It’s been a bad week on the pet front out here. Okay, we knew what we were getting into when we ended up with three of them being 15, 16 and 21.
we have another bad year coming up in five to ten years, since the “babies” are 10 and 11.
Except as those of you who are cat people know, we never actually chose this. They came to us, and we ran out of alternatives on finding them a home.
So far so good. Everyone still alive. But D’Argatnan cat possibly not for long. The fact he’s the worst patient ever doesn’t help. He refuses to eat the expensive prescription food, cheek pouches his tablets, and apparently means to go out as cantankerous and self-willed as he lived.
Euclid… well. I need to figure out if he screams because he’s demented or screams because he’s in pain, or just screams. To an extent we’ve been putting off that decision while his quality of life deteriorates, and of course, because they can’t speak making a decision is hellish. I’m going to feel guilty if I delay and guilty if I take him on that last, sad trip. What I’d like to do for him, which is make him a thriving 5 year old again is not given to human.
Greebo we might have with us a few more years, if the hyperthyroidism treatment worked. Sometimes, if it’s cancer, it doesn’t work. And we won’t know for sure for probably three months. Meanwhile he’s upset because he’s boarded away from me, until the law no longer requires us to store his poop. (No, I know, but I also don’t want to go to prison or on a no-fly list for putting radioactive material in the trash, even if the law is insane, okay?)
So I remembered that in happier days long, long ago there was a website I’d since lost track of in which the owner kept track of “bad pet” stories written in the form the cats or dogs would write them if they were kids writing something a hundred times.
Like this, the one entry I remember clearly for no good reason: I will not eat spider plants and then hallucinate and fight imaginary enemies behind the toilet.
There are others I remember for reason, including the entries sent in by a Catholic priest whose cat seemed to have a theological obsession.
I will not follow my keeper to six am mass, place myself in the middle of the isle and convince all the elderly parishioners I’m possessed by standing and sitting at all the right times.
I realize that my keeper can’t make my food into communion, so I’ll stop making him do the sign of the cross over my food before I eat it.
There were others, including very silly things about not recognizing his keeper in vestments, but I don’t remember them as clearly.
One of my own contributions was Miranda cat (top weight around 5 lbs), the kids’ bunkbed when they were little, and our ceiling fan set to go slow (and backward) in winter to help heat circulation.
The ceiling fan is not a carousel. I will not sit loafed on a blade and scare my little human brother who thinks I’m going to fall.
It occurred to me if you guys send your own bad pet stories to my book promo address (make sure the subject says Bad pet) I can make this an occasional feature when I have a million things to do and don’t want to think of a Saturday morning.
I’ll lead on with some of the current cat crop.
Valeria – Greebo is not the anticat and judging from markings he’s probably my brother. I will not sound the alarm at anti-aircraft levels when he comes downstairs in the middle of the night to eat some food.
Greebo – If mommy takes a break from writing to take a nap because she got up early to work, I will not attempt to put her glasses back on and herd her to the computer. I don’t pay her. And I’m not the reincarnation of a long-dead editor. (Probably.)
Havelock – I will not for the only time in my life develop an overwhelming interest in hygiene and start licking myself while leaning against mom while she’s a sleep. She doesn’t like being shaken, and I’ve only not taken flying lessons because she loves me.
Euclid – If I didn’t piss and poop wherever I happen to stand, I wouldn’t be confined. I shouldn’t lament night and day because it’s not going to help. Also, who are you? and Millennium hand in shrimp.
D’Artagnan – I will not pouch my pills in order to spit them on the kitchen floor. They’re the only thing keeping me alive, and mom doesn’t care if I self identify was a squirrel.
Havey again – Mom’s robe belt is not a toy, and I won’t leap around like a lunatic trying to kill it, just because she hung it on the bed. Also dad’s hand while he’s a sleep is not a toy, and attempts to hunt down his fingers will get me thrown out of the bedroom. Also the computer cord is not a toy. In fact the world is full of things that aren’t a toy, and I will admit this. Someday.
Valeria again – Mom’s Wandering Jew Plant has no known nutritional value. And I’m not a plant designer. I’ll stop trying to nibble new shapes into the leaves that grow down into my range. Also given the name of the plant, mom is starting to wonder if I’m possessed by Corbyn.
D’Artagnan again – While sneaking upstairs to eat the upstairs cats’ food is lots of fun, I should understand it is in no way good for a kitteh in renal failure. I have to think whether the joy up upsetting Havelock outweighs shortening my life.
Greebo again – Mom is allowed to sit elsewhere than at her desk. Also, she can type on things other than novels, (even if she has no idea how I know.) Mom is now indie, so no one is paying me. I must stop amusing myself by being the author’s taskmaster.
Anyway… That’s it. I need to go clean.
128 thoughts on “Caturday, the Bad Pets Edition”
With our second and third cats, we took them to the vet at a certain point and got a terminal diagnosis. Both times we brought them home because there was a chance that they might improve or stabilize. And both times we took them back for that final visit a couple of days later, because what they were suffering was more than we could bear to inflict on them. So we’re thinking that with our fourth cat, when the day comes when we ask, “Is it time for euthanasia?”—we should assume that by the time we’re asking that question, the answer is yes, and not “let’s take a few more days and make sure.”
**when the day comes when we ask, “Is it time for euthanasia?”—we should assume that by the time we’re asking that question, the answer is yes, and not “let’s take a few more days and make sure.”**
Every. Single. Time.
Also, what is with animals that they go into sudden decline Saturday night after it is too late for your regular clinic? Sometimes they make it until Monday. Sometimes they don’t. This last time … we went to the emergency veterinarian clinic at 11:30 PM Saturday night.
Aw, the theological cat! Actually, not surprising that a cat would imitate the motions, since there are yoga dogs and yoga cats. Demanding a blessing on his food was probably also imitation (though really, if you are a priest and can bless things, why not go crazy with it? Blessings of animal fodder have a long history.)
