Kept By Cats

Sweating with Fury
The Scary Boot Chronicles – Conclusion
Hug Your Cat Day
How to Apologize when your Cat Doesn’t Understand
The Scary Boot Chronicles – Part 2
The Scary Boot Chronicles
Quiche – It’s What’s for Dinner
Frank: From Tabby Terrorist to Mama’s Boy
On Tonight’s Menu for the Raccoons
Dinner Dates with @TattleCat

Sweating with Fury

Underpants - Janeson Keeley quote

Had fun yesterday morning. Nearly hit neighbor’s puppy. Then its twin chased my car to the busy road. Had to turn around, go back, ring doorbell. They were home – garage door open with several cars in driveway, but they couldn’t be bothered to answer bell. I rang like I was kinda furious.

Maybe that’s why they didn’t answer. Hm.

Chased the dogs down. Put one over the stoopid tiny makeshift fence while its twin joyfully showed me how they got out by getting back in — the “gate” is tipped and they can jump it.

I’m now sweating through my underwear and still need to take Peaches to the vet for a severe respiratory infection. My POS van has no air. So window is down (only one works and it’s not on the driver side) and while I drive to the vet, I write furious anonymous notes to put in their mail box.

I threaten to leave dog carcass on their front doorstep after I find it dead on the road. I tell them next time I will just load the dogs into my car and take them to the pound. Better they get euthanized than suffer at their lousy hands. I tell them there is a dog fighting ring in the neighborhood. I tell them to answer their effing doorbell!

This is not the first time I’ve had to stop to put their dogs back in their yard. These people have a reputation for not taking care of their pets.

I’m burning with fury by the time I get to the vet because my underwear is now sweaty.

I get meds for Peaches and meds for Noah, my feral stray who also has a respiratory infection. I forget all about my fury while in their air conditioning.

But I remember on the way home since I’m again sweaty. I think sweat brings out the manic animal crusader in me.


This time I write the note in my head and decide to not mention dead carcass and pound. I decide if I see the pups again on the road, I will call Animal Control. My luck someone would see me popping the pups into my car and accuse me of being a dog-napper.

Back home I pour strong coffee and turn down the air conditioning. Noah ate his medication cuz I hid it inside sardines.

Still writing note in my head.

I’m proud of myself for removing the swearwords from this post.

Have a sweat-free day!


Drinking all day

The Scary Boot Chronicles – Conclusion

053The Scary Boot is gone. So are the crutches. So is my doctor…as he gave me ‘the boot’ and said I’m good to go. I don’t need to come back unless something dire happens.

He didn’t define dire.

He probably should have.

To me, dire is going a whole weekend without chocolate…or pizza.

However, I still need to keep my foot wrapped like a mummy because internal swelling will reoccur for over the next year. Yay!

Also, my foot doesn’t bend well at the toes. I told my doctor this and he asked why I needed to bend my toes. He had me there. I guess I don’t…except when I walk, I limp. And I hate limping. A lot!

Limping brings to mind a reoccurring nightmare of me being chased by photographers in Walmart while I’m wearing my favorite writing pants–covered in cat hair–with my hair huge with humidity, no make-up, and … I’m limping because I’m wearing one sneaker and one high heel.

In reality, I’m in pain. It’s traveling from my foot up through my knees and hips into my spine and up to my neck.

Yep. Limping is a pain in the neck.

Also, if I’m on my feet too much–like unexpectedly walking around a small town art fair with my husband and Bestie when we thought we were going to a weekend Farmer’s Market, but the Market had been replaced by the fair–I’ve noticed my left foot feels squishy. Not frog swishy, but like the bones are being stepped on and splaying. It feels weird. And it hurts.

Did I mention I’m still hurting? Not getting much sympathy here at home what with Ray being a guy and my cats being cats. You gotta know what I mean.

I’m also chronically tired. So much so, that a “good night’s rest” leaves me exhausted. I ripped a page from Grandma’s book and started to go to bed around 8pm because I have to get up at 6am to feed the Wonderpurr Gang, the Wonderpurr stray cats, along with the Wonderpurr Raccoons. They gather in the kitchen and on the back porch by 6 am – seven days a week. I can’t sleep knowing they are waiting for me, thus, I thought going to bed super early would help me feel rested.

It doesn’t.

