Making Room

Some years ago I had the bright idea to stage the Christmas tree in the dining room. Prior to that ephipany the Christmas tree held court front and center in the living room. Lights ablaze, blinds cranked open, a dazzling array for the world to see.

Well, at least the part of the world who happened down our street and then happened to look up a bit.

The first year The Middle Girl's Family Christmas Tree and related holiday regalia called the dining room home there was no nearly five foot tall cat condo, pet crate, yard sale dishes (for when daughter moves out) bookcase, desk, or other overflow from the living room (where returning son has most of his belongings).

The living (or front) room seemed the logical location in the very beginning of our residence in this small condo because it was the most comfortable room at the time and was (or seemed) the easier to de-clutter adjust furnishings and the like to make room for the tree and related holiday regalia. 

Plus there was the showing the tree (and lights) to the world (that fraction who happened down our street . . . ) and I always enjoyed seeing the lights from the street when I came home from work in the evenings (I knew to look up.)

The bright idea from some years ago seems positively brillant today. Despite the groaning at the seams fullness of the dining room space, the tree must go there, cannot go anywhere else. No other room is suitable, no other space even remotely ready for its presence.

Moreover, I discovered that I like having dinner by the twinkling lights along with a couple of bottles glasses of wine, mom, son, daughter, and a condo full of fur babies (though the cats must be housed in my bedroom).

Sometime over the next 3, 4, or . .  today the tree and related holiday regalia will be installed, lights ablaze, a dazzling array for all of us to see and enjoy.






  

his say

first, let me wish myself a happy 4th birthday, since it seems like no one else around here is going to do it. i share a birth date with that tall fella that seems to be talking to himself all the time, though not in his normal voice. every time i ask what he's doing he replies, "i'm rehearsing." i'm not sure i know what that means and moreover i'm not sure i care.

i'm probably coming off as cranky, at the moment i am. but, let me assure you all under normal circumstances i'm not at all cranky. in fact, i'm the sweetest, most lovable bundle of fur you may ever meet.

seriously.

however, i'm a little put out at present because once again i'm being blamed for stuff falling off their perches. ok, i broke one figurine. ok, two . . . at least as far as eyewitnesses go. but, i have had nothing, absolutely nothing to do with the fallen vase (s), toppled over bears (and what is the deal with all the stuffed bears, dogs, rabbits, and such?) and all the other assorted spills and mishaps. there is no evidence to suggest otherwise; only conjecture, hearsay, and innuendo. any evidence that might be presented is circumstantial, at best.

frankly, i think it is that diva dog doing all the dastardly deeds. in either case, barring any concrete evidence, i'm innocent until proven . . .

ok, all done. just wanted, needed to get that off my chest. now i can go back to being the sweet, lovable, bundle of fur you all should know and if you knew me, you'd love me.

seriously.

buttah

The Best Thing

. . . about the first work day following a four day holiday weekend is coming home to a full on quiet space. Only the sound of rain smattering the windows, the wind rattling the wood panes (in the back) and diva dog's intermittent barking stemming from occasional ghost sightings (must be ghosts as I sure don't see what has her all riled up) pierces the quiet.

Pete has draped himself across the cable box in my bedroom, Buttah is flat on his back, legs akimbo atop my bed, and Diamond, now all done with the ghost chasing is munching on a piece of carrot. The relative peacefulness won't last too much longer, however, I am thankful for it here and now.

I shall go embrace and see to packing some of that peaceful spirit in my knapsack to aid with the Tuesday work-a-day noises.

Peace.

Wednesday Thursday Thanks

Orange boy vomited on my bed today and while that doesn't play as a thankful item, I am thankful that 1. daughter was home and 2. was thoughtful enough to remove the soiled sheets.


And given that Wednesday was somehow skipped over, I am doubly thankful that I completed winterizing mom's apartment before the days and nights became too much colder.