But actually, there are tons of Irish saints who allegedly had pets who were liturgically or scholastically helpful (barking at canonical times of prayer, adopting prayer-like attitudes, that sort of thing). So yeah, modern people just take these things wrong.
I admit, my first thought on the “possessed” was “surely it would imply some kind of opposite of that?”
Old ladies are odd.
Me, too! Very UNdemonic behavior.
My guess is old ladies had cornered the poor priest and told him the cat might be possessed (Rolls eyes.) Judging from the village, old ladies can be silly.
Yep. Because cat, probably.
The correct response is that cats are clean animals, and, so long as they don’t jump on the altar are perfectly good to be in the services.
Dogs on the other hand…
I wonder if the theological cat could see things the priest couldn’t and knew the blessings and actions were actually doing something worthwhile.
When C was studying Indian art, there was a photo of a very ancient sculptured wall that included a cat doing a sun salutation yoga pose, while mice gathered around his feet and admired how holy he was. . . .
Arjuna’s Penance bas relief
*remembers the chicken we had who would: eat neatly from a plate without standing on it, drink coca cola -and run into the room if she heard the ‘pssshhht’ of opening a bottle – refused to sleep outside the house, sat on the edge of a chair neatly like a person, would ‘talk’ to you, sleep with you in your bed, and nested in the home*
Wow. That’s SOME chicken!
You don’t eat a chicken like that all at once!
I miss that chicken. Youngest brother raised her; she used to sleep on his head, or next to him until she was full grown. She used to think she was a human.
Most of the species are horrid little murderbirds, but sometimes you get a truly amazing and remarkably smart, sweet, cuddly bird (who, if they are outdoor chickens, sadly doesn’t tend to last long–they’re so friendly, they try to make friends with predators…)
Lilly: I will not wake up Dad at the middle of the night and play “hard to get” when he wants to take me outside. 😉
Mayhem—I will not climb the Christmas tree with all thirteen plus pounds of me, no matter how fun it is, because it causes my humans to take down the wonderful gym before I destroy it.
Shenanigans—I will not disappear for half the day, leading my humans to wonder if I got lost or shut into a space.
Hijinks—These monkeys are not going to eat me during the day. I should not treat them differently in daylight.
Hahaha, I love your kitty names SO MUCH.
Kensie (Irish Wolfhound): I will not sit on the whippet just because she’s sleeping on the couch cushion that I want to sit on.
Sara, the seizure-prone Lab Retriever/Australian Shepherd cross has to take milk thistle to help her liver . She’s barely willing ti take pills (half a Pepcid is doable), but a capsule isn’t going to be swallowed. Ever.
So, we grind up her breakfast and mix in the milk thistle (Cuisinart mini processor for the win). I’ll mix this with water to make a porridge. Part of her seizure issues is that she’s *very* slow at waking up, and is willing to stand 3 feet from her food bowl until she’s assured that we love her. Once she’s processed that blessing, she’ll’ eat.
OTOH, Angie the Border Collie tends to wake up early on her own. If she’s hearing critters (usually deer, but occasional big cats; the local cougar weighs 100 pounds), she’ll start barking, usually at 4:30-5AM. If she’s just awake and bored, she’ll start kissing $SPOUSE, since I usually get up around 4 and am not available to pester.
OTOH, Angie takes care of her older (2 years) sister, but barking if Sara has to go to the kennel for potty breaks.
Horus*: If I stick a claw in the water bed, dad will fix it when he gets soaked.
Also Horus: if I stick a claw in Dad’s nose when he’s sleeping, I’ll learn to fly.
Still Horus: Since I’m a black on blackish tiger striped cat, maybe Dad won’t mind if I sleep on the dark part of the stairs.
(*) A tom I had in the late ’70s.
Since I’m a black on blackish tiger striped cat, maybe Dad won’t mind if I sleep on the dark part of the stairs.
When I was growing up, we had a chocolate lab, and it turns out that dark brown is even better for being invisible at night than black is. I can’t remember the number of times I woke up to a puppy’s yelping followed by my father’s apologies.
The border collie informed us as a puppy that the crate door Must Not Be Closed, while the lab-aussie doesn’t mind. (The latter is prone to nighttime peeing because reasons.) As a result, the BC can be found in strange places. We don’t let her roam around the house at night (after she got lonely in the living room and woke everybody else). But, she’ll move around, retreating to her crate occasionally. She won’t sleep on the bed if my CPAP is running, though.
I’ll get up early, and much of the time, there’s a BC in my way. I walk *very* slowly. OTOH, this morning, I woke up very early, and needed a crowbar to get her to wake up and move out of the way. Sigh.
Max: I like curling up with mom at night, but I should probably stop biting her arm so that I don’t get pushed off of the bed.
Max again: I am aware that the floor is not lava, but climbing across all the furniture to get to my food is fun. That’s the only place where the floor isn’t lava, btw.
You all made me lol.
What a handsome boy Greebo is. Looks much like our current Hiccup (Who looked more like the dragon Toothless from How to Train Your Dragon as a kitten). Hiccups white patch is not on his chest but about where his waistline would be showing his tighty whiteys.
From our Kittehs current and in loving memory
Hiccup: I shall forego waking Mommy and Daddy at 4 in the morning on weekends just because there is heavy rain on the windows. Rain is extremely scary.
Stoic: I shall not hunt the hamsters that run the printer and push the pieces of paper out. And standing on the output tray is right out.
Tyger: I shall not eat any more threaded needles nor christmas ribbon as abdominal surgery is unpleasant. Although that curling ribbon looks tasty
Mac: I shall not be offended at people say “What a huge cat”. Like my hero Fezzik I can’t help it if I’m the biggest and the strongest, I don’t even exercise.
I shall refrain from dropping reptiles and amphibians at my Mommy’s feet. She seems not to appreciate how hard they are to catch and Daddy told me one of the newts might be endangered. Which is true as it was dead and dismembered.
