Narrowing things down

Last night I watched a NOVA special on PBS about intelligence in great apes. The researchers conducted one experiment with chimpanzees, then wanted to see if more socially-inclined bonobos would behave differently. The experiment involved the apes pulling a rope that caused something else to move. As the cameras recorded the bonobo experiment, the voice-over said, "The first step is getting the bonobos to concentrate on the task at hand..." as the bonobos proceeded to swing from the rope, then pull themselves along the floor with it. I started laughing and BikerDude heard me, so I explained why I was laughing. He thought for a second and said exactly what I was thinking, "So what you're saying is that Kaos is a bonobo."

Yes! That's exactly it!

I'm not sure what Razor is-- whichever monkey species carefully observes then acts in a way that is easy to blame on someone else, most likely. Is there a sneaky monkey? (OK, ape, I know, I know...). Tweak would still be the psychopathic monkey.

We really need a tall cat tree/jungle gym that these guys can swing from...

***

On a sadder note, I noticed that my former employer, OJ, didn't follow the instructions of the Virginia State Bar when they suspended his license last summer, and when he lost his appeal he apparently disappeared without notifying his clients, the courts where he had cases pending, or the bar. His license has now been revoked and his practice placed in receivership.

Sigh. Same crap he was doing when I worked there 15 years ago. I guess it's good that it has finally caught up with him, at least for his clients' sakes, but it's still pretty sad.

Long time, no see

After Cinnamon's death, I didn't feel much like writing. That combined with work heating up and keeping me busy meant that I just haven't gotten around to doing any updates. I'm hoping to pick back up now, though.

I still miss my little girl, but I'm really glad we have the other three to keep me distracted. No matter how sad I feel, the boys can still make me laugh! And sometimes Tweak, too. She has actually started occasionally crawling up into my lap and napping-- I think she misses Cinnamon, too. Cinnamon was the only cat she ever cuddled up with-- they used to bathe each other and sleep cuddled up together. She still won't cuddle up with the boys, but they aren't as nasty to each other as they used to be. They seem to have settled into a detente.

Tweak still cracks me up with her little mind games, though. She knows that the boys are still intimidated by her, so she likes to place herself strategically-- stretching out on her back at the foot of the stairs so that they can't get around her, for instance, or laying in wait around a corner for them and pouncing them when they blithely stroll into her trap. She also guards the cat door at the top of the basement stairs, from either side. She truly enjoys positioning herself on one side of the door and slapping the head of whoever comes through. This is why we have to keep a litterbox on the second floor as well as in the basement-- she can't guard both flights of stairs simultaneously, so this way she can't block access to a potty.

Kaos is still his full-throttle, romping, clownish self. He likes to play The Floor Is Lava and see if he can get all the way around any given floor without touching the ground. So far he's broken one lamp, a glass plate and a couple of candles. He's also started Midnight Love sessions with us. He's figured out that about half an hour to an hour after we have gone to bed, if he walks around us, over us and between us purring loudly, he will have us to himself and will get concentrated love and attention. BikerDude particularly likes to watch TV for a little while before going to sleep, and Kaos uses that time to just be silly. He throws himself against use, taking turns headbutting first BikerDude, then me. He crawls up onto us and rolls around, with varying degrees of success depending on how we are laying (I have some hard-to-explain scratches on my hip because I was laying on my side one night when he tried to roll around on my hip, started to slide off, and dug his claws in to regain purchase). He does the Bengal purr-chirp during this time-- purring so hard that he chirps. It's really cute, lucky for him.

I keep telling him that those little love sessions buy him a lot of free spins. I think he knows this.

Razor is still figuring out the whole lap thing. He still insists on laying upside down-- with his head and front paws on my waist and his butt on my shoulder. He now lets me flip him around right-side-up most of the time, and will settle down, purring and chirping and enjoying the attention. His favorite time to do this, though, is in the evening when I'm trying to read the paper (operative word: Trying). He's also started to get into BikerDude's lap while he's working on the computer--that is, when Tweak hasn't already claimed the lap for herself.

