Friday, July 29, 2005

Life at the cattery

I must blog about my cats. For they have become my life. And lately, life isn't so grand.

I blame Banana. She's the foster kitty who needs to be spayed once she's out of heat as well as have surgery on her ear.

The offenses:

The first night LISBF and I slept at my house with the new kitties (they were still separated in the second bedroom) she CRIED AND CRIED all night long. And not just I'm-so-sad-and-scared-cause-I'm-in-a-strange-new-place cries. We're talking deep, grumbling yelps. Something to do with her being in heat, I guess.

She scratched the SHIT out of my arm when I had to carry her down the ladder from the attic, after she'd followed me up there. It was SWELTERING hot up there, and I had gone up to open the windows to create a cross breeze. I turn around, and there's Banana, trotting all over the Fiberglas. LISBF doesn't understand why I was so surprised to see her. But Cairo (my good dominant kitty) just sits at the bottom of the ladder and cries for me while I'm in the attic. It never occurs to him that he might be able to follow me up. And wherever Banana goes, Luna follows. So as I started down the ladder, I looked up to see Luna. I was carrying them both down when the scratching occurred. Good thing I was observant, or I would have had a couple of crispy kitties.

Then, yesterday afternoon, I came home to cat puke ALL OVER my kitchen. On the stove. On the counter. Running down the front of the stove. Running down the front of the counter. In front of the refrigerator. And covering a full 2/3 of the surface area of the floor. I cannot describe to you how foul and nasty it was.

I do know ... I can't take 10 years of this.

Apparently, Banana doesn't realize how close she is to the chopping block.

Thursday, July 28, 2005

I know!

I've been busy.

SHEESH.

Monday, July 25, 2005

That crazy cat woman

Unlike some people, I am not embarrassed to blog about my pets.

A conversation via e-mail:

M1: It is currently 85 and rising in my office. The air conditioning is
still broken. I want to go home.

M2: Man, that doesn't even seem legal. Sue 'em.

M1: If I die from heatstroke, save this e-mail as evidence for negligence.

M2: Will do. Who gets Willow? I'm still for Princeton.

LCN: I'll take Willow. I mean, really, at this point ... what's one more?

Friday, July 22, 2005

Thanks, Chicago

Our little town recently unveiled its second community art project, ala Chicago's Cows on Parade. The first time we tried this, several Fiberglas forms were stolen, broken or otherwise vandalized ... proving that we're just not mature enough for public art around here.

But that didn't stop them. A new batch of giant animal statues have invaded the streets. They're quite fun, really. I enjoying walking around town and looking at all of them. So that's why I sought out a map during a recent festival downtown.

The organizers of the art project put out maps that list each piece's location, sponsor and artist. I spied a booth set up at the festival and went over to grab a map. But it wasn't a map. It was a raffle ticket to win [Americow the Beautiful].

The thing I like least about this public art thing, is how the pieces are puns off the type of animal, just like in Chicago ... Lactose Intolerabull, Lady Camoolot, Metallicow, Tutancowmoon ... although a different animal, the names are all in that vein.

There were two ladies standing at the table. One was older, probably a volunteer. The other was a festival-goer with her two smallish children in tow. I put back the raffle ticket and asked the lady behind the table if there were any maps.

Lady: We should have more maps in about 45 minutes. But you could enter to win [Americow the Beautiful]! For only five dollars!

LCN: There are a great number of [cows] that I would like to win, but [Americow] is not one of them.

Other Lady with children: Well then if you win you could just donate it back to the children who designed it.

LCN: *thoughtful pause* Meh. I don't really like kids either.

Thursday, July 21, 2005

If you give a mouse a cookie ...

He'll ask for a glass of milk. By the end of the book, he has the run of the whole house.

And apparently if you visit the animal shelter and adopt a kitten, you'll just end up getting another one. At least I did.

That's right, yesterday morning before work I picked up Luna at the vet's and brought her home. Yesterday after work I met the Ms at the shelter where we picked up Banana and brought her home, too.

Last week, when the three of us went to the shelter with the intent to find another cat for M1, we all fell in love with Banana. The shelter workers had named her Cricket, but M2 took a look at her cage and said "How about Banana over here?" She's mottled orange and black, with a white tummy and nose. And she's had a hard life.

Year and a half old, needs surgery to remove a polyp on her ear (that makes her dog her head crookedly while she's walking around. Too cute!) but she wasn't able to have surgery until she had her litter. Then she had to nurse her litter, then they were all adopted and she developed upper respiratory so she was too sick to have surgery, now she's in heat and would have to wait to have surgery...

She was supposed to be euthanized yesterday.

M1 works with a woman who's on the board of directors for the Humane Society. When she mentioned to M1 that the shelter was going to have to start euthanizing because they just cannot continue to operate with such an overflow of animals, M1 went into mission mode.

I received frantic voicemails throughout the day while I was at my conference. By the end of the day, I was fostering Banana through her surgery period and adopting her once she's recovered.

How quickly I went from being an average person with two cats to a crazy person with four cats.

For some reason, when one cat is granted reprieve, two are spared. I didn't want to know which other cat was supposed to die. It was sad enough walking around the cages and seeing who was missing since Sunday, the last day I had visited Luna.