Spike: I shall not hide in pump organs (again) giving heart failure to my parents. I shall stand guard at my Kitten’s (Elder Daughter) door while I have strength in me as this task is mine and mine alone.
There are nights the two current cats(Hiccup and Stoic) slink past Elder Daughter’s door as if there were something there they dare not challenge.
Greebo has white on his underside, human patterned. Yes, underarms and pubic triangle. So does his almost for sure sister, Valeria.
🙂 It’s funny.
Do you see his very intent eyes, though? He’s one of the smartest cats EVER.
I see the little white at the armpits now that you mention it. Yeah that look in the eyes is a distinctive. It of course looks far more malevolent in a black cat. There’s a bit of “You and what army” to it, fitting in a companion for you.
As for white patches it’s interesting in cats. My understanding is that the cat gene for that only makes it possible for white patches, where they are and overall quantity depends on the environment in the womb. The white shows up at places that are warmer, So tummy, armpits etc are common. But occasionally you get some odd ones, Stoic has an isolated patch on his shoulder, likely where one of his litter mates had their head or a paw throughout their time in the womb.
White is a gene of suppression, actually. CAN be activated in womb, or just be there.
White cats are really black.
He’s not evil at all, actually. Well… not to me.
>> “Do you see his very intent eyes, though? He’s one of the smartest cats EVER.”
He looks almost like he’s plotting vengeance.
If I ever actually go and pick out a cat (as opposed to just taking in friendly strays) I’d like to get a smart one; I love my current ones but they’re not too bright.
Anyway, here’s a few for your cat list:
Even though I am still a hyperactive kitten, I shall not use this as an excuse to jump on Daddy’s testicles every other time he tries to sleep. I shall only do it every third time so as to be less predictable.
If I want to earn my own food and keep it inside, I shall not use mice and birds for this purpose. I shall instead learn to hold a job and cash a paycheck.
I shall not sneak into a storage room, get locked in for two days without food or water and only cry for help only once Daddy has already opened the door and found me. And I most certainly shall not keep trying to sneak into that same room afterwards because seriously what the HELL is wrong with me?!?
And one for dogs:
I am a full-grown great dane. I shall not flee in terror from a fist-sized ball of yapping fur that I could swallow in two bites. It is unbecoming.
Nemo: not even if the 15# furball thinks he’s 1500# of direwolf who wants to take on pit bulls two at a time.
He does have extremely intelligent eyes, and is a very handsome boy!
Our 1 y.o. solid black Cattus Maximus (Max):
I will not play-fight and bite the hand that feeds me. (Again, and again, and agin).
We also have a print by an artist named Leedy, of a couple in bed, with a cat standing on the mans’ chest, with a snarl on the cats’ face and one paw with a single claw extended pointing away, titled “Demando Cat”.
No matter when they leave all pets go too soon* but their tales remain forever.
No better saute is possible than recounting their victories over human expectation.
*there is the exception of Cappy, my mother’s “inherited” miniature poodle, as cantankerous and obstreperous a dog as ever lived domestically — and I say this as the only household member other than Mom that he seemed to like. My siblings were tolerated and Father … well, the decision to put the damned dog down was prompted by a several day hospital stay after he bit Dad’s hand and it not only got infected but barely missed permanently damaging tendons in several fingers.
Gagh! Revise and extend!!!
In second paragraph, strike “saute” and insert “salute.”
Was wondering if 0bama had hacked your account……….
The nastiest, meanest tempered dogs I’ve ever met have been miniature poodles. Normally, I’m the sort of person that dogs look at and go I LOVE YOU HOOMAN, but not those little bastards. Only time I’ve ever been bit by a dog was a mini poodle…
Miniature poodles know they ought be full-sized dogs and they know who to blame.
My suspicion is that smaller dogs get away with garbage that larger dogs can’t.
IMO This is both a matter of breeding and training. A large dog that did the stuff a smaller dog gets away with wouldn’t live to pass on those tendencies to its pups.
And of course, owners think/say “how cute” when a smaller dog “acts up”. A large dog would get the “bad dog” treatment.
I participate in a pack walk with a local trainer with Pepper (pictured above). She is typically the smallest dog on the pack walk, by a lot. The difference between her acting out when she decides she wants to play/interact with other dogs? Which for every new dog who hasn’t learned yet, even her is lunging, jumping around, and on it’s handler. Okay. For Pepper at 6 months, who at most weighed 10#’s, and could rear on her hind legs, maybe as high as my mid-shin. At almost 3 years she is (overweight) at 20#s, and can reach as high as my knee. She is bigger than a mini-poodle.
Compare that reaction to the other dogs much larger. Say the Great Dane, Great Pyrenees, Bernese, Saint Bernard, puppies, who at six months, weigh 80#s, and on their hind legs, protesting on leash, are taller than the handler. Or any of the “smaller”, but 3 to 4 times bigger dogs than Pepper, Pitty’s, Labs, and Golden Retrievers.
The trainer that puts on these pack walks has a saying. “It is not the dogs behave any different. It is the size of the behavior.”
FWIW, been seeing a lot more smaller dogs on pack walks.
Yeah. Both not training the dog out of problematic behavior, and not training oneself out of it, until the dog thinks nothing short of a bite will end an unpleasant situation and/or that a bite won’t get a serious response.
I get the impression this happens a lot with cats, too. I know there was one… I used to visit the local shelter just to hang out with them — the humans said it was okay — but there was this one cat that did not care to be socialized with. Didn’t like humans. Didn’t much care for other cats. One time when I had approached him (and backed off at a distinct lack of enthusiasm, thank you), one of the people working there explained that he’d recently gotten out of solitary confinement or some such after drawing blood from a visitor.
Now, as I recall the tale, she kept trying to pet him, and he had tried avoiding her and tried hissing at her and tried pushing her hand away, and the woman had ignored him and the volunteers urging her to stop. She got in his face one time too many and met teeth.