Tweak is still unquestionably BikerDude's cat. I am a distant second-place servant/attendant, but she will come to me when BikerDude has thrown her out of his lap at the computer. She has also started regularly slaughtering her toys and bringing us the kill, frequently in the middle of the night. For some reason, she prefers wand toys, which makes me think she may have killed a few snakes or lizards in her feral days. Or she's just being a weirdo. Totally possible.

Anyway, the time has come to invest in a good cat tree. This ought to be entertaining...

Children and dogs

The saying goes that actors should never work with children or dogs. Many cat owners feel the same way, but Bengals are odd cats.

Most cats are leery of strangers, but my Bengals have all, to a greater or lesser extent, been friendly. Cinnamon, however, is in a class by herself. We call her our little Wal-Mart greeter: She runs to the door when strangers come in and DEMANDS attention! She usually hops up on the table that is just inside the door and simply looks cute. Most people can't resist a quick ear-scratch or a pet along the back, but if they ignore her, she will give them a loud MEOW! If they still ignore her, she will begin to pat them, first with her claws in, then with her claws extended. I just tell people, "Do yourself a favor and pet her because she won't leave you alone until you do."

On Halloween, I have to lock her in the basement. She is convinced that all of those trick-or-treaters are there just to see her! Considering that we routinely have between 100-150 trick-or-treaters, she's safer in the basement.

Anyone who comes in and sits down gets even more attention. Shortly after I bought my house, I had a guy in to give me an estimate on siding. He sat on the couch with a clipboard and some samples, and while we were talking, she got on his clipboard in his lap and layed down! Fortunately, he thought it was funny. Even the locksmith couldn't get rid of her. She supervised all of his work and even sat in his lap while he drilled out the place for the new dead bolt. I offered to remove her, but he was fascinated by this little cat who didn't run when he fired up the electric drill.

But where Cinnamon's friendliness really shines is with children. All of my other cats, including my other Bengals, are reasonably friendly to strangers and will usually sashay into the room and check out any newcomers and look for attention and pets, but even they usually avoid small children. Not so with Cinnamon! This was something I noticed from the start. When she was only about 6 months old, some friends came to the house for a cookout and brought their 10 month old baby, who was just starting to crawl. He squealed with delight when he saw my cats (only 2 at the time). Winston took one look and beat it upstairs for most of the duration of their visit, but Cinnamon wasn't the least bit bothered.

With the baby sitting on his mom's lap, Cinnamon hopped up into her lap as well and sniffed the little visitor. He laughed and touched her fur and her ears, and other than squinting a little when he pulled her ear, she didn't react, just arched her back when he touched it. He was enthralled! It worked well for me-- I had assiduously baby-proofed the house, but was a little concerned that he would get bored since I didn't have a lot of toys or baby-appropriate things to play with. Not a problem! He spent the entire day following her around and around: Kitchen to dining room to living room back down the hall to the kitchen. She stayed ahead of him-- just out of reach-- occasionally pausing to let him catch up to her and pet her. She never scratched, bit or hissed and only hopped up into a chair out of his way if she felt the least bit threatened. The perfect baby cat!

I didn't know for sure if her reaction was specific to that child, but over the years I've discovered that it was not. Another friend visited with her young daughter and Cinnamon was equally comfortable with her. More recently, my sister had a baby girl (my niece Smiling Eyes) a little over a year ago and Cinnamon has adopted her as a Favorite Small Person. Every time my sister and her husband visit, Cinnamon immediately finds Smiling Eyes and touches noses for a greeting, much to my niece's delight. Sis and her husband have two cats of their own-- big old boys, a Siamese and a part Russian Blue that each had before they got married-- but they still stay pretty clear of Smiling Eyes. She's 16 months old now and quite mobile, so they have had to improve their evasive maneuvers! Not so with Cinnamon. She hops right up to the toddler and demands ear scratches and pets along her back. Even if Smiling Eyes grabs her tail or a handfull of fur, Cinnamon just steps out of reach to let her know this isn't acceptable.