The moral of the story is ... no more naming animals we meet at the shelter, unless we're prepared to take them home.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

Fun with my differently-abled friend

As some of you will remember, I have a friend who has cerebral palsy. When we go out together, we use her ambulatory wheelchair, because she cannot stand or walk on her own.

The skin around her throat is tight, giving her a gaunt appearance. Her fingers are gnarled and curled. Her head has a slight, uncontrollable bob and she sometimes drools. Her speach is garbled and not always easily understood.

Most people see her and assume she's retarded. But her mind does not suffer.

She loves to shop at Petsmart. That store is the bane of my existance. It's twice as expensive to buy anything there than it is to purchase the same product at any other store. They only ever have one check-out line open. And by the time we're done shopping, we're lucky if we can see the point where the line meets up with a cashier. A rude cashier at that. After all, we are in Petsmart.

Up until a few months ago, my friend had two cats. Even though she only has one now, she still buys just as much. That is to say, she shops like a person who can't just get in the car and drive over to Petsmart any old time she wants to. She shops like a person who has to rely on others to take her there. She shops like a person who thinks this may be the very last time she ever goes to this store because I CAN NOT STAND IT.

Consequently, when we finally roll up to the cash register and the cashier takes one glance at the arsenol of canned cat food in our cart, we are greeted with "Whoa! How many cats do you have!?!"

At which point I put on my most confused look and reply, "Oh, that's for her.*" I say as I motion toward the wheelchair. Sometimes, if she can suppress her giggles well enough, she'll just smile broadly and nod her head eagerly.

This little joke we share makes trips to Petsmart worthwhile.

*It should be noted that this was all LISBF's idea. I was complaining (again) one night about how much I hate Petsmart and how surprised the cashiers are when they ask how many cats she has and I say two. And LISBF thought ... you know what will REALLY surprise them ...

Monday, July 18, 2005

I saw Superman getting it on

M1 and I went out to lovely semi-fancy dinner together last week. As we pulled into the parking log, we parked in a space next to one of those "I'm really proud of my truck" trucks that had a Superman decal on its back window. M1 was the one to notice it. The truck was on my side of the car, and when I got out, I noticed that there was also a smaller Superman decal painted on the side of the car, right behind the turn signal.

We parked next to Superman.

We laughed about it. We walked inside. We ate our dinner.

After our meal, we headed out to the parking lot. M1 noticed that the truck's tail lights were on.

"Guess Superman's leaving, too. Bye Superman!"

We both waved.

As I slid into the passenger's seat of M1's car, I took a peek in the cab. I was curious to see what kind of person would drive a big honking truck decked out with Superman decals.

To my surprise and horror ... they were fucking in the front seat.

LCN: "Oh my God! They're totally fucking in the front seat!" (Did I mention this was beneath a street light in a parking lot for a chain restaurant!?!)

M1: "They are NOT!"

LCN: *Shouting loudly and frantically waving a pointed finger* "They are! They are! They are! They're fucking in the front seat!"

Superman was reclined in the front seat. Supergirl was on top of him, thrusting. Her shirt was hiked up, exposing her bare back. We watched as Superman flung Supergirl's bra across the seat.

M1 began backing up, and I rolled down my window. He laid on the horn, while I pumped my fists in the air shouting "Woo-hoo! Go Superman! Yeah!"

We kept our eyes on the cab and saw Superman extend his right arm and give us a short wave. With the flick of his wrist, we knew everything was going to be okay.

Friday, July 15, 2005

Kitten, kitten, who's got the kitten?

Last night, I adopted a kitten.

It started innocently, or so I thought. M1 has been thinking about getting a playmate for his cat for a while now. So M2 and I accompanied him to the Humane Society.

M1 had originally adopted two cats, and one died about two months later. He thought maybe the cat had been locked in a closet, so in the morning he left all the closet doors open. Came home to find him dead. It was quite tragic. But I digress...

As soon as I arrived, M2 asked "Are you ready to take one home?"

The place was overflowing with cats. There is a surplus this year, so you get special discounts for taking home adult cats. There were cages in the area normally used to house puppies, even cages in the storage area. Tons and tons of cats.

But I had to have this cute little gray kitten. It was in a cage with two other cats, a black and a tuxedo, which happen to be the same as the two cats I already own. So I knew she would color coordinate nicely.

Now the only question is ... what to name her?

Here's the list I've got so far...

Wicket
Racket
Solo
Olive
Isle

I wanted to name her Liquid, but M1 and LISBF objected. As LISBF said "What are you gonna call her, Lick?"

Thursday, July 14, 2005

La Chat's out of the bag

Last night, I told LISBF about my blog.

He was reading an article in the paper about how some bloggers are finding out the consequences of divulging their personal information for all to read. And I asked if I could see it when he was done. So, he jokingly prodded, "You don't have a blog, do you?"

When I first set up this blog, I thought it would be easier to keep it a secret from my real life people. I didn't want to be feel constricted, that I couldn't write something because someone I knew would be reading it. My blog was just taking shape, and I didn't want to be limited.

As it evolved, it turned out that everything I post I've already told LISBF about anyway. Then, of course, there was the tiny part of me that worried he might think it was silly. So, blogging just hadn't really come up. But when he asked last night, even jokingly, I felt like not telling him would be deliberately keeping it from him.

As usual, when we keep things from those we love, I have hurt him. And for that I am very sorry.

But, La Chat's out of the bag, now. So, welcome, LISBF. Make yourself at home.