Here I am, going on two months after surgery, and I’m still sooo tired. I did go to the doctor to have blood drawn, thinking it could be anemia or my thryoid, but nope. I’m healthy.

Damn it!

My nurse practitioner put me on Lexapro. She thought my symptoms sounded like depression.

Yeah! I’m depressed, all right. I’m depressed that I’m limping, with aching feet, aching knees, hips, can’t sleep in late on Saturday like everyone else cuz I have a herd of cats and raccoons all waiting for me to cater to them…blah blah blah, and I’m so tired I can’t stay awake to watch the news.

But I’m a glass half-full kind of girl, so to put a positive spin on this hiccup on my Life Road, my husband, Ray, has taken over shoveling litter boxes, mopping floors, and miscellaneous stuff I usually do, but currently am not in the best of physical ability to do them.

I’m blessed to have him take care of me…even though he puts his own sweet spin on the chores and does them differently than how I do them. While I’m grateful for his help, my cats are somewhat out of sorts since Ray lines up their food dishes side by side when he feeds them, not follow them around the kitchen, sun room and living room while they pick out just the right place to dine…like I do.

I keep telling my cats… See how great you have it when I’m around? Better take good care of me. Look how rough life will be if Daddy is in charge.







How to Apologize when your Cat Doesn’t Understand

cat-953219_640How do you apologize to a pet for something he is incapable of understanding?

Dori’s daddy, Nikolas, is upset with me. His best friend, Jesse, was first locked inside a neighbor’s garage for two nights, followed immediately with him being rushed to the vet with a very bad bite, most likely from a brown recluse.

The night Jesse was admitted to the vet for treatment, we brought Nik inside the house so we could bug bomb the garage. Nik has never been an indoor cat, and he did not like being trapped inside the laundry room, despite having his cat tree, personal litter box, and food and water dishes with him. When we released him the next morning, he ran like the devil was on his tail.

I don’t like being the bad guy with my cats. I always put their needs and concerns first, but there are times when that’s not possible. Jesse is very sick, and Nik is very upset because he doesn’t know where his buddy is. He clearly blames me for Jesse’s disappearance.

Jesse and Nikolas

The funny thing is, Jesse always harasses Nik, chasing him around the garage like a bossy older brother, while Nik plays the goof, sprawling on the hood of my car to wave at Jesse glowering at him from the floor. However, during the time Jesse was trapped in the garage, Nik stood vigilant in their driveway, pacing, waiting, yelling at me to do something to get him out. Because of the bite (the vet said it probably happened 2 or 3 days prior to being admitted, so he could have been bitten inside the garage) Jesse didn’t have time to thank Nik for being the one to alert me to what had happened.

As Jesse’s wound is severe enough to warrant a lengthy treatment, I will need to find the appropriate bridge to help Nik to understand his buddy isn’t gone, just unavailable for a while. I’m hoping that after Jesse comes home, I will be able to bring Nik inside for visitations.

Stay tuned.


The Scary Boot Chronicles – Part 2

053The Scary Boot has worn out its welcome.

Feels like a ball and chain.

Not accustomed to being inactive.

Daytime television sucks.

Seriously cranky over this.

I never realized how much I use my feet until I no longer had feet.

I now have Foot.

I was told to lie down with my foot elevated in order to keep it from swelling. Frankly, after spending five days (as I write this) on my back, I don’t think a little swelling is all that dire.

I can’t accomplish anything!

From my perspective, lying down means sleeping—not writing a story or editing a book. My eyes automatically close when I lie down—like a Chatty Cathy doll from the 1960s.

Plus Peaches and Herman are making me nuts as I can’t lie down without either or both jockeying for position on top of me.



There is nothing that starts a hot flash faster than warm-bodied cats.

I have crutches, but using both seemed a little melodramatic for me, so I use just one. I’ve learned to slide on my sock foot and put my weight on the crutch. Sometimes I forget where I left my crutch (I’m A.D.D.), so I’ve perfected a hobble-skip that gets me where I need to go.

Since I’m not supposed to go anywhere, i.e. stay on my back with foot elevated, I keep a tub of disinfectant wipes by the back door in order to wipe off the yard debris when I sneak out there to feed Candy and Noah, my strays, and the raccoons when Ray isn’t home.

Speaking of Ray…he’s been a real trooper throughout this ordeal. Shopping, cooking, cleaning, feeding my cats, and catering to the needs of my strays and raccoons. But on Monday I swear I heard him scream “Yippie!” as he drove off to work.