I didn’t feel up to adopting a cat, really, but I had fleeting visions of it out of sheer sympathy. I felt that in his position, I might have bitten her too.
Our cats are all well behaved– they’ve also been cussed out in cat every time they try to do Dominance Games with us.
I hope that cat at the shelter — who does seem to have been generally unsociable, but hardly precipitously violent, given the number of warnings — was ultimately adopted by someone who wanted to just, you know, share an environment with a cat. Or maybe just lived out his life at the shelter without being pestered too much. It’s been a while, and he was already kind of old, so the latter is not unlikely.
Before we got our dog, I did a lot of reading on dog training and dog behavior. There was something I came across that struck me as extremely useful, and it was only one trainer that pointed it out. He said that a lot of people work very hard on discouraging growling and related behaviors in puppies, leading to grown dogs that, when pushed too far, escalate immediately to biting because they’ve been accidentally taught not to warn first.
It strikes me that this applies to cats too. Our cat today, because we don’t discourage hissing – I appreciate warnings- spent the morning hissing at my niece every time she got close, letting me remove her before things escalated to scratches or biting. Of course, she was close because the distinctly-lacking-in-survival instincts critter kept returning and following her after she had been removed.
Trudy: I will not kiss the girls immediately after eating a mouse. Also, I will not kiss the girls while they’re wearing stage makeup. They object to mouse-breath and I object to lipstick!
Casper: I will not suffocate my human by curling up on his pillow at 2 AM and pressing my medium-long fur into his face.
Of course, there’s nothing quite like being woke up first thing in the morning by a cat blowing fish breath in your face.
Then there’s waking up in the middle of the night because a cat is sleeping between your feet and you can’t turn over.
Trudy: I will never, ever, ever again jump into the washing machine while the mistress is loading it. The dryer, however, is acceptable only while unloading. What is with humans and water anyway? Also I will check all counters to make sure there is no lurking sink before jumping up. The deep freezes are also unpleasant, I will not climb in them.
Bobbi (dog, also black, elderly): I will not sleep on the navy blue rug in the bathroom at night. Oh wait, yes, I will, and I will be offended when my Master (81, as of this week) steps on me and falls: humans should use light switches!
Bobbi is almost the real boss-but she’s not allowed to hunt Trudy. Trudy, in turn, gets in trouble multiple times a day for hunting the birds.
Little Boy Blue: Hey, Trudy makes an ungodly racket and the mistress feeds her and yells at the kids for having not fed her.
Lemon Skittle: You’re an idiot.
Little: Gonna try it.
Skittle: You’re an idiot.
Little: *throws fit*
Me: *goes to see what the fuss is, fills feeder, goes to yell at son.*
Little: *stuffing face* Told ya it’d work.
Skittle: You’re still an idiot. Move! I’m starving.
I swear, Skittle is the stereotypical shrewish wife and Little is the adoring henpecked husband.
The “dark critters on a dark rug” problem is one of the reasons we keep night lights burning in the bedroom.
Silly Kitty (yup, that’s what I named him): Hi, people! I’ve brought this squirrel. Could you please deep-fry him?
Silly Kitty (again): (Jumps up on sofa arm, walks over and curls up in my lap). Scratch me. (rubs head on my hand) Don’t you pay attention? Scratch me! (rubs head more insistently, glares at me)…ah. Yes. Like that. Keep doing that. Yes, while I take a nap. Purrrrrr.
Skippy D. Conure: I thought I saw a cat! I did, I DID see a cat! Dive bomb the cat! (makes attack run on terrified feline)
Skippy D. Conure (again): What’s that? Can I have some? Let me try that drink. Tip the glass over so I can get at it. Excellent. Very tasty. Thank you, I’m done.
In honor of Silly Kitty
Ah my thighs are also forlorn…
I miss old Silly. Big grey-and-white tomcat, he was. Indoor-outdor cat, the scourge of the local squirrels. Wanted in, loved, fed, loved, and back out.
Athena: I will not lie in the shadow of my ramp as the alarm goes off while wearing night camo.
Gigancat: I will not leap onto the kitchen counter when a strawberry tart is already there.
We have a good vet, whose we trust for a variety of reasons. One day, when he was having an unusually hard work day and we made a good excuse to stop for a while and glow off steam, he said that he saw FAIR MORE pets who had been kept alive longer than was good or reasonable than pets brought in before time. He couldn’t say it to most owners directly, but could to us because we would talk to him about it openly and often, when ours were ailing.
It’s hard to send them back to Mama Bast, but it’s the price of the love they give than it is our responsibility.
Daniel Pinkwater maintains that animal souls are simpler or more limited in number because he keeps running into reincarnations of the same dogs and cats. That maybe many animals share the same template, or the same soul serves many body’s at once, or something. It’s an interesting idea. I don’t fully buy it, but I’ve seen enough dogs and cats with similar personalities to think there’s something to it. Maybe that’s why people think of cats as having multiple lives. 😆
Oh, and ;
(Cinnamon Sugar, the Cat Ouroboros) “I will not stick my leg of Daddy’s shorts leg from behind while begging for lunch meat. It distracts him in ways that are not useful”
Um… I’ve suspected that D’Artagnan is Pete. And that Havey is Pixie. (Though if so, he got brain damaged this go around.) If so, the turn around is 3 years.
And on Euclid, sure. Thing is, Pixie told us when he was ready to go. yes, okay, he was a brilliant cat. But DT went fighting which scarred everyone of us. She wasn’t ready, though she was starving from jaw cancer. And Miranda, too, went fighting and scared. I don’t like that. I don’t want to bear that guilt again.
I.know about that. We had a cat with severe brain damage (long story). The other household cats appeared to think of him as they thing that looks like a cat, but isn’t’, though they left him alone. We supported him until his other health problems indicated a brain tumor, and then had to let him go home.
Somebody (Kipling?) said that the worst thing about pets was that you outlive them….or worse, they outlive you.
