Tag: cats

Going Bump In The Night

Posted on by Sarah A. Hoyt

So I wake up in the middle of the night, with something akin to the sound of a sailing ship under stress in a high gale. “creak, creak, creak.”

I get up and realize it’s Havey cat — who weighs approximately three tons, give or take a hundred pounds — who, for reasons inexplicable, has decided to promenade himself across the printer and other equipment at the other end of our bedroom.

Remove Havey cat. Explain inadvisability of this, while he looks at me with his confused little eyes. Pet him a bit. Go back to bed. Start sort of falling asleep…

CREAK, CREAK, CREAK.

Remove Havey from printer. Scold him in whisper so as not to wake up husband, go back to bed.

CREAK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Havey has jumped in a single leap (imagine a big, heavy white pillow taking flight) five feet up to the back of my research chair, which is now being subjected to downward pressure, for which it wasn’t designed, and which must approach that under which coal turns to diamond.

At that point I realize that Miranda-cat, who normally sleeps with #2 son is watching this interestedly from top of research desk. This puts it in perspective. What I’m watching is not casual cat nuttery but, somehow, a battle in the bizarre war between the two white cats in the house: Havey and D’Artagnan. (No, don’t ask why. They both are convinced There Can be Only One. Perhaps they each think the other is a rogue clone.) Miranda, who rules the house with an iron paw, is clearly the referree.

Try to defuse the situation by grabbing D’Artagnan — who is the least hygienically challenged of the white cats — and take him to bed with me. He curls up at my feet. Miranda, uninterested, leaves the room. Ahhhhh. Sleep at last.

Creak, creak, creak.

Get up, half asleep, grab Havey-cat. Toss him out the door. Close the door. Get back to bed. Euclid and D’Artagnan sleeping respectively at Dan’s and my feet. They’re polite cats who ask to go out to use the box, so no problem, right?

Start drifting to sleep. Wake up to sound of almighty cat battle at my feet. “Wha?” Not only are the only two cats Euclid and D’Artagnan, but anyone capable of picking a fight with Euclid would be able to pick a fight with cheese. Euclid JUST doesn’t fight back, unless it’s his tail that he’s fighting.

As eyes focus — slowly — realize that D. has decided this is his chance to have mom and dad all to himself and is biting Euclid till he screams.

Lean down confusedly and swat first lump. Bad luck, it’s Euclid. Who immediately decides I’ve gone nuts and skeedadles to the door, where he begs me to let him out.

Deciding to make the best of a bad thing, grab D. under my arm, open door, and throw him out at the same time Euclid goes out.

Go back to bed. Ahhhhhhh. Repose at last…

Knock, knock, knock.

Half asleep brain thinks “Kid must be sick and need me.”

“Yes, who is it?”

MEOOOOOOOOW OW OW. — in demanding tones.

“Oh, go increase and multiply” (not that politely.) “Since when do you knock on doors. Leave me alone.”

Knock, knock, knock. MEoooow ow! ow!

Put pillow over head and manage a semblance of sleep.

Euclid talks about books and tail and stuff

Posted on by Sarah A. Hoyt

(A guest post by Euclid Hoyt, the patriarch of the Hoyts’ tame pride and known in the family as Neurotalon.)

Hi to everyone out there. My human, Sarah, says that there are many many people you can reach through this computer thing. I don’t know what she means, because I’ve walked up behind this computer thing — and coughed a hairball or two on top of it, and let me tell you, it’s not touching anyone. But then humans are weird that way. I mean, it’s like the whole thing with water. what sane species keeps water in their lair, ready to dump on them at a moment’s notice. They could just lick themselves clean like normal people, or have their friends lick them, at least. I mean, it’s fun and no sudden water on head.

But Sarah-human is looking over my shoulder, and anyway, I didn’t mean to make this a post about humans. You know, I’m not complaining. Oh, well, okay, I’m complaining, but it’s not that bad. They give us food twice and a day and everything, even if Havey eats most of it. Of course, I can’t figure what they put into those cans. I’ve never seen animals that shape running around. Perhaps they just press squirrels really well? Sometimes I have nightmares where those wheel shaped things are spying on me with beady little eyes. They have purple fur, and they hate me, becaus ethey know I’m going to eat them some day. But then my tail… Uh… no, Sarah, I don’t need to see the vet for more valium. Whatever gave you that idea?

Sarahhuman says if I’m going to blog — like it was my idea! — I might as well promote her stuff, so look, Sarahhuman has books out this month. And last month and things. Only she doesn’t write as Sarahhuman — apparently there’s a lot of them, though I’ve never met another one — but as Sarah Hoyt, where she has this great book called Gentleman Takes A Chance. It’s all about this cat called Not Dinner and how brave he is and the adventures he has, though there’s some boring parts about a guy who changes into a dragon and a girl who changes into a panther some ancient canine trying to kill them or something and this whole courtship thing humans do, but they don’t yowl or anything, so it’s boring. Then there’s one called Dipped, Stripped And Dead about this cat named Fluffy, though Sarahhuman says it’s really about some girl who refinishes furniture and dates this hot policeman and solves mysteries. Whatever. It’s written under Elise Hyatt, because Sarahhuman was asked to have another name, like when you go to the humane society and they give you a name. Let me tell you about that.