I have an appointment on Thursday for a checkup. Hope to hear I can remove the boot and get part of my life back.

If not, brace yourself to hear more whining.

P.S. Dori has overcome her fear of the Scary Boot.


The Scary Boot Chronicles

053If you’ve not been among the handful who knew I took three bad falls in January and February of 2015, consider yourself blessed. As Ray works, and my cats frankly don’t give a damn if I’m crippled unless it means meals are delayed…I tend to be alone too much, which gives me time to build up the need to talk about being in Pain! for over a year. So before I begin, thank you to Linda, Kim aka Darrell, Janeson, Karen, Heidi, Barbara, Carolyn, Julie and Janice who have all had to listen to my whining over my foot and back issues far too long.

Last Saturday I put my back out when I bent over. Sounds so dull. Deep Dark Confession: That Monday I had wiggle-walked an old heavy! wooden desk from the garage into my office. I should have waited for Ray to help me, but Ray will talk me out of doing things. Or make me wait. I’m not keen on not getting what I want when I want it—thus, I did the wiggle-walk thing. My old desk looks great in my office now. The glass one that I bought to replace the old wood one freaked me out—something along the lines of Feng Shui energy creating the feeling of being rushed. So not good when the writer is A.D.D.

Anyway! It took a week, but then I bent over and pop! My back went out. I was at my friend Kim’s yard sale when it happened, and I barely made it home before I crashed. I spent the next few days thinking my foot problem had healed because my back pain was enough to override all else. I made it to the chiropractor on Monday, and the adjustment was enough to get me moving again by Friday when my foot surgery was scheduled.

I had been treated for A.D.D. with Adderall for about two years when my doctor took a medical leave—no one blamed me of wearing him out, but still I wondered—and was replaced with a therapist who upped my dosage. When that didn’t work, she added something else…and when that something else kept making me dizzy—and falling—she added something else which gave me an eye twitch. I didn’t have to mention the eye twitch since she plainly saw I was twitching…so she wrote out another prescription.

Kimski's pills

I threw everything into the trash, and walked away from the drug-crazed bitch, and have been feeling much better ever since. I still can’t complete a full thought without zig-zagging into a completely off-topic discussion, but at least I’m not careening down a hill after throwing peanuts to my raccoons. I did that three times, and by the third (and worst) fall, I swear Huck, Becky and Darla looked especially worried for the future of their free eats. Read More

Quiche – It’s What’s for Dinner

As some of you know, I was once a restaurateur in Jacksonville, Florida back in the 80’s. Yes, while the majority of my age group was out enjoying movies like Fast Times at Ridgemont High and going to see Pat Benetar in concert, my husband Ray and I were spending our wild and crazy youth in business. You have to be wild and crazy and young to own a restaurant cuz the hours are horrific. We were up to 90+ hours when we came to our senses and returned to the real world.

The first, called Sasparilla’s, served ice cream and sandwiches. We deliberately spelled it phonetically because Sarsaparilla’s would have giving us nightmares explaining to our customers how to pronounce the name. Our second business, Nanny’s of Windsor, started out as a dessert place, but soon morphed into lunch, and the third restaurant–also named Nanny’s of Windsor–launched as a full-blown eatery from breakfast through dinner.

I still have my recipe book, an old-fashioned photo album where I’d stuck handwritten meal ideas behind the sticky film. One of the popular items we served at Nanny’s of Windsor was quiche. Back then quiche wasn’t mainstream, but as our place targeted the Ladies who Lunched at the nearby country club, a wedge of quiche with a side salad “did it” for most of them, as well as a few guys who owned shops at the Grande Boulevard Mall where we were located.

Before I share with you one of my recipes, I’d first like to take you on a quick trip down Memory Lane with photos of our third–and thank god, final–restaurant, Nanny’s of Windsor:


A week before grand opening Ray and I burned the name Nanny’s of Windsor into the glass door, along with a decorative flower border. I guess maybe we should have asked the mall management about doing that first… oh well! A decorator friend of ours, John Miller, used our restaurant as a showcase for his furniture store, supplying just about everything you see completely free. He even showed us how to do fancy wallpapering.


John took me to a private supply house where we picked up about 300 baskets and loaded them with silk plants, flowers and ribbons to hang from the ceiling, painted black to give the room depth. John also donated the breakfront cabinet and the china inside, and all the oil paintings on the walls.