But wouldn’t the world be a bleaker place without them.
I think Havey got hit with mini golf sticks to the head a little too much. He seems to be a kitten twelve weeks old. He projects that sense.
>> “Thing is, Pixie told us when he was ready to go. yes, okay, he was a brilliant cat.”
I could swear you’ve referred to a cat named Pixel as being the super-smart one. Was that a different cat or was that just a typo?
Pixel-who-walks-through-walls got called Pixie as an affectionate thing. So Pixel/Pixie. He was a lovely marmalade boy.
Weirdly he was not the one who walked through walls. That was Petronius the Arbiter, Cat from Hades who was slinky and evil. Sometimes he’d appear mid-jump to the sofa, only there was only the wall there, it was snowing outside and there was snow on his fur.
I never understood what his rules were for walking through walls vs. making me open the door. Maybe he enjoyed having humans at beck and call now and then?
How’d Pixel get the walks-through-walls nickname, then?
It was his given name. I’d just read To Sail Beyond
We had one that we named Pixel AFTER we found that he walked through walls.
Being fair, I wanted to call Pixel and Randy (Random Numbers) Castor and Pollux but Dan wouldn’t let me. So I named them after Heinlein cats.
Pounce (de Lion), black & white part Siamese, went raging into that good night at age 19, OTOH Dusty Farlow, gray tabby, passed with a relieved sigh at 16.
Kevin: I will not sneak into the refrigerator and curl up aaaaallll the way in the back, no matter how hot the day gets.
Kevin: I will not crawl into dresser drawers, and then cry piteously to be let out when I get tired of being in there.
Kevin: I will not stand outside the door and cry, and then stand in the open door, neither in nor out, still crying.
Years ago I had a cat that somehow got himself into the cupboard where I kept my coffee mugs. The door had no latch so opening it was easy for him but I never did figure out how he got inside without knocking any coffee mugs over. One morning when I went to get a mug for my first coffee of the day it took me a few seconds to realize that no, the mug I was reaching for should not be blinking at me.
Reminds me of a cat and dog I had. The cat was a white polydactl manx called Shadowfax. Dog was a female red doberman called Taffy.
Shadow knew how to get into our cabinets, but always found to much stuff in them to have a decent nap. So he’d kick out boxes of stuff, including boxes of Nilla wafers and Ritz crackers. Taffy was a serious eater, and would often be found with the cracker or cookie boxes on her nose like a feed bag. It was some kind of symbiotic relationship…
Deborah had a cat, the midnight black Java, who completely disappeared from her Los Angeles apartment. She tore the place apart to wits’ end. I helped but no cat was turned up. Finally a I noticed one high cabinet in the kitchen, firmly closed. It was the cabinet where Deb kept the kibble so the cat couldn’t reach it. I went over and opened out of sheer lack of any idea what else to do… and the little black bastid was curled up in there staring blandly back. He had chewed a hole in one corner of the kibble back and saw no reason whatever to come out no matter who called him.
I thought it was funny til our came-with-the-house Siamese Samantha pulled the same trick on me years later in Texas.
Right Chewing through the cat food bag to graze seems to be a standard cat trick. It has been so bad in our house that ALL dry cafood is in a closed container (we use cheap garbage cans) . Of the last 6 cats 5 would chew a hole in a bag (and the 6th was just lazy and waited for his compatriot to do it).
Kai (elderly lab): I will stop rolling in dead things because nobody wants to pet a stinker!
Maggie (also dog): I will stop loudly demanding to be let inside immediately after being let out because I can smell cooking.
Maggie: I will stop coming down the stairs so fast the living room rug flies across the room .
Maggie: I will not steal my human’s warm spot in bed when she leaves and leave a fear piddle there for her because I know I’m being naughty.
Maggie: Kai does not enjoy vigorous butt hole and ear cleanings. Especially not in that order.
Mags also likes to sit by the head of my bed and shows me teeth when I try to hit the snooze button. But that’s more helpful than naughty.
Jinx: I will no longer poop at the precise geometric center of the kitchen floor just because my human refuses to prepare and cook the tasty bunnies and other critters I bring him. Instead I shall lecture him for hours on end about my disappointment over him wasting good food like that.
Dinah (as seen in my profile pic): I will not bark at the people walking across the street minding their own business.
Walter Kitty: I will not come in from outside, hastily eat my kibble, then jump onto my friend’s table and spit up on his keyboard. . . . Oh, wait. . .
Misti: My foster sister Maize is not the spawn of the devil and I will stop suggesting she go live in the street.
Misti: Bristol’s head is not a basketball.
Maize: The whole house is not my litter box.
Maize: Yelling at the bathroom wall while my foster mom is taking a bath does not encourage her to pet me.
Bristol: Everything in the house is not a toy.
Bristol: Bouncing on Mom, Dad or Aunt, in the middle of the night only gets me flying lessons.
Inar, Sven, Olaf, Gustov and Harvey ( the Guinea pigs): Sounds in the kitchen do not mean humans are bringing us food, we’ll stop squeaking.
Romangii, the Trial Sized Panther; I will not sneak up behind Daddy so that when he steps back he steps on me; it upsets him to hurt me, even by accident.
Ooh, I forgot about this one – our Jitters did that all the time.
Her Dark Majesty is closing in on sixteen, but she’s still spry enough to jump up on counters to drink out of the sink, demand her tribute of gooshy-food, and play around in the bayou out back every few days. She also loves cuddling, but dislikes it when anyone uses the de-floofinator to try to keep ahead of her shedding. (Also doesn’t like getting toenails trimmed, etc.) Is by turns sulky, bratty, or clingy if The Royal Minion-in-chief goes to visit family and doesn’t bring her along, something that the parents of said minion are only sometimes tolerant of.