Razor and Kaos are more wary and tend to steer clear and observe from a distance, but they also can't stand the idea of someone else getting attention, so when they were up Palm Sunday to visit, Smiling Eyes ended up petting all three Bengals. Kaos is almost as friendly and fearless as Cinnamon, so it only took a few minutes of Cinnamon getting attention before he had to insert himself into the scene. Razor approached from the rear and carefully sniffed her from behind before allowing himself to be gingerly petted, but when she let out a loud laugh, he high-tailed it to the staircase and watched through the bannister.

Last fall our church had a St. Francis of Assisi Blessing of the Animals service, so I took Cinnamon to represent the other cats. There was no way I was going to take all of them, but I didn't trust the boys. Even with a harness and leash, I would be the one standing under a tree with my arm straight up in the air, tightly gripping the end of a leash that disappeared into the foliage. I love my boys, but I am realistic about their behavior!

Cinnamon was in her element, once she got over being a little freaked at being outside (she's strictly an indoor cat). I had her in a harness and leash, but still carried her around. Once she realized that all she had to do to participate was let people pet her, fawn over her and tell her how cute she was, she was completely on board with the whole idea! She got lots of attention and had a great day!

Knowing all of this about our cats and their reactions, we thought we knew what to expect when we agreed to puppy-sit for one of BikerDude's friends. The puppy in question was a 10 week old Australian Shepherd named Maya-- a blue merle, odd-eyed ball of fluff and energy. We both work close to home, so it was easy for one of us to slip home during the day and let her out in the early months, until she grew enough that she could be left alone all day. It gave us a fun-but-temporary puppy fix and did a favor for the friend, as well.

We introduced the cat to the puppy gradually, by leaving her in her crate initially until they had a chance to sniff her and scope her out. Next we kept her on a leash or held her in our laps-- they were very curious and immediately checked her out. Once she was allowed to run loose, we blocked off the bottom of the stairs so that the cats could get on the stairs to get away. She's a smart dog, so it didn't take her long to bypass our obstacles, but we kept changing them around and foiled most of her attempts to chase the cats up the stairs. Patches, our old lady cat, was still alive during this, so she would usually just retreat upstairs and stay there while the puppy was around.

Maya was an energetic puppy and LOVED the cats! They were way better than any other toy! Much to our surprise, the cat who quickly adopted her was Razor. He was the most timid of the Bengals in every other new situation we had introduced them to, but he quickly discovered that the puppy was an excellent playmate! He would chase her, let her chase him, wrestle with her and play keep-away by jumping just out of her reach and tormenting her. Kaos and Cinnamon played along occasionally, but Razor was always up for a game of chase, and he would even put her in a headlock and bathe her ears.

Maya's instincts quickly emerged and before long she was trying to herd the cats. This was just as hilarious as it sounds: She would chase them and nip at their heels, which would earn her a swat on the nose. She would corner them in the kitchen, then they would confound her by either jumping over her or, when she got a little bigger (and a little wiser), jumping up on the kitchen counter and escaping over her head. The look on her face was priceless: Australian Shepherds are cattle dogs, and cows don't go vertical. This was not a move that her instincts could account for! She would look at them with a mixture of "That's not fair!" and "How did you do that?" that always made us laugh.

But she was really good at trajectories. When she would chase them and they would jump the barrier and run upstairs, she would run along the hallway into the kitchen, because if the stairs didn't go up to the second floor, that was where their trajectory would have taken them. She would run into the kitchen, looking up at the ceiling. She knew where they were, she just couldn't figure out how to get to them!

