cats

1
Dori’s Command Performance: Purrple Underpants
2
The 5 Stages of Grief ~ Cat Style
3
A Wonderpurr Weekend
4
Remembering a Hero: Nicholas Ridiculous
5
Adorapurr Visits with Santa Paws
6
The Scary Boot Chronicles – Conclusion
7
How to Apologize when your Cat Doesn’t Understand
8
Dori Gets A Taste of Spring
9
The Scary Boot Chronicles – Part 2
10
Guessing Game

Dori’s Command Performance: Purrple Underpants

Let me entertain mew…. Let me make you smile.

Hi everyone, it’s me Dori! *wavy paws* I’ve been mobbed with requests to sing my hit song, Purrple Underpants for those who have never heard the song before. So, without further delay…

The 5 Stages of Grief ~ Cat Style

This past weekend I asked my Mom for something and she said “NO!” I don’t hear that word too often. I mean, I’m Herman!!! <– note my 3 exclamation marks, I never go anywhere without them.

Anyway, hearing the ‘N’ word kinda shook me right down to the tip of my floofy tail. It’s a nasty word. Especially when it means being denied something you really really want.

With that thought, I created my own version on the 5 Stages of Grief. Feel free to tell me what NO’s have lead to your purrrsonal grief.

A Wonderpurr Weekend

Friends ask me all the time…what does the Wonderpurr Gang do on weekends. So, to answer that question…here are a few photos from this past Caturday.

Frank and our new sister, Elly.

This is Chevy. He’s claimed our yard for his own.

Dad’s best cat Cookie went OTRB in 2012.

Elly has applied for the job opening.

Huck was born in 2011. He’s blind in one eye. He’s a good dad.

Frank used to sleep in the woods. Now he sleeps in our pawrent’s bed.

Me and Dori enjoy a good snooze in a favorite sun puddle.

Hope you enjoy a Wonderpurr Week!

Herman!!!

Remembering a Hero: Nicholas Ridiculous

Alpha. Aggressive. Clown. Gentle Giant.

Nicholas was all of those and more.

Simmering between seventeen and twenty pounds for most of his life,  Nick never failed to cause a reaction when he met someone new, be it at home or at a new vet. Vet techs would brace to “deal” with the miniature panther, and then melt when they realized how utterly charming he was. That he knew they were there to help him feel better soon became evident.

When I first met Nick, he stunk to high heaven. It wasn’t outer body odor. It was inner. I can only imagine what he had been eating to survive. I used shampoos and powders and other means to make him less toxic to my nose, but the only remedy was good food and clean water. It took several months, but I remember the day we were at the vet and I mentioned his odor problem. The vet sniffed him and said, “Well, he smells pretty good to me.” Like he’d understood what she’d said, he’d jerked his face to me and looked into my eyes with what I can only describe as delight.

 Nick and Cookie, our Tuxedo kitty, shared an Odd Couple relationship. The same age, they were already living homeless on our property in Kentucky when we bought the house on five acres. Neurotic and nervous, Cookie soon befriended Moose and Logan, the outdoor tabbies we brought with us from Florida. Eager to please his new friends, Cookie took it upon himself to run Nick, who they did not like, out of town.

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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.

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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.

Kim

Dori Gets A Taste of Spring

Herman 1-ViewNX

Well, it’s been another Wonderpurr weekend here at my house, the place where I live.

Dori had quite an adventure yesterday — Sunday — while we were on Yard Patrol.

She’s new at Yard Patrol. She’s been 100% indoor kitty since she was rescued from backyard in January 2013 with her Dad, Nikolas, and her mom and fursibs, all now adopted. She was only a baby when she was patrolling the woods, so she’s forgotten everything her pawrents showed her.

The fenced-in yard where I patrol is safe with high walls, trees, bushes, bamboo, flowery vines, a huge fountain, and a nice cool patio. When I go out, I take a spin around the perimeter to see if anything has changed, and then I settle under my favorite flowering vine for a nap.

It's a Wonderpurr Life

On Sunday my pawrents were chilling on the patio, while Frank climbed the fence to take a sentry position overlooking the backyard where the raccoons hang out. That left me to keep an eye on Dori. This would be maybe her sixth time in the yard, but the other times the weather was cooler and the bugs ‘n other creepy crawlies had not yet come out of hibernation.

She seemed like she was doing pretty good, wandering among the new bushes Dad put in, and exploring the gravel walkway, pawing a few stones.

Then…

She pounced!

I immediately knew what she had found. One of those tiny squishy jumpy toys that appear in my yard when the weather gets warm.

Now from experience I know these toys are better left alone. I’ve never played one with, but I’ve seen my other fursibs play and I’ve seen the outcome.

Before I could meow to warn Mom of what Dori had found, I saw Dori pick up her new toy and march happily across the yard. This was at the same time I heard Dad say, “Dori has a frog.”

Mom was immediately on her feet (foot since she’s still wearing the Scary Boot) and lumbered over to take the frog from Dori. See, its a firm and fast rule at my house: You can’t keep something you find until it gets Mom’s stamp of approval. And Mom rarely gives her stamp of approval, so we cats pretty much try to hide what we find.

Dori is new, so Dori didn’t know about hiding her tiny squish jumpy toy.

Mom didn’t have to worry about getting Dori to drop her toy, cuz a mere second later she had dropped it and was foaming at the mouth.

Buckets of foam poured from her mouth. And she was running like a rabbit all over the yard, with my pawrents trying to catch her–and *snickers behind paw* — failing miserably.

I felt bad about Dori having a bad taste in her mouth, but it was really funny watching Mom and Dad chase her.

Then Dad got the “brilliant” idea to open the door to the house so Dori could go inside. I later heard Mom telling her sister, “Makes total sense not to trap her in a tiny fenced yard, but rather let her inside a 3,000 square foot home so we can chase her up and down stairs, and from room to room, with Dori spewing foam with every step.”

I will now let Dori finish telling you the rest of her story:

Cry DoriDORI: *clears throat* Ahem!

I ALMOST DIED!

I had a NEAR-DEAF experience!

I saw a bwight light at the end of a tunnel, and was walking toward it when my meowmy grabbed me, hauled me into the baffroom and shut the door.

Then she poured water into my mouf and made me spit over and over.

Then Daddy passed Mom a cup of milk. I shouldn’t have milk. Last week I licked the bottom of a cereal bowl and I frew up over and over. But the taste of da tiny squishy jumpy toy was so bad… Mom rubbed milk on my gums and I licked it. So she rubbed some more.

I had stopped foaming by then, but me and Mom waited in the baffroom to see if I would frow up from having milk on my gums.

“So,” Mom said while we were waiting. “What did we learn about playing with frogs?”

I hung my head. “Fwogs are da Devil’s food, and I’m an Angel, so I shouldn’t eated them.”

“Good enough.” She let me go downstairs and fed me kibbles and turkey lunch meat.

My pawrents watched me all day to make sure I was fine, and I was. So this morning I got to join Hwermie and Fwank on Yard Patrol.

I didn’t see any fwogs, but I’d alweady planned to ignore them if I did see one.

I may be only dis many *holds up 3 claws* but I’m no fool.

The End

 

 

 

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.

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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.

Dori SCARY BOOT

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