PeTe's Photoshoot

This array is for my friend (who is NOT a cat person) who also is of the opinion that Pete is a pretty cat. We were at D and D's are of a similar opinion. The two boys couldn't be more different, though as noted previously, get along famously. Mike (also not a cat person) tends to favor Pete over Buttah because Pete is more of a loner.

Just tonight he said about Pete, "attitude, dripping . . . like vinegar." Pete does have a way of fixing that glare at you especially when he feels the human has said or done something . . . unflattering. Which, I suppose, judging by the frequency of his attitude stares, is often.

My last call before leaving work this evening was from Dani and the last thing she said, "talk to your cat when you get home." I don't know what he'd gotten himself into during the day home with her. He was a bit more skittered and oh so . . . present this evening. Pete the loner, has been following me around and planting himself where ever I sit.

And Buttah (or rather, Garfield so dubbed by Mike) is just being Buttah.

The Boys were in rare form this evening.

psssst... OBG entry UP. OuT

Orange Boy Rules

Yes, another tale of the orange boy. The chill(ing) pic is old. You may recall, the simpatico note...Buttah sitting on top of daughter's A/C unit (which yes, IS but soooo should not be ON the DR table). She took it out of her window when the nighttime temps dipped to the upper 40s recently.

I'll be re-locating the unit to the winter time storage space as it must be lifted overhead and placed on an upper shelf of the pantry, as soon as I re-locate the orange boy.

Let's Hear It For The Boys

My Our boys are not outside cats. And as they live theirs lives indoors, they very much welcome the warmer weather bringing open windows. As you know, they both adore sitting upon the sill, soaking up the sun.

Of the two, Buttah is more interested in investigating the outside, apparently still remembering is outside romps. He scampers to either door at nearly every entry or exit by any of the human occupants. We don't use the back door all that often, but when we, or rather I do, I must be extra vigilant toward keeping him away as the back door gains him instant access to the world as access through the court-yard out back. He got by me once, be he wasn't swift enough to escape my clasp.

Some nights ago I dreamt that he had escaped via the back door. He was out and down the steps in a flash, which further proves that it was a dream. Buttah is . . . not quick. I was shaken for several minutes as he'd gotten out of sight. I called and called into the open air. There wasn't any sign of him or any tingle of his jingling tags.

Horrified, I scrambled down the stairs, scanning the area searching for a ball of orange. Growing more and more anxious as the seconds turned into minutes which felt like hours, I began to think about which pic of him would be best to post on a "LOST" poster. My heart begins to race as I see . . . orange. Around the corner ambles a ball of orange fur, excited but not wanting to scare him away, I softly call him toward me. Closer and closer and then I see, it isn't Buttah. It is another orange cat which from a distance resembles my our boy. This fella appears friendly enough and he continues to advance toward me. I wait so that I can check him for tags, wondering if I should come inside to grab any one of 3 carriers. Deciding against leaving, the alien orange is nearly at my feet.

Just as I bend to make friends with him, out from the shadows I hadn't realized existed popped Buttah, mewling his trademark rolling, nasally purrs. He looks up as if to say, "look what I found, can we keep him?"

At which point I wake up, get up to re-check the doors, windows, and the number of cats in the apartment. Ahhh, only two. . . both looking to barrel through the bedroom door clamoring for breakfast in just another hour. Buttah follows me back to bed, I let him hang with me for that next hour.

The cat I didn't want has become the cat I can't imagine a day without.

Live Blogging Sunday

7:00 a.m. Pete, Buttah, and Diamond cry for breakfast

7:05 a.m. Pete, Buttah, and Diamond scarf breakfast.

7:06 a.m. Pete and Buttah still scarfing, with Diamond sniffing and grunting, rushing them.

7:08 a.m. Pete and Buttah relenquish their claim on their respective bowls.

7:08 and 10 seconds a.m. Diamond finishes whatever remnants they left.

7:09 a.m. thru . . . . well, still sleep, snort, poop, drink water, sleep, snort, lick each other, sleep, nibble, snort, sleep, snort, lick each other, sleep, eat, poop, sleep, sleep, sleep, and

sleep some more.