Pampered Paladin Princess is about two and loves the bayou, spending on average 14+ hours a day outside (aside from days that are excessively cold or damp). Also loves activating Divine Presence and using Smite Evil to liberate gooshy-food if she’s inside, there’s an open can, and Her Dark Majesty is still enjoying it. Has recently figured out that being held usually means pettings and ear-scritchings, and those actually feel kinda nice. Loves pouncing on string, ignores anything tied to the end of the string in favor of the string itself. Has figured out how to climb the tallest shelf to claim a box thereupon for perching and napping indoors.
The Royal Minion-in-chief wants to find a stray to rescue, but her husband has experienced three cats and says the place is too small. (Plus there are leasing rules.)
(I know it doesn’t work that way, but…) Greebo I am sure would love to be able to say “I will not need a treatment that makes me glow in the dark just so I can get Mommy up at 3 AM.”
Haddie, the Dark Minion: I will not climb to the top of the refrigerator and wait all night to meow so loudly at Mom the next morning (when still 2/3rds asleep) that scare her out of her skin.
Ezri: I do not need to patrol the indoor perimeter of the house and pee next to any object that blocks my path along the wall. I do not need to follow you all around the house and say, “Meh” instead of a full meow.
Both of blessed memory.
Cracker: I will not jump off the barn and expect you to catch me, like a trusting fool.
Little — I will not stop myself from falling out of bed by sinking all 18 talons into my beloved human’s back. Also, I will not glue myself to the space heater until the whole house smells of scorched cat.
Libby — I will not retaliate for not being allowed to pee on the bed by peeing on my human. (Yes. Really. She did that. Once.) So can I have a soda cracker, or better yet some canned peas? (Her two favorite treats.)
Stupid Cat: I will not do things that cause the human to go, “You stupid cat, if you weren’t in the way you wouldn’t get walked on/water dumped on you/etc,” until it’s too late to give me a better name.
Skunk — I will not turn your correspondence into confetti; I will henceforth confine this activity to the sheet of newspaper you’ve graciously provided for my amusement. Also, can we play ‘cat in a sack’ again? (His favorite game: climb into a plastic grocery bag and get swung around my head, then hung on a doorknob.)
Dust — I will not ‘fumigate’ the couch after guests have sat on it, even if I am the self-appointed Guard Cat.
‘cat in a sack’
One of my mom’s cats did that, too.
Another one was silly enough that you could get her into a paper sack, then put something on the open end – just heavy enough to hold it down lightly – and she would spend the day in there, unable to get out.
SquirrelCat, when squirted with a spray bottle: “HIGH HOLY BAST!– what is that?” *licks* “Hey! That’s water!” *gets squirted again, practically dancing with glee* “Guys! Guys! There’s WATER!!!!!”
…it really doesn’t work for scolding her.
Fluffy: “AAAAH! The toddler is after me!” Walks five steps. “Oh, thank goodness, I outran him.” Sits down, swishing tail magnificently. Toddler catches up. “AAAAH! The toddler is after me!” Walks five steps. “Oh, thank goodness, I outran him.” Sits down, swishing tail magnificently. “Guys, why are you laugh– AAAAH! The toddler is after me!”
Fat Cat did that too. While sitting on an ottoman. Panic, get up, rotate 90 degrees, panic, repeat.
Fluffy reminds me of Mac. Except Macs nemesis was my mother in laws 15+ year old shih tzu. The dog would come at Mac (who was 3x larger and 22 Lbs to the 10 lbs of the shih tzu) very slowly. She was incredibly decripit, nearly blind and SOOOO slow. It was like watch a zombie movie. Mac would just sit there frozen to the spot until he finally realized he could run and would dash to myself or Elder daughter and sit shivering in terror.
MAC; Ohh toddler how cute. GAAAH, could someone make it let go of my ears please…it really hurts to be lifted by your ears.
That the toddler was utterly unharmed showed Mac was a gentle giant.
Yeah. Petronius the Arbiter took being sprayed as a REWARD. He also liked to jump in the tub and swim. weird cat.
Seems ODDs are the normal around here. 😉
Again, I don’t know if it helps, but when Toes (polydactyl) was diagnosed with crf, I joined a Yahoo group dedicated to the subject. Of course it’s gone now, probably moved to Facebook, where I will not follow. Anyway, the fact is most cats refuse to eat the prescription diets. So some saintly person compiled a list of low phosphorus regular cat foods. There were several flavors of Fancy Feast Toes would eat that were pretty low, and her vet agreed it was better for her to eat than not, even if it meant Fancy Feast (which he called “kitty cocaine”).
I no longer have that list, as when I lost Toes, I decided at my age taking on another pet that could live 20 years or more wasn’t a responsible thing to do and I wasn’t up for the effort of getting the dogs to accept another cat, but surely the info is still out there. The only flavor I remember is Beef, which was also Toes’ least favorite of the bunch.
My sympathies to whoever is doing the pilling. Those years most of the time I had a Bandaid around one index finger from the constant wounds wicked cat fangs left during the struggle to get the pill far enough back in throat it had to be swallowed. I never mastered a pilling device.
it took two of us to pill a six lb cat. At one point we were locked in such a way we could have posed for an heroic sculpture. “Man and woman give pill to small cat.”
Are liquids an option? I had to give liquid antibiotics to one of mine for several days and while he wasn’t thrilled about it he took it reasonably well. I just put it into an eyedropper, firmly held his head and squeezed it into his mouth.
Admittedly, cat treats before and after might have helped.
Amazingly, mine will eat the prescription food. Granted, for awhile there he was eating the dog food instead–which, since it’s grain free (as giving the two little white half schnauzer/half westies grain turns them into tiny toxic gas factories), seems to have done all right. At least, I haven’t had to take him back to the vet with a crystal-filled bladder again.
However, once my puppy started eating HIS food he seems more interested in it now. I haven’t caught him eating the dog food in awhile.
Now if I could just convince him to exercise…
Yesterday D. ate all his prescription food. Then the other cats’ non-prescription food. Then he drank all his water twice.
Then the other cats’ water.
He looks remarkably firmer on his paws today.