Because of the cats, she learned a lot of interesting techniques that I'll wager most Aussie's don't know. Our friend was a little precious and worried about his poor little darling, apparently thinking that because she was a girl she was a delicate little flower. What he clearly didn't understand was that she was a moose, a bull in a china shop. Female she may be, but delicate: Not! Early on he was terrified that she would fall off of a piece of furniture or trip trying to go down stairs and break a leg. Imagine his horror the first time he came by to pick her up and found her mid-chase with the cats, following them as the went through the dining room, into the living room, up onto the ottoman, then bouncing off the seat of the chair to clear the back like a low hurdle, landing at a full run down the hall to the kitchen!

She also liked to nap in the picture window, long past the time when she was really to big to do so. Seeing a cat or two curled up in the window is cozy; seeing a good-sized dog there is just weird, especially when she would roll over on her back to toast her tummy in the afternoon sun.

The friend finally decided that enough was enough when he offered her a dog toy and she turned it down in favor of one of the cat's catnip mice. By that time she was old enough to spend the day with his other Aussie. Her house training was complete and she was big enough to hold her own against the full-grown boy. Apparently she has now surpassed her brother in the number and complexity of tricks that she has learned, and her new favorite game is playing Frisbee with Daddy! And she still loves kitties!

What can I say. They were a bad influence.

Changes

It's been interesting watching the boys as they have settled into our household. It's fun to watch their individual personalities emerge as they become comfortable.

Kaos adapted almost immediately, but that's not surprising. He is a confident, laid-back cat with an insatiable curiosity and absolute confidence that he will be accepted, admired and treated well wherever he goes. He has never met a stranger: He likes to go up to "new friends" and give them a thorough sniff, check out any packages they may have brought in, stick his nose in their coat or shirt pocket, and offer his ears for a quick scratch. If you pick him up, he curls up into your arms and looks around from this new, interesting vantage point. Kaos is by far the most agile of our cats, but he therefore takes the greatest risks, occasionally leading to some spectacular crashes. It doesn't phase him in the least, though. He'll just keep trying 'til he succeeds. This is how he has learned to balance on the railing at the top of the stairs, perch on top of my closet door and lay down across the top of the clothes hanging in my closet.

Perhaps his most impressive trick, however, is balancing on the "cannonball" tops of our four-poster bed. This bed, a 1920s or '30s era reproduction of an antique set, has eyeball-level posts that culminate in balls about the size of a softball. Kaos can perch like a circus monkey with all four paws on one ball. He then bounces off of the matress and lands on another ball, leaps to the top of the shelves next to my side of the bed or launches himself directly onto whichever of the other hapless cats happens to be trying to nap on the bed. It's hardly a stealth move, but he still manages to catch them occasionally off guard.

Razor has been slower to settle in. This may be partly because he was in foster care longer, so it may have taken him longer to decide that this was truly his "forever home," but I think a lot of it is just his personality. Razor is a friendly cat, but not as exuberant as Kaos. He assesses situations before crashing into them, but his curiosity gets the best of him (especially if he sees Cinnamon or Kaos getting attention), and he likes to meet and greet visitors. He has only recently allowed me to start picking him up. He will relax for a minute and purr loudly, even letting me pet his head and snuggle him under my chin, but usually he will want to get down pretty quickly. I let him down when he asks so that he will let me pick him up again. Gradually, the lap time has gotten longer.

Razor does love attention, but likes to be in control. He loves to catch me when I'm reading and get behind me on the sofa or chair, then creep down my shoulder and walk across my lap between my eyes and the book, sometimes pausing long enough to draw his tail under my chin. Just passing through...

I call these his "drive-by" cuddles.

Razor is actually probably the smartest of the cats. He's the one who figured out how to work the toddler latches on the kitchen cabinets and still enjoys breaking into the food locker. He also likes to carry things around the house, so when something odd (a bottle of baby aspirin/Baby Jesus from the nativity set) turns up someplace where we usually don't keep it (under the dining room table/in the fireplace), I have a pretty good idea who is responsible.