Nanny’s of Windsor was originally located upstairs in the Mall, but a larger restaurant wanted our space, so the mall managers asked us to move. They transferred us downstairs to the opposite end of the mall…under an elevator! We had a bright yellow canopy lit from the inside and the canopy along with the aroma of our fabulous brand of coffee became like a beacon for hungry shoppers. We were able to place pink-clothed tables outside the shop to line the planters under the elevator. Everyone loved the new Nanny’s.


The view from the main dining area to a more secluded area behind a half-partition.


Photo quality isn’t the best, sorry, but I was too busy cooking to take decent photos. The clock was ours, and the cats on the mantle were gifts from my mom-in-law, who also spent a gracious amount of her time renovating the antique fireplace. We purchased it from a wrecker, and she spent a couple of weeks on our townhouse balcony in the Florida heat scraping old paint from it and then staining it. Mom — you are the best!

Check out counter

Ray managed the front service with the help of the fabulous Jennifer Fields, a high school phenom whom we leaned on pretty heavily, while I ran the kitchen, sometimes accompanied by Jen’s sister, Lynda. To the left of Ray is the single remaining ice cream cabinet from our Sasparilla’s days. To the right of Ray you see a tiny window leading into the kitchen. This was my lair.

No, I didn’t crawl through the tiny window to enter my lair…but there were times when Ray and Jennifer would quickly throw order receipts through the window and run. I wasn’t a temperamental cook…unless we were slammed and I ran out of quiche and chicken salad inside forty-five minutes of opening. That would put me into a tailspin every time. But it was difficult to gauge the need for certain items on a daily basis. Everything was made fresh, and we didn’t have room for leftovers. We didn’t have a freezer, other than the ice cream chest.


Not only did I cook, but I was also in charge of Atmosphere! See the tiny tape player above my workstation? We usually played classical British music to fit the theme, but during Christmas I played Bing Crosby and Perry Como. We didn’t own many tapes, so if you stayed over an hour, you would probably hear the same song at least twice. Plus the machine shut off with a huge SNAP! I cringe now, but its a good memory.

Okay, thank you for tripping along with me through the ghosts from my past. Now, as promised, here is a quiche recipe I think you will enjoy:


You will need the following:

  1. 1 pie shell – unbaked
  2. Gouda cheese – a small wedge
  3. Tyson frozen grilled chicken
  4. 1/2 a package of frozen spinach, thawed
  5. 1/2 onion, chopped
  6. 1/4 red bell pepper, chopped
  7. Minced garlic to taste
  8. Pat of butter
  9. 4 eggs, beaten within an inch of their lives!

Heat oven at 400 degrees.

  1. Cook onion, bell pepper and garlic in butter.
  2. Microwave spinach and pat dry
  3. Microwave chicken and chop into pieces.
  4. Add to onion mixture and heat through.
  5. Slice the Gouda, and placed several pieces on the bottom of the raw crust.
  6. Add the meat and veggie mixture to the crust.
  7. Arrange additional slices of Gouda over the mixture.
  8. Pour the beaten eggs over the mixture.

Place on a baking sheet, and bake for 30 minutes, or until done. Slide a knife into the center and if it comes out clean, it’s done.

I hope you enjoy. Please feel free to leave a comment.



Frank: From Tabby Terrorist to Mama’s Boy

Long line of Crazy Cat LadiesI’ve been a Cat Magnet for most of my life, and still they surprise me…which is what cat’s live for: Being unpredictable.

I had a very interesting interaction with Frank on Monday. We’ve had a stray black cat hanging around for a few weeks. In the past Frank has run him off, so I keep Frank inside until the cat eats. I put a bowl of food out by the tree along the woodline by 6:30 every morning, as he shows up between 6:30 and 7:00 am — again around 1:30-3:00, and even around 5pm, so of course I’m checking my clock to make sure I have food out there.

Anyway! It was a warmer day on Monday, so I let Frank out after black kitty left. Around one o’clock I happened to glance out and saw the stray eating. I also saw Frank hunkered down not more than five feet away from him. I knew if I stepped outside the stray would run, and then Frank would chase him. But — I had a bad feeling Frank was going to rip into him anyway, so I stepped outside and called to him.