Cats! Go figure.
We have been trying to switch to a lower priced canned cat food. MooBoots is weirdly picky, one day willing to eat every last scrap of the new food, the next refusing to touch it. The other morning dad woke up REALLY early and and was conned into feeding him more food right away instead of waiting to normal breakfast time. Turned out he had accidentally fed him the canned dog food instead of his food. Boots cleaned up every last scrap of dog food, but wouldn’t touch the cat food.
My last kitty was a green-eyed sepia toned tabby. When we first brought her home (she was a rescue), she looked for a way outside and then finally ripped open the screen with her claws and entire body. We finally left the door cracked. She loved roses. We lost her on Halloween in the early 90s. My late-hubby’s heart broke so after her we didn’t have anymore cats… or dogs until I rescued Foxy.
Zach the cat adopted us when I was home from college. Feisty guy, though it took a try or two to convince him that my legs were *not* climbing poles. (Shorts. Yikes!)
He wanted to get inside the worst way one day, and clawed a hole in the screen, only to realize the window was closed. Oops.
Turns out, the rascal would disappear and live across the street until he got bored with *something* and would come back.
I found Ms. Kitty in a parking lot on Quarry Heights– Panama City Panama. She was going up to a select few people and trying to look pitiful with those “please take me home” eyes. She was small. I told my late-hubby about her. He borrowed a cat carrier and I got her the next day. She complained the entire way home. I seem to get the feral ones– you know they seem to like me. 🙂
Maybe she is with him now, and getting all the pets and loves? And they’ll be there when you get there (hopefully not soon?)
I hope that too
They will probably be having adventures. She used to get Otto in trouble… and thought his job was to chase away the dogs who sniffed around our community.
…a few year ago, my Kitten was sick (her name, all 14 lb of her). Vet gave me some pills The instructions were very detailed – except for the part about getting the pill from the outside to the inside of the cat…
I will not bury Grandma’s dentures in the yard again.
(I’m not sure which of my brother’s three dogs was responsible)
oh, no. 😀
Because I am not a low-down shif’ess polecat, today’s offering is not a catmas carol.
That was a good Caturday.
Thump: I will not go out at night & play in the rain then come in, all wet, to curl around mom.
Thump (cat): When I want to go out, I won’t bop dad on the nose to wake him up. Instead I’ll wake mom up … wait tried that, she didn’t wake up. Will have to ask the dog how she wakes mom up.
Pepper (dog): I will find another way to wake mom up without licking in her ear, when she is sick in the middle of the night. Wait … pawing didn’t work … she has to get up!!! Barking is for when I have to go out to, uh, go …
Pepper: When I go out to, uh, go …, I don’t have to announce it on the bark telegraph.
Thump & Pepper: We will not play on the bed together at 2 AM.
Pepper: Bedtime is not when I decide I must have my squeaky toy with me; and squeak it. Dad will not play tug with me at bedtime when he is asleep.
Silver: The top of the garage door when open shall not be the overseer’s perch.
Thump: I will not bop the dog then cry when she pins me down …
Pepper: I will not use my mouth to hold the cat so I can pen him down …
Pepper: I WILL leave Silver (the old sick cat) alone! Or else I have to spend time in doggy jail while she sits and glares at me; all 3 of the two legged are very insistent.
Pepper or Taylor (dogs): What’s this white stuff? You mean I have to go out into it? What do you mean I have to go out? It is raining out there.
Hobs (cat): Cool!!! It snowed. Plows through it.
Thump: Oh look rain drops to play with. (Honestly that cat comes in soaking wet every 15 minutes, gets dried, back out he goes.)
Pippie: I will not open all the lower cabinets so mom & dad can bang their shins on them in the middle of the night.
Pippie: I will not open the door under the bed, go in and pull all of dad’s underwear and socks from the drawers through the slats just because …
Pippie: The home canned salmon is not mine.
Pippie, Yeller, Tyke, & Feathers (cats): The visiting malamutes are not beds, even if they let us …
Pippie: I will not curl into a tiny black ball in dad’s black lined helmet and not make a peep while mom, dad, & dog, are frantically searching for me.
Lil Bit (cat): I will not open closets just because I can in the middle of the night …
Tasha (dog): Shilo is not a devil spawn dog even tho she is female, I shall not kill her …
Shilo (dog): I know I am drop dead tired, I will stop fetching the ball after the next one, honest, or the next one, or the next one, or … maybe I’ll switch to the Frisbee.
Hey, we’ve have had 12 cats, 3 dogs, and 3 visiting dogs, over the last 41 years, with accumulated 175 years of stories … not counting the time spent with the visiting dogs.
“Pepper (dog): I will find another way to wake mom up without licking in her ear, when she is sick in the middle of the night. ”
Fuzzy (dog): On pack leader’s future bride’s first visit to our house, I will not decide SHE should let me out and sneak into her separate bedroom and stick my tongue in her ear at 3 am.
Also Fuzzy: Once she has been made alpha female, I will not show my resentment by following her around and lying down in any spot she vacates. (This went on for about 2 months; then Fuzz apparently realized “hey, there’s a full time treat dispenser here during the day….”).
He’s such a handsome boy *.* I miss having black cats.
Fuzzy (gravatar): The pack leader is apparently bothered by waking up at dawn to the sight of a mostly dead twitching cockroach 1 inch in front of his nose.
Also Fuzzy: Just because Daddy is getting ready to leave does not mean I should hide his shoes. Especially under a bed I can squeeze under but not out of.
Nemo: If I do not like the shampoo the groomer used, I will not find the first pile of goose poop and anoint myself with it.
Miranda used to hide Dan’s stuff when she knew he was leaving…
Only one cat entry, and I don’t remember his name:
I will not climb the unfinished doorway by digging my claws into the plaster (yes, plaster, not drywall) on both sides, using my bulging muscles that caused dad to give me the nickname Arnold Schwartzekitty.