Oh, and play, but mostly, sleep.

for Syd

D, as you probably know works as a vet tech in the spay/neuter clinic of our local animal shelter. The shelter receives support in the form of volunteerism and donations from the community. Often, the donations include items that the shelter is unable to use. Those items are either forwarded to other shelters, animal hospitals, the shelter's own resale shop, or other resale shops. Sometimes the items are retained to be sold in the shelter store or given away with new adoptions. Now and again D spies and item that seems a perfect match for one (or more) of our furry brood. The lovely pink pet bed was one such item. Irresistible, isn't it? D won the office bid and was able to bring the lovely pink pet bed home. Buttah didn't waste any time making himself at home. That's Buttah to a T.

However, D had planned the bed for Diamond (irony and as a way to telegraph d-dogs dominant attitude over the house cats). Diamond was not at all interested in the lovely pink bed (unless there was a treat hidden in the cushion. Also, she's a tad too stout and long to lie comfortably (she likes to splay her legs when at deep rest).

We still have to find the perfect location for the lovely pink pet bed.

Another Day, Another Holler

Renee lingered in bed long after the alarm chirped. The snooze feature was deactivated because Darlys preferred to perform those duties in her own unique fashion. Renee counted down, 3, 2, 1 here it comes, "GET UP RENEE!" Darlys yelled from the bathroom. Renee emitted a grunt and a prolonged groan.


Darlys caught the tail end of that groan and pursed her lips to say for the umpteenth time, "if you don't like it, quit. Another groan followed closely by a sigh. Darlys kneeled down next to the bed, searched under the covers until she found Renee's hand, she squeezed lightly and whispered, "I understand honey, but it will be ok. We'll be ok." Darlys released Renee's hand as well as the topic. Renee would come to a decision in her own time.

This has been going on for weeks now. Each day brings a new frustration. Renee is no longer challenged by her work, yet she is rooted to the place, not just because it is her mom's place but also though she doesn't like what she's doing now, she doesn't know what to do next. She's conflicted and though she won't admit it, scared.

I wrote this some weeks ago for the Weekend Wordsmith prompt that week, but never posted it because I couldn't finish it before the next prompt went up. It still isn't finished but I figured what they hey, I'd didn't want it languishing in draft mode. I suppose I could have deleted it, but no, it shall serve a purpose as being the buffer to yet another CAT post.

This is about the other cat.

The first words out of my mouth this morning (to a human) were, "YOUR cat shat in the dog's bed." Had I been in a poetic mood I suppose it would have come out, "your cat shat on the mat."
But no, poetry wasn't on my mind.

When Buttah does something inappropriate HE is HER cat. Otherwise, he's mine (or our ) loving, lovely orange kitty. This morning he (and his shit) were all hers.

She groaned and asked, "is it soft?"

It wasn't (very) and I told her so adding, "he's cleaning his feet." To which she yelled, "HE JUST DID IT!!?" Another groan.

Buttah hasn't ever done anything like this before and we're hoping it's an aberration rather than a new bad habit. We are routinely quite diligent about cleaning the pans. I'll admit to being a tad slow about it this morning, but they didn't seem that soiled.

I stood corrected.

It would appear that the morning routine might need some tweaking to accommodate the little prince's early morning poo-ti-tude.

Meandering

Pete is sitting atop my cd/dvd/video cabinet. He isn't supposed to be there, he is not usually there. He is resting upon a placement one of the kids made in kindergarten. He is flanked by a Rubik's cube and a Rubik's(?) snake, currently fashioned into a sphere.

Pete is obscuring a blown-up, boxed framed photo of my former in-law's Mississippi front yard and road leading to (& away) from their front door.

In the background, Magda.

The sentry Magda is diligent about alerting about an open door (front or back), reminding us that it is now time to exit after she is armed and that she must be disarmed upon entering. When properly coaxed Magda will even relay a customized message, "greetings, have a pleasant day" was recently deleted.

