kitty, but would you PLEASE get your ass out of my face?”
Cats, at least cuddly ones, have no shame when it comes to this. One minute they’re nestled on your chest, head-butting you with their own cute little face. The next they’ve flipped around and you’ve suddenly got a butthole just inches from your nose. It really is quite gross.
Yes, there is a point to all this.
Last night, Lee and I were curled up on the couch relaxing. No wild Friday night for us, since this is the week he has to work on Saturday. That was fine with me, since my own workweek had left me feeling a bit like I’d been beaten with a baseball bat.
Anyway, the kitten curled up on the shoulder I wasn’t already using as a headrest. Lee was surrounded by the women in his life. Or so we thought. After a while, the kitty got restless, got up, and used Lee as a jungle gym for a bit. Then she paused to nuzzle me, and of course turned around and stuck her butt right in my face.
My normal reaction to this behavior is to squeal “ewwww” and quickly move my face. This time was no different in terms of how quickly I jerked myself away, but Lee noticed I was acting a bit strange.
“Sweetie, why are you staring at the cat’s ass?” He asked.
“Ummm … I’m not, actually. I’m staring at something else.”
“What?”
“Hold the cat up for a minute, OK?”
“Why?”
“Just do it, and you’ll see.”
He obliged me, and with the cat suspended in midair I showed him what I’d been staring at.
“Aren’t those … balls?” I asked.
He got a good look. “Oh. My. God. Our girl is a boy.”
Yep. It appears I did it again. I assumed a kitten was a girl, and then he went and proved me wrong by sprouting (well, dropping, actually) testicles.
We’ve gotten so used to the notion of “Sylvie” being a girl that it took us a moment to really believe what we were seeing. In fact, Lee said we should call Tom and Caroline, the neighbors who gave us the kitten, and have them take a look just to be sure.
“What are we going to do?” I asked. “Call them up and say ‘could you meet us at the fence to take a look at the cat’s balls?’ That’s not how most people want to spend a Friday night.”
But Lee was determined, since we’d all been sure our he was a she. Luckily for Caroline, she was at work, but Tom came out, took a look and said “I’ll be damned. You’ve got yourself a little boy.”
So I guess I need to reintroduce our cat.
Meet Sylvester.
Much of my journaling over the last 3 years has been about growth and major life changes. Changes in my circumstance, attitude, plans, reality and career came fast and furious for a while there.
These days, with the exception of the ever-changing landscape at work, things have mellowed out quite a bit. But change is still everywhere, all the time, and you notice it even more when you have a chance to catch your breath and observe it.
Like this:
Lee took this picture of the tree in our front yard just a few weeks ago. It was much thicker and fuller and grown last summer, but we cut it back because a large portion of the leaves had grown in brown and sickly-looking. Cutting it back was our attempt at saving it. And so far, that attempt seems to be working:
A few weeks of springlike weather, including lots of rain, makes a big difference!
And then, of course, there are changes in the animal life around here. Remember this, from sometime in April?
That little ball of fur now looks like this:
Sometimes, change is overwhelming and scary. But sometimes, it is just plain beautiful.
OK ... he's not mine exactly. He's my mom's, my sister's and my niece's. But he is the sweetest and most loving dog ever, and when you're at my folks' house you can't help but feel that he's adopted you. In fact, there's no way you can NOT pet Bailey. He'll just nudge and poke at you until you do.
He's also the "miracle dog" that my family almost just lost because he ate a sock and got it stuck in his intestinal track. Much surgery and stress later, he's back to normal. So I'm extra glad he's here to have these moments.
To all the Vox Moms out there!
I'm not a mom myself. But last night, I got a glimpse of what the whole parenthood thing means. My mom, sister and I went to see my niece in a dance recital. The recital was at a local high school, and was primarily numbers from the high school dance company. My niece is in elementary school, and her dance teacher happens to be the same woman who runs the high school company. So the elementary schoolers got to come in and do one number, at the end of the show.