Recently, he has started following me into the bathroom in the mornings and demanding belly rubs. He flings himself down on the bathmat in front of the tub and rolls around on his back, purring loudly, until I stop whatever I'm doing and rub his belly. Sometimes he will respond by clamping up on my hand with all fours, but usually once he has me in his grip, he just washes my hand.

His favorite game, though, is wrestling with the other cats. Kaos is his favorite target, and sometimes we will hear Razor walking around the house yowling, calling Kaos to come out and play. He doesn't usually bother with stalking: He just walks right up to Kaos and starts grooming him, then grooms a little harder, then pins him down to really wash those ears, then puts him in a headlock and pins him to the floor. Not very subtle. He does the same thing with Cinnamon, but she is quicker on the uptake and faster than Kaos, so she usually worms her way out of his grip before he can advance too far (she grew up with a bigger, older brother who used the same technique, so she's an old pro). So far he hasn't really tried it with Tweak. She still intimidates him.

I am so glad that we decided to get both boys instead of one or the other. They keep each other entertained and are a great outlet for each other. If we had just one of them, either of them would drive Cinnamon and Tweak crazy. As it is they can take out their aggressive play on each other and leave the other cats to join in or observe at will. It's a nice arrangement.

Winston Comes Home

My first cat after I left home was a beautiful seal-point Siamese that I adopted in law school named Samantha (aka, Sammy Cat or Slammy Cat). One of her most notable eccentricities was that she HATED other cats. With a passion! She would sit on the balcony of my apartment and growl at other cats sitting on their balconies, and on the rare occasion she actually encountered another cat, she would react with the Banshee Scream From Hell and scare the bejeebers out of them. Truly obnoxious.

Sammy Cat died after a bout with a nasty form of cancer and I was devastated. A co-worker whom I knew bred and showed cats had been kindly following the saga (it was 8 months from her diagnosis 'til her death) and had offered support throughout. She saw me a week or so after Sammy's death and stopped me to express her condolences. I told her that as much as I missed Sammy, I was going to have to get another cat soon because my apartment was way too quiet, and coming home to an empty apartment was just worse.

Janet paused and looked thoughtful. Finally, she said, "I normally wouldn't offer a cat to someone who had just lost their beloved pet, but I have a unique situation." Janet was getting ready to get married, and she was marrying another cat breeder that she had met on the show circuit, so they were going to be combining catteries. Between them, including pets, kittens and everything they had almost 40 cats, so they were looking to thin the herd! They had agreed that they were not going to keep any more kittens that they couldn't sell-- they had to find homes for cats who were not already household pets.

She went on to explain that she had this one kitten... he was five months old and all of his littermates had been placed. The folks on her "kitten list" didn't really want him because his markings were very poor. She said that he was a very sweet boy, very social, and from a litter from one of her favorite cats, a melanistic (black-on-black) girl. I asked her what kind of cat he was and she said, "A Bengal. Specifically, he's a seal-lynx point, or snow leopard Bengal." My first thought was, "What's a Bengal?" I had to go back to my office and look them up on the Internet to see what she was talking about.

The next morning, Janet played a very dirty trick. She left two Polaroids of this adorable kitten on my desk! He looked for all the world like a lynx-point Siamese: A cream colored cat with tabby markings on his face, ears, feet and tail. As it turns out, that was the problem: He was supposed to have spots on his body, and he didn't. He looked like this:



Now, I ask you, was this fair?

Cut to a year or so later. Winston was driving me crazy. He was certainly fun and lovable and incredibly goofy, but he CRAVED attention! From the time I got home he was Velcro-Kitty: Every time I sat down he was in my lap. He wanted to play all of the time, and we would play fetch with his furry toys for half and hour at a time. Winston was always a Night Crawler, so after I went to bed, he'd be up and around, getting bored, and he'd start to bring me toys. I would wake up surrounded by cat toys-- mice, fur balls, pom-poms, even his fishing toys with the long sticks! When he really wanted to get my attention, he'd dunk the soft toys in his water dish first then drop them on my bed. There's nothing like reaching over and finding a cold, wet, slimy fur toy right next to your pillow... If I still insisted on sleeping, he'd jump up on one of my dressers and start knocking things off until I yelled at him.