Magda wasn't speaking during Pete's visit to the top of the cabinet. Pete isn't supposed to perch on the top of the cabinet. It is not a usual place for him to rest. Every now and again Pete sets out to explore. He discovers a nook, a cranny, a place to perch that he hadn't known existed.

Or hadn't cared.

For a few minutes, hours or days he is in kitty adventurer heaven. He is re-located to a more appropriate pet perch or he moves on, on his own, off on a new discovery.

I'm fairly certain Magda didn't object. Or, if she did, she didn't say.

Her Cat. My Cat. Our Cats, The Boys

Her cat is newest to the fold. He's also the youngest of the two cats. In fact he's the youngest of the three fur babies. Diamond, D-dog, the Diva is the grande dame (she'd be so even if she weren't seven, going on eight). Her (Danielle's) cat is Buttah. He came to us last August. Since then, he's celebrated a birthday (he's 2) and has become quite the fixture. He never passes an opportunity to be petted, hugged or fed. He and Diamond aren't the best of friends, but they aren't mean about it, they just give each other a certain amount of s-p-a-c-e. My cat was the first fur baby to arrive. Pete too, was a resident of the Animal Care League. He had been surrendered and was only a few months shy of his second birthday when he came to us in August, 2007. It took Pete a little longer to feel "at home" probably because he was the first and for a few weeks, the only, with Diamond arriving some weeks later. Diamond and Pete weren't instant hits, but they warmed to one another soon enough. Pete let Diamond have her way (and her way with him) and she since that's the way she wanted it, golden.

The two of them, Pete and Buttah, or "the boys" are more often than not, in the same place at the same time. Buttah, the heavier of the two, powers Pete aside from a feed bowl, rather than seek out the other bowl. Buttah usually initiates the romps as well as their other interactions, despite Pete being the more aggressive of the two. However, Pete is also more skittish. Pete jumps at nearly every noise, he is particularly dis-trustful of plastic bag rustling and aluminum foil ripping. He likes to be held (for about 30 seconds) and tends to be picky about moist food. He doesn't seem to hold any preferences when it comes to the dry kibble. By contrast, Buttah will eat anything wet, balks at the kibble, but will, if desperate, gobble it up as well. Buttah is not skittish. All hell can be breaking loose and he won't budge, especially if food is in the vicinity.

We love our boys as much as they love one another. Individually they are fantastic. Together they are simply, the best.

Beach Boys

I'm not sure what they are discussing. If I had to take a guess, I'd guess that Pete is trying to negotiate a little alone time. Buttah is probably trying to negotiate Pete out of his share of kibble.

Oh Girl ! !

Diamond is seven in human years. According to one chart, that makes her over 40, like me. Though according to that chart if I were a 48 year old dog, that would put me over 200 in human years.

Seven year old Diamond experienced trouble maneuvering stairs and though she has been on joint care tabs since coming to live with us, she also re-developed a pronounced and persistent limp.

Danielle took her to see Vet Mary who prescribed a two week regime of Rimadyl chewables to address the apparent injury to Diamond’s right rear knee joint. Vet Mary directed us to continue the joint care tablets. Further, we were instructed to limit D-dog’s movements by removing stair climbing and to de-motivate running for two weeks.

Diamond quickly understood that she was to be carried like the diva she is, up and down the stairs, so that part of the regime has been a snap to institute and maintain.

De-motivating running, however, has proven a challenge.

Merely three days into her two week regime, we wouldn’t throw her soccer ball to chase so she threw it herself.

Despite our best efforts, birds, squirrels, leaves, and blowing paper were all working in concert motivating the pup to scamper around like a two-year old.

Even her up on hind legs, “Aren’t I the most adorable pup you’ve ever seen?” dance continued.

Diamond sees Vet Mary again on Wednesday. Hopefully the cold and snow (yes, snow) will keep the birds and squirrels scarce over the next few days. While we can keep her from climbing any steps and can keep her from dancing (so much) we can certainly use the extra help in de-motivating the running.

I can’t help but marvel at how she wears her over 40 crown.

Guess What?