All the elementary school moms I was with sat lovingly through the entire show to see their little ones on stage for maybe 5 minutes. The rest of it was the high schoolers strutting their stuff. Which, while entertaining, was not what a large number of those moms had planned on seeing this particular night.
See, Kenny Chesney was in town yesterday, doing a show at a nearby concert pavilion. Most of the moms, including my sister, are HUGE Kenny fans. And many had sold or given up their Kenny tickets (again, including my sis), when the dance recital got scheduled for the same night. They all joked about how they could be there now, instead of spending two hours watching a bunch of high school girls twist and turn and bounce so that they could witness their own kiddos' five minutes on stage. But the bottom line was they did it lovingly and without regret, because their children had worked so hard for this moment and were so excited about getting on that stage.
And that to me pretty much sums up what moms are all about.
My niece, by the way, rocked. I may not be a mom, but I am a very proud aunt.
I brought the camera to take some pictures at the recital, only to find out that cameras weren't allowed. But since I had it with me, I took some pictures of my little brother instead. I never mentioned a brother? Oh, well. That's because he's ugly. So ugly that he's cute, and my mom even named him Otis Ugly:
I love this little dog. My parents have had him for years. He snorts and grunts and flies through the yard trying to bite the other dogs' tails, and never stops barking, and gives all sorts of attitude. When I house-sit for my parents, he crawls on top of me when I'm sleeping and stares down in my face, and I wake up thinking I'm looking at an alien or a very large bug. But he's precious just the same.
Of course, the little brother thing is a joke, but my mother always proudly said that she tries to treat her dogs just like her kids. Our family photo albums have just as many pictures of the various dogs that grew up with my sister and I as they do of us ourselves. Since for whatever reason my parents always had male dogs, I've always joked about having four-legged brothers.
That's one of the things I love the most about my own mom - her love of animals and the way we always had pets in our family and how the joy of critters was instilled in me and my sister pretty much from birth. I can't imagine life in a family that didn't have pets.
I mean, LOOK at him? What would the world be like without Otis Uglies?
Happy Mother's Day to all!
I mean, for real. Just look at this little one.
One of the strays my neighbor feeds and cares for recently had four kittens. In case it isn't obvious, Lee and I took one in. My neighbor twisted our arm really hard. By that I mean she plopped the kitten in Lee's arms and called him "daddy."
She's the runt of the litter. At least, we think she's a she. Today. I've been wrong on that with kittens before.
She doesn't have a name yet, partly because I wanna be sure she really IS a girl before I pick one. She's a little skittish, but she's eating well and starting to initiate snuggles rather than just tolerating them.
Yep, now we've got two baby critters and one grown weasel.
We knew it was only a matter of time, right?
Lee and I decided this weekend that it was time for The Vinster to have a new friend and playmate. Ferrets are social critters, and even though he's got a ton of weaselfriends next door that's just not the same as having someone to curl up with at night.
So, now, Vin's got a little sister. Meet Cleo:
She's a tiny baby weasel. You can see how small she is in this next picture, with The Vinster:
Obviously, Vin wasn't into getting his picture taken at that moment. He's excited about his new roomie one minute, and a little confused the next. Overall it has been a really smooth transition. I've had cases where a dominant ferret wanted nothing to do with a newcomer, or wanted to kick his or her butt for a while before things settled down and they became buddies. I've had to keep ferrets separate for a while during their integration period. That's won't be the case with Vin and Cleo. Since he's a grown boy and she's just a baby, he's taken on a tolerant big brotherly role. And he's clucking and dooking (those are happy weasel noises, for those who don't know) all over the house.
As for Cleo, she's just the sweetest thing. At the pet store, I told Lee to pick which baby ferret he wanted, since he's never actually gotten one before - Vin and Gin were an already-here package deal who came with me. But I was hoping he'd pick her, and he did. She's very loving and cuddly, but playful too. And she's going to be an ankle biter, for sure. Here's Lee and Cleo together.