I was getting pretty exasperated and asked Janet and my vet what to do. They both had the same conclusion: Get another cat. Why on earth would I want to do that when the one was driving me insane??!! Janet explained that Winston had been raised in a house full of cats and was very social. He was lonely, and I was his only playmate. Get him a playmate and some of the neurotic behavior would cease. What sealed the deal was that my sister went out of town for 2-3 weeks and I kept her cat Ivan for her. Winston and Ivan were already friends (they were the same age), and Winston's behavior improved dramatically as soon as Ivan was there. After he left, the antics started up again. I was convinced.

I asked Janet if she had any more cats available. As it turns out, she did. She and her husband also did Bengal rescue and they had brought in a mother and kittens shortly before. They had all been placed, but when they came in they brought feline herpes virus with them, and two of Janet's kittens had gotten infected. The kittens would outgrown the virus (it's like a bad cold, but it lasts for several weeks or months), but she couldn't sell them because they had snotty, crusty noses and teary eyes and just didn't look healthy. She brought me: Cinnamon, a tiny brown spotted Bengal with the cutest turned-up nose you've ever seen.

I think Winston thought that I had brought him a pet, but he quickly discovered that even though she was a fraction of his size, she was clearly in charge. They remained best buddies until his untimely death in 2007.

Christmas Day

For all of the stress and usual holiday foo-fah leading up to the holiday, Christmas was actually quite wonderful and relaxed.  

BikerDude's boss, whom he has taken to referring to as The Godless Heathen, decided on Monday that the dealership would remain open on Christmas Eve until 8:00.  You know, for all of those last-minute shoppers who buy cars on Christmas Eve.  The problem for us was that my family had planned on having our big Christmas dinner on Christmas Eve because my niece and nephew were leaving mid-day Christmas Day to go visit their mom in Chesapeake.  Staying 'til 8:00 would ruin everyone's Christmas because either we would have to drive down separately or Christmas dinner would have to proceed without the turkey, which I had.  Furthermore, my mom, Memaw, wanted all of us to go to their church's Christmas Eve service, which was at 5:00.

By Tuesday, TGH had decided that maybe they'd close up shop at 6:00.  That would put us in Lynchburg at about 7:00-7:30, still too late for the Christmas Eve service, but better.  BikerDude told me to stand by and commit to nothing.

I got off from work at 2:00, picked up a couple of last minute things and came home to finish packing, etc.  When I walked in, I noticed that the fireplace wall looked... a little bare.  That's because the picture over the fireplace was laying in the floor (a large print, done by a friend of mine).  Also, the nativity set was scattered-- the sheep had apparently made a break for it, because the shepherds were all askew and the sheep were found under the Christmas tree.  I'm guessing Razor was this particular culprit, but it's only a guess.

After rounding up the sheep, rehanging the picture and reorganizing the nativity scene, I was ready to hit the road.  BikerDude phoned around 3:00 to say that he was on his way home.  I asked him if they had closed early.  He said not exactly.  He had told his manager about our Christmas plans and told him he had planned to go to a late lunch around 2:45 and not come back 'til Friday.  He didn't wait to get permission, but at a few minutes to 3:00, he told his manager "Hey, I'm going to get a bite to eat" and headed out the door.  He hasn't come back home yet this morning, so I'm assuming that he hasn't been fired.  Yet.  Or he's out looking for another job before coming home.

We had been talking about Christmas Eve services and BikerDude stated that he really missed the old fashioned midnight services.  I agreed:  As a child, my Grandma McCraw's church used to have 11:00 p.m. services, and frequently we would accompany her to those services.  They were usually beautiful:  Quiet and contemplative, with candlelight and lots of wonderful music.  I did a little web research and discovered that Grandma's church (now called Rivermont Avenue Evangelical Presbyterian Church, whatever that means) would still be hosting an 11:00 service, so BikerDude and I decided to go.