It has been a year. A YEAR! Can you believe it? Last year daughter was all atwitter about dressing Pete, the cat. As you may have guessed Pete has been able to resist any and all of D's efforts to dress him, as has his nephew, Buttah. The boys, as has been mentioned before get along famously and use their awake times very constructively. I was told yesterday that D came home to find many of their various toys strewn about the dining room. In fact, since the new diets (we have all taken steps to reduced our respective girths) there has been a marked increase in destructive active behavior. Then again, it may not be connected to the diets at all. It could be two-year old Buttah and now three-year old Pete just getting even more comfortable with each other and their surroundings. We are certainly getting more and more comfortable with each of them.

Cheers & Catnip to Mr. Pete, The Cat. THREE today. YaY !

One Leg-Warmer Short

The long cold day and finally come to an end. What a relief.

Sitting on her bed, finalizing the de-layering process, Deborah was interrupted from leg-warmer removal by daughter popping her head in the room to tell a tale of the day.

One leg-warmer off, Deborah moved into the kitchen for further discourse with daughter and to check on the status of dinner. Laughter and teasing ensued. Satisfied that dinner was moving apace, Deborah moved back into the bedroom to resume leg-warmer removal.

With both leg-warmers now off Deborah moved to stow them away. Only one leg-warmer was present. Twisting and tuning, looking about the room, the bed, under items not yet stowed, no second leg-warmer. Wha….?

Daughter returned to doorway looking to add to her previous tale stared at Deborah with mirth in her eyes and a questioning smirk on her lips. Deborah asked, “didn’t I have on both leg-warmers?” Daughter replied, “I would guess, since you have two legs.” Wha….?

Deborah stowed the one leg-warmer, checked that the other pair was indeed, a pair for they would be needed the next day and let the one leg-warmer ease off her mind assuring herself that it would turn up.

The next morning’s routine was just that, routine. Deborah rose, fed the cats, brewed the coffee (well tried to brew the coffee…coffee must be put IN the filter/pot), showered, prepared her own breakfast, and prepared to get dressed.

She looked about her feet, taking note of Buttah (the orange cat) and his examination of the new scale. There, next Buttah and the new scale was the second leg-warmer. Deborah checked the drawer to see, yep, there in the drawer, one leg-warmer and a second leg-warmer on the floor.

Wha….?

Buttah looked up at Deborah, meowed and sauntered away (in triumph?)

Hmpf.

If at First You Don't Succeed . . .

Yesterday, I was on a mission. Through no fault of my own (or maybe it was) the mission was not accomplished.

Today I was going to write about the mission and failure of same, but the cat (the orange one) wasn't having any of that.

He's being particularly needy this evening.

I'll try again tomorrow. Of course, it might not be about the failed mission by then.

We'll see.

Goodnight.

Soooo Not About Cold or Snow

Buttah's adoption papers report an approximate birthday date of 2/8. February 8th is a BIG day around these parts, beyond his Buttah-ness. However, more about that later. Now, back to Buttah. He'll be two on his birthday and in his short time here has stamped his imprint onto and into every corner of our world.

A few more observations about Buttah, formerly Tacoma.

He's a top. Every time I catch he and Pete in their more-than-brotherly embracing, Buttah is clearly, driving the action, so to speak. Pete will sometimes instigate but as soon as Buttah's engines are purring, Petey flops and is content to let Buttah dictate. Pre-Buttah Pete exhibited some aggressive behaviors. And while he still does on occasion, much less so, post-Buttah.

Buttah is a quiet cat. Except for meal time. He becomes quite vocal at the sight of food, any food. Buttah boy loves to eat. He has begun to nose around Diamond's bowl and that simply will not do.

He likes to be in the bathroom, but only when somebody else is in the bathroom. He will butt his head on the door and if it isn't closed properly he'll come in. He tries to get on your lap when . . . well, when you're sitting. Otherwise he'll camp outside the door until you emerge and he'll follow you around a bit as if trying to decide if you're somehow different.