I fully expected Frank to launch at the stray and take off in high pursuit. Instead, I saw him flick an ear my way, even though he kept growling at the stray. As I continued to call to Frank, the black cat hunkered down over his dish, not moving. I kept calling to Frank. I could see he was torn with indecision. Should he disembowel the stray, or run to mama to see if she had noms? What to do, what to do?

When I switched to the world-renown “Here Kitty Kitty Kitty!:” Frank actually turned to look at me and did his Di Nero impurrsonation:

Frank you talking to me

I doubled down on the syrupy baby talk that all Cat Ladies are known for, and to my utter shock, Frank left his prey to walk across the back yard and up onto the porch. And when he reached me, he flopped over on his back for a belly rub. Meanwhile the black kitty is watching all this with his mouth hanging open. I picked Frank up and took him inside to give him lunch.

Recalling Frank from the summer of 2014 (click to read) when he was a Tabby Terrorist and tried to attack me while I swept him back with a broom to keep him from dismembering the poor sick stray, Joshua, this new version of Frank says volumes about how a permanent home with a warm bed and constant food supply, not to mention LOVE, will change a cat’s personality.

Ray and I loved Frank from the start. He looked like our Buddy who lived to be 22, and yet he’s not Buddy, he’s … Frank!

Frank chilling

Dinner Dates with @TattleCat

2016 you suckSo far 2016 is treating me like a baby treats a diaper.

I’m dealing with excruciating foot pain from the three falls I took last year. I’m also concerned about Herman’s weight loss.

I have an appointment with yet another foot clinic tomorrow. I’m going to insist on x-rays since the other two clinics didn’t take them. As I fell for the first time a year ago, and at the time they said I had plantar fasciitis… it took me that long to learn how to spell fasciitis…I’m now wondering whether I have a fracture and that’s why I’m not healing. I have trouble walking. Sometimes I’m standing still and a sharp pain shoots up my leg. Being in pain like this is so consuming. Everything else falls by the wayside — like writing novels and blogging and tweeting and Facebooking, etc etc. Except for Herman’s issues. That takes up the other percent of my attention. So if you’ve been wondering where I’ve been, now you know.

Even though Herman’s numbers aren’t quite in the zone where he needs to be on medication for hyperthyroidism, my vet wants him on Hills Y/D and nothing else. She says in order for it to work, he cannot eat anything else.

When my vet said this, it confirmed for me that she’s truly a dog person and knows only peripheral stuff about cats. When she said “nothing else” I distinctly heard Herm mumbled “Wanna bet?” under his breath.

Herman likes the Y/D food, both dry and canned. But — he wants variety. So after eating the same ol same ol for a couple of days, he refuses to eat another bite. He is wobble-walking from being underweight, and at 6.6 pounds he can’t afford to skip a meal. So yesterday the vet approved adding Iams Veterinary Formula Maximum Calorie canned food to the Hills Y/D diet. I ordered a case from and  I’m crossing my fingers he will eat it. At least its variety.

It’s not that Herman is struggling to eat. However, he’s in the kitty gravy lickers camp where they lap the gravy and leave the meat. I’ve chopped the meat into a mush and he will eat it, but clearly not enough to maintain a good weight. Plus he has a heart murmur, so he is on Atenolol – which I understand will induce weight loss. He was on amlopidine for two months for high blood pressure, created by the murmur, and that’s when his weight really dropped. So my vet took him off that a week ago.

Yesterday Herman really worked me over. He had me opening no less than six cans of different foods — anything just to get him to eat, but he would take a bite and then walk away. So frustrating! Especially when the rest of the Wonderpurr Gang was all too willing to help eat what was left in the can. None of them are underweight, especially Opie and Frank who are pushing their cat suits to the extreme.

Herman I'm Hungry

Anyway – I finally sat down with Herman to give him a pep talk to coax him to eat, and he did. I then realized he wanted a dinner date!

This morning he was again ignoring his dish. So again I sat down with him, and this time I scooped some of the food into a spoon and held it for him. He really liked that.

Not only does TattleCat want a dinner date, but he also wants his dinner date to spoon feed him.

I’m thinking this is the true definition of being pussy whipped.

I would love to hear from those of you who have been in this predicament with a finicky cat, and what foods, etc. helped your kitty to gain weight.

Thanks for stopping by, and have a Wonderpurr Day!

~Kimberley Koz

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