Punky: I am 18lbs of speed demon terrierist. I should not be intimidated by a baby groundhog, nor even a full-grown possum, and will either leave them alone or else go ahead and tear their heads off.
Also Punky: I understand that dad was unable to get under the floor to run his network cable, and will refrain from chewing it in two.
Rex (from my youth): No matter how important it is to protect my human brother, I will recognize that when mom is smacking his feet to wake him up, I should not jump on the bed to defend him, because he tells me that having my back feet crushing his testicles is very uncomfortable.
Oh – regarding the baby groundhog and possum – she barked at them for 15 minutes, before I finally made her leave them alone.
Charlie the Cat – I will no longer eat dried fava beans if they’re left on the counter.
Abbie the Cat – I will no longer break into the breadbox to eat the Portuguese Sweet Bread (seriously, we had to leave it in the microwave)
It’s been almost a year since Amber passed. It took 8 months to stop expecting to see her in her crate as I rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs in the morning.
A wonderful, smart Red Heeler (Australian Cattle Dog) who helped raise my son. She was almost 17, and had lost her hearing, most of her sight, was going into renal failure, and I think wasn’t quite all there anymore. But she still tried to love us.
She hated the squirrels and managed to catch a few. (I watched her one day, at the age of 12 or so, run UP the wooden privacy fence after a squirrel, then ALONG IT sideways like a ninja for 10-12 feet, before returning to terra firma – gracefully. She couldn’t catch the squirrel on top of the fence, but she wasn’t going to let them have the satisfaction.
Italics (aka Fat Cat): I will not lay on the stair landing and prevent the much-smaller dogs from coming downstairs, and enjoy their scared whimpering. (Actually, he does this less now that the Puppy weighs as much as he does, is taller than him, and reacts to him hissing by doing her hilarious little “You wanna play with me!” dance.)
Mollywog (the Puppy): I will not eat garbage, and then wake Mom up at 3am with barfing–and then, just as she’s almost asleep, poop on the floor, in three different places.
Also Molly: I will not try to open the door to outside. (When she was in heat–she went into heat TWO DAYS before she was scheduled to be spayed).
A bit late, but better than never:
Misty*: I will not box the other animals’ ears for merely existing in my general vicinity.
Dr. Seuss*: Once I have killed something, I will give it to my humans for disposal, or take it outside. I will not stash it in unreachable/unfrequented locations until the smell alerts the humans of the need to go hunting for corpses
Dr. Seuss*: I will not sit on the lid of the fish tank. It was not designed to hold a cat and will break. I do not like swimming.
Sunshine(puppy): I will not drag the outdoor cat around the house by his harness. He is not a duster.
Sunshine (adult): I will not steal the cats’ food no matter how good it smells. I already get canned food added to mine and scraps from the humans. I do not need more treats.
Sunshine(adult): I will not steal the toddler’s toys and attempt to exchange them for treats to prevent chewing. It has been years since the hostage exchange was used to prevent teeth marks and wanting more attention than the grandchild is not a good reason to start again.
MooBoots: If the toddler scares me, I will leave the room and stay gone, not come back and follow her.
*Gone but not forgotten
Remebered another Dr. Seuss special.
Dr. Seuss*: We will not sit under the gate where our grey fur blends with the dirt, drive passing dogs nuts, then disappear under the gate and out of sight before the human accompanying the dog figures out what is wrong.
Dusker*: I will not sit outside the neighbours fence calmly washing myself while their St Bernard goes crazy trying to reach me.
MooBoots: I will not greet the dog nicely, lull her into a false sense of security, then turn around and bite her ear, especially since she is polite enough not to retaliate.
Seeing the comments about relations between dogs & cats here, I remembered a video that I saw (may have been more than one similar videos).
This big dog is seen just sitting there (IIRC paying attention to his human) with his tail wagging on the ground.
This kitten decides to attack the tail including periods where the kitten has “caught” the tail but the tail is still wagging with the kitten “attached”.
At no time does the dog appear to have noticed the kitten’s actions although in one of the videos the dog moves and sits down on the kitten (kitten didn’t seem hurt).
It seemed funny that the kitten is so serious about “getting the tail” but the dog shows no sign of being concerned about the kitten. 😆
Of course, the dog is large enough that with one bite, the kitten would be goners. 😀
I desperately want a puppy. I think it’s a reaction to two cats on palliative care and one undergoing serious treatment. Must remind myself not good right now. someday.
We put down my 14 year old German Shepard 6 months after our son was born. She’d been having stokes for just over 7 months (yea, tell a 8 month pregnant lady that it is “time”, that it isn’t fair to keep her baby around …) The kicker? She adored babies. She finally had one in her household & she was too sick to care …
We were going to get another dog again … “someday”. 19 years and 11 months later … we adopted an English Toy Spaniel rescued through our veterinarian, she was 30 months. We had her for 7 years & 10 days. Three months after she passed away, we got our current dog as a puppy. Cats were (are?) less than thrilled. But after almost 3 years, there is mutual tolerance achieved.
My German Shepard raised two bottle kittens. She couldn’t feed them but she could play at mommy. We’ve got one picture of her licking one, kitten is taking exception to that big wet tongue. Picture is focused on kitten. You can see Shilo’s tongue and black nose. Kitten was no bigger than her paw.
Our 4 cats in Longview saw the in-laws two malamutes, we dog sat, 3 weeks in the summer. Didn’t matter. As soon as they showed up cats treated them as cat beds. Have pictures of this too.
All these pictures are old enough that they are prints or slides … early ’80s.
Current bunch. Not as cozy. Thump & Pepper play. But Lil Bit attitude is no way. OTOH none of the older cats were particularly thrilled when Thump showed up as a 3 week old kitten either; and still aren’t for all that two of them have now passed away (from old age). That is the first time that has ever happened too. Probably why Thump plays with Pepper … of coarse when we brought Pepper home she was about 1/2 the size of Thump. Now she’s bigger, but not that much.
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