Not dead
20 Feb 2010 6 Comments
in Animals, Blogging, Photos Tags: cat, Flickr, kitteh, Mai
No, gentle readers, I am very much alive. I’ve just had nothing of interest or value to post for the last thirty nine days.
Until I get myself back into regular blogging mode (which will hopefully be sometime in the relatively near future), here is a photo of my kitteh. Her name is Mai. She likes to smack my face while I’m sleeping. She’s weird.
Kittens
12 