They called me Tootsie. TOOTSIE! As if it weren’t obvious that my name was Euclid. And they were going to put me down till Sarahhuman and Danhuman and their two cubs came and rescued me at the last minute. My tail was so scared that it’s never been the same since. I can’t sleep without its sneaking up on me and trying to strangle me, and then Sarahhuman makes me swallow valium, which only makes the tail take advantage of my confused state and it just isn’t fair.

But Sarahhuman is coming again, and if she reads this she’ll say I need to see the vet, so let’s keep that between us. Buy her books, because then she buys us kibble and toys and stuff, and is too busy to think I need valium.

Till next time.

Euclid Hoyt

The kitty progresses

Posted on by Sarah A. Hoyt

Her name is Valeria Victrix — Val, for short, and also Brownie :) — after the little girl character in Operation Chaos.  this is from Yesterday and our friend Charles, who would like to keep her, is holding her.  We’ll see if he DESERVES her.

Our vet said about three weeks.  Not eating yet, nursing well but the night feedings are killing me.  Her right eye is almost okay today.  I’ll take picture later.  She climbs all over me and caught on to "writer surpervisor is my job" by sitting on the keyboard shelf and watching my fingers.

Until we meet again

Posted on by Sarah A. Hoyt


Dejah Thoris Burroughs Carter Hoyt, June 12 1989 – June 8 2009

She was the cutest ball of fur you ever saw.  For reasons that would take too long to explain, Dan and I broke into the sun room where she was locked — away from her mom.  I think she was maybe four weeks old, all fluff and meows.

We bottle raised her and her two brothers — not easy since I had a full time job as a translator at the time.  I always thought it was because of that that she was a little shy.  Not socialized enough.  Didn’t like being held.  However when Dan lay down on the floor to read, she would climb between his shoulder blades and fall asleep.

When we put wood down in the hallway of the house in Charlotte, she escaped from where we had her locked up and hid under the neighbor’s porch for two days, refusing to come out.  Dan had to go under there to get her.  The fit was so tight, he had to strip to his underwear to get her.  

As she became tamer with time, Dan was her special person.  She used to sit on the bed, on my side, and give me dirty looks when I came to bed, because I was clearly a third wheel.

When we moved from Charlotte, for various reasons, (mostly renting) the cats ended up outdoors.  DT took up hunting.  She could bring down anything, from rabbits to birds.  In Columbia, SC she got me involved with raptor rescue by bringing down a hawk (I think) that we then nursed to health.  This while she had a bell on.

When we lived in Manitou Springs and traveled a lot, we boarded the cats while we were gone.  If DT got wind she was going to be boarded, she’d run all over the neighborhood to avoid us.  More than once we left on vacation and left instructions with our friend Charles to the tune of "When she comes to eat, grab her and take her to the vet for boarding."   By this time, we’d have had them indoors only, but her friends, Pete and Randy liked being outdoors and so she did too.  If we tried to bring her in she’d cry her heart out to join them.

She was the youngest of the first batch of our cats and answered to ‘baby girl" as readilly as to "DT".  She always answerd to Dan, no matter what he called her, though. 

When first Randy then Pete died, we brought DT and Pixie inside.  She was Pixie’s best friend, comforter and nurse as he declined and died, four years ago.  I don’t care what animal experts say, she missed him till today.

If she loved you, she groomed you — usually wildly.  We called it "hair by DT" when she licked your hair so it was all at odd angles.  If you weren’t feeling well, she crawled in bed with you and did this.  Lately she was afraid one of us would think she didn’t love us.  She’d walk between us, licking one and then the next.

She’s had diabetes for six months, and we’ve been giving her insulin morning and night.  When she seized twice last week while I was away, we thought it was the diabetes.  But when I came home on Friday she couldn’t close her mouth and had bloody drool.  I thought "tooth.  It has to be tooth."  But we took her in today, and it turned out she had cancer of the jaw which mestatized all over her lungs and spine.  She was in pain and she was only going to get worse.  This cancer was very aggressive.  It couldn’t have been there more than two weeks.

We did what we had to do.

At times like this, I wish I had more faith in a life after this.  I believe there is a G-d, but that doesn’t necessarily imply a belief in the after life. 

Heinlein said it’s entirely possible normal people die and disappear forever, but not "saints".  Well, I don’t know about saints.  And I know every theology is fuzzy on the afterlife of cats.

But tonight I want to believe there is a rainbow bridge and that she’s there, with Pete and Pixel, all of them young and hale again, waiting for us.  Until we meet again.