Let me say up front that the Christmas Eve service at Memaw and Bobo's church (the church I grew up in) was fine.  They have trended towards "blended" services these days, and this one was no different.  That isn't exactly my cup of tea (certainly not on a weekly basis), but the service was nice, if a little casual for my tastes for a Christmas Eve service.   Afterwards, we went to Memaw and Bobo's house and had a wonderful dinner with smoked turkey and ham, mashed potatoes and gravy, sweet potatoes and stuffing, broccoli casserole and green beans, cranberry sauce and cherry jello salad, Memaw's special rolls and watermelon rind pickle.  Dessert was apple cake, pecan pie and Christmas cookies.  It was all fabulous.  Memaw knows how to put on a spread!

After the excitement of the evening, the travel and the wonderful meal, BikerDude and I went to the 11:00 service.  What an experience!  The church had a small brass and string orchestra playing a lovely Christmas concerto when we arrived.  The service was very traditional, with responsive readings from Isaiah and from the gospels.  There was a soloist-- an operatic soprano with a clear, lovely voice-- and lots of Christmas hymns.  The sermon was interesting, thoughtful and relevant.  It was, more than anything else, peaceful.  A small oasis of silence carved out of the busy holiday to remind us of the real message at the heart of the season.  I am so glad we went.  I have a feeling it won't be the last time.

And now I have to go on a search and rescue mission:  Baby Jesus is missing.

More Christmas Fun

Our plastic tree is the kind that has a central pole with concentric rings that the branches hook into.  When BikerDude got home from work yesterday, Kaos was lounging on his back on the third row of branches while swatting at the stuff above him.  When he saw BikerDude, he scrambled up and leapt through the back of the tree, dislodging three of the branches from their central holder and leaving a fireman's slide of cleared space down the back of the tree.  When I got home a few minutes later, BikerDude was still laughing.  I reassembled the tree, collected the ornaments, and redecorated.

Old artificial tree was definitely the way to go this year.

I went to Whole Foods last night and got the herbal remedy for Patches that was recommended to me.  It's called Essiac, and I got the dried herbs to make the tea (as opposed to the already prepared tea, which was, like, $32 for a pint sized bottle).  Now, I know that homeopathic medicine has a lot to offer and that many of the people who practice it take it quite seriously, but the instructions on how to brew the tea would be best suited to a biochemistry lab.  I'm supposed to use pure spring water, not tap water, especially not fluoridated tap water.  I know enough about consumer affairs to know that spring water isn't necessarily any purer than tap water, and is in some cases worse.  I'm not sure what fluoride is supposed to do (or undo) with the remedy, but me and my teeth are delighted that it is in the tap water.  I'm going to risk that it won't make or break the difference for Miss Patchy.

So I'm in the middle of preparation.  I have to boil it, let it cool for 10-12 hours, scald it, strain it store it in sterilized Mason jars.  That last is probably not going to happen, since I am not set up for the whole home canning operation.  Call me a lousy housewife.

Yesterday I sent an email to the recalcitrant members of my extended clan who have yet to share a Christmas list.  We drew names this year, so everyone kind of needs to share so that whoever has their name has a clue as to what they want.  Since two of the non-sharers are my brother-in-law LawnRanger and my nephew who is almost 20, I threatened that the nonsharers were in serious danger of getting fuzzy bunny slippers if they didn't pony up soon.  While researching for a picture to add to the email, I found this:

These would be the Monty Python Killer Rabbit With Pointy Teeth slippers.  

These are the Coolest.  Slippers.  Ever.  Someone may be getting these regardless of whether they submit a list!

How bad could it be?

Patches, our old lady, tortoiseshell DSH kitty has managed to tear one of her back claws out from the base (ew!), and now seems to have developed an infection in her toe. The recommended treatment is to soak (HAH!) the toe in warm saline solution, but here on Planet Earth this translates into rinsing it as best as you can with warm water and dousing it with hydrogen peroxide. Then, after you catch the cat again, you can apply antibiotic ointment.