Buttah is less nimble than his feline counter-part. Pete sprints and leaps at great speeds and with height and distance. I give him a 10. Buttah jogs, stops, measures, and then jumps. I give him a 6. Because of this disparity their games of IT are a bit one-sided. This is where Pete comes out on top, again, so to speak.

Anytime spent at the computer station is doubled because Buttah takes your presence there as an invite to drape himself on the keyboard, your lap, the desk. While Pete was intrigued with the screen and the moving images, Buttah seems content to just be near, to be held.

He's giving Diamond girl a run for her precious pup money in the attention getting category. Trust me, she's up for the challenge.

How cold? Wed. projected hi: 16F / low: minus 4F brrrrrrr

Equal Time

Hi, it's me Pete, the cat! I know you met the others, but they haven't had much time to speak for themselves, so without further delay, I give you my nephew Buttah who is more like my brother and my sister Diamond who is more like a force of nature. Hi, I'm Buttah, the orange tabby. I came here a few months ago and right away got an Uncle Pete and a sister, Diamond. The sister is not a cat like me, but a dog. She's a nice enough dog, but I think she's jealous that I can leap into laps and she has to use the stairs. She's constantly trying to take my moist food, she has to be watched. If mom D or gram D (whoever is feeding us) leave the room she moves me away from my bowl. I can't do anything about it because she's bigger, well, heavier. She isn't mean, just pushy. She does listen when her name is called, especially when the "mommy" voice is used. I notice that Uncle Pete listens to the mommy voice too whenever he's pawing at the walls. I heard mom and gram talking about what to do about Pete and that pawing. He better be careful.

I like having someone like Uncle Pete to talk with. It was lonely outside and then later in the shelter. Mom D met me outside and when she asked me to come with her I did. I don't know why I did, something about her was just purrrfect. hehehehe Anyway, she took me to the shelter and after a few weeks brought gram D around to meet me. I heard gram D say, "no". Mom D was not so happy about that but she told me not to worry. Next thing I know, I'm out of the shelter cage and meeting Pete and Diamond. Gram D wasn't too happy but she warmed to me pretty quickly. I spend a lot of time in her lap when she's watching teevee and typing. I haven't figured out how that paper spits out of that thing next to the typing board, but I'm going to one of these days.

I only have one, maybe two things to say right now. One, I am diva dog and I want, no...I deserve my own times and space. Two, I though I don't like the process of getting my hair cut I DO like the attention I get when I go outside sporting my nice neat trim. Mommy is still working on her technique and she does make me nervous with those scissors close to my eyes, but she does a pretty good job, if I do say so myself.

Word Up

Pssst, can we talk? This is me, Pete, the cat! I took over the contraption so I could talk with you, thought you might want an update. The outfits? Not happening, no way, now how. I'm trying to keep those goofy chicks (well, just one of them is all about 'dressing' us) in line. What the taller one said about me and Buttah, 'tis true. He's so cool. He's kinda nutso about moist food, he makes the most racket when it's time for the moist but otherwise, he's a pretty decent egg. I'm the 'bad boy' so he leaves it up to me to get tall chick up in the morning, at least I think it's morning, so we can eat. He thinks being all cuddly and loving is gonna move her off that thing she's laid out on, uh uh, you gotta get physical. Sometimes we forget about food while we're playing. We try to be quiet but, well, I guess sometimes we get a little rambunctious, she doesn't seem mad when she says, "good morning boys."

That diva dog thinks she's the boss of us, but she's w-r-o-n-g. We just let her think that because, well, it's just easier that way. Besides, we feel kinda sorry for her, she has to wear those dorky looking sweaters and stuff. The shorter chick has a few sweaters for the dog. She put one on Buttah once but he slipped out of it, it was sooo funny. We talked about it later and we made a deal, the sweaters will be for that kooky dog, us cats will not be clothed, hatted or otherwise accessorized. We both could use new collars though, new collars would be good. Buttah keeps taking his off and mine has seen better days.

Well, I have to go now, it's time for my afternoon-evening nap.

Hope you guys have a fantastic day.