And don't worry. We're making sure The Vinster knows he's still the Big Boy Weaz of the house and has lots and lots of love:
My neighbors have six ferrets. As you might guess by my blog name, my email address and my general insanity, I used to be a sixweaseler myself. So going over there always brings back happy memories. Lee and I took Vin over on Saturday, and we people-types hung out and had breakfast while the weasel types did more weasely things, like sniff each other's butts:
That's Vin getting the once-over from his new friends. Hey, he's going to be living with this crew for several days while we're in Vegas, so we might as well get the inevitable overwith.
It has been a productive weekend around here. That's what happens when Lee and I kick back and chill instead of going to The Pub.
The front door is now painted a beautiful country yellow with white trim. That was Lee's project last night. This morning, he's outside with my father's chainsaw cutting down tree limbs. The tree in our front yard turned half-brown and sickly this summer, so we're hoping if he cuts off the limbs it will grow back in better shape and feel more like itself again. We'll see.
The scary thing was how close this tree is to the house. We were both afraid one of the branches was going to go through the kitchen window during this little project. Luckily, neighbor Tom came over and ran interference, which was going to be my job. Lee, me, and the house are much better off this way, and I spent the time doing things more suited to an uncoordinated clutz like myself - safe chores like putting away the groceries and cleaning Vin's cage.
Did I mention that we watched the end of Texas Chainsaw Massacre II last night, and that sound is REALLY creepy at the moment?
The best news of all is that Bailey is doing OK at the moment. He's even eating. Now they just have to go on poop watch again, and if he succeeds in taking a dump he can come home Tuesday. Hopefully I won't be asking my blog friends for poop vibes too much longer!
And in the irony that is life, they re-routed the bus service in our neighborhood. For over a year now, I've had to take two buses to get to work - one going in the opposite direction downtown to get a connection to campus. Starting tomorrow, the bus that runs up my street goes right to the college.
The irony in this is that by the end of March, we should finally have a car.
Happy Sunday!
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I've been a bit on the lame side as far as blogging goes lately, in both the writing and reading categories. The stuff of life has been catching up to me these days, I guess.
Like Bailey. Poor guy. My mom and sister brought him home on Wednesday, and by Thursday morning they could tell he was going downhill again fast. They took him back to the vet, and it turned out things weren't healing properly and they had to go back in and do some "reconnection." Scary stuff. This time, they want to keep him until at least Tuesday. One of the vets says the prognosis is good, the other is much more cautious. Mom is really scared.
That's a picture of Bailey from this summer, hanging out by the pool. My parents have an in-ground pool and he loves climbing down the first two steps and just laying there in the water. He doesn't swim, he just chills. I want him to be able to do that again this summer so badly.
And of course, there's work, the neverending curse of those not born rich. It seems to get more insane by the hour.
We're also holding a retirement party for my ex-boss this coming week. He actually retired back in January, but he's still working part-time as a consultant. We share the office I work in on the project I'm on, so I actually see more of him than when he was my boss. That makes it weird to plan his retirement party.
On top of that, most of the details have been left up to me, and I truly suck at grown-up parties. I'm really bad at planning details like foo-foo desserts and finding the right people to give speeches. I don't do elegant, or classy, and that's kind of on purpose. I've played social organizer in my group of friends before, but all that entails is figuring out where everyone wants to meet for dinner or beers. I can't cook, my house has always been too small for parties where I play the grown-up hostess rather than the college dorm-style booze and pizza fest, and I'm lazy. So this is a serious challenge for me. What makes it even crazier is that since I do share an office with the ex-boss, and there's no sure way to keep him from hearing my phone conversations or seeing my email, I have to do things like hide out in the lady's room with my cell phone.
He's totally worth it. He was an awesome boss and is still an awesome coworker and friend. But he deserves someone much more Martha Stewartish than I'll ever be for a party planner.
Lee and I had a quiet Valentine's day. Java Janie wrote about how for her and Steve, Valentine's Day seems to come daily. We're much like that too, always doing little things to celebrate our love and our happiness at being together without really thinking about it. So on V-day, we worked, had dinner, exchanged small gifts, and snuggled with each other and the Vinster.
And now the weekend is here, which always rocks.
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