Let me say up front that she's remarkably spry for 14, and still has a bad attitude about being forced to do anything that isn't her idea. The toe looks better, but opening the wound meant that when she got away (inevitably), she left a trail of bloody footprints on my nightshirt, the sink, the carpet, the towels, a washcloth and my pillowcase, where she ultimately stopped to wash herself and glower at me. I also have fresh cat scratches on my neck from where she climbed me to get away.

How badly can a creature be hurt who can put up a struggle like that? From now on, BikerDude can take care of his own damn cat!

Cats cruising for a fatal beating

I think my cats are conspiring against me.

Saturday morning my husband BikerDude had to go to work (as usual) and I had a choir practice at the church at 8:30. After choir I went to the grocery store. When I got home, it was around 1:00. It was pouring down rain and I was tired and hungry and ready to make myself some lunch and put my feet up for awhile. Hah!

The first thing I discovered upon opening the door was my floor lamp (note the past tense) laying in pieces on the floor. With the bulb still burning. Ok, we have five cats, three of whom are Bengals. Accidents happen. I spent a few minutes turning off the lamp and determining whether or not it could be salvaged (maybe), then went to finish unloading the car. When I was carrying in my last load, including two large bags of kitty litter, our year old former-feral tuxedo kitty darted out the door and danced down the sidewalk. I uttered a few choice words that would probably have gotten me kicked out of choir practice, grabbed a jar of treats and headed out in pursuit. Normally I’d just let her have her fun and find her way home, but Tweak’s update shots are overdue, so I didn’t want to risk her running loose with the neighborhood fauna.

She proceeded to lead me on a merry chase for about 10-15 minutes, even going so far as to climb a tree at one point, which was impressive when you consider that she has approximately the dimensions of fur-covered bowling ball. Once she got about 7 or 8 feet off the ground, she seemed to realize that this wasn’t a great idea, and that it had been a lot easier when she was, oh, half her current weight, so she gingerly eased down the tree. She kept galloping ahead of me, tail straight up in the air, ignoring the treats and clearly enjoying herself (did I mention that it was raining??) until I finally got her cornered in a neighbors back yard four houses down and scooped her up. She proceeded to growl and snarl and generally use all matter of foul language at me as I carried her back home (although she wisely didn’t try to bite or scratch me).

Once we got back inside and I had dumped her in the living room, she immediately began circling me and begging for the treats that she was so totally ignoring while we were outside, even when I was pinging them off of her head. I don’t think so, you little doink.

I went to the kitchen to begin to put the groceries away and discovered that I had been had. Apparently, Tweak was in cahoots with Kaos, one of my Bengal boys/circus monkeys, and she had been the diversionary tactic. Kaos had fished into one of the grocery bags and dragged out the package of petite boneless sirloin steaks. He had ripped open the Styrofoam and plastic wrap and was happily chewing away on one end of one of the steaks that he had pulled out through a hole in the plastic.

I relieved him of his raw meat treat, cut the chewed end off and put the rest in the freezer.

Some time later, I went downstairs to do laundry and clean the cat boxes. I was introducing a new type of litter-- silica based. I forgot, in the heat of the moment, I suppose, Kaos’s attraction to bags and anything in a sealed container. When I came back downstairs after taking the dirty litter out to the trash can, I found that he had ripped open one of the bags of silica litter and was proceeding to make Navajo sand paintings on the laundry room floor.

Showing total disregard for his religious ceremony, I swept up the mess and sealed the rest of the litter in a Rubbermaid container. When I got upstairs, Tweak and Kaos were both curled up on the couch, looking totally innocent (the other three had wisely kept their distance during all of this). I informed both of them that while they were, indeed, beautiful cats, they would be just as beautiful stuffed and mounted on the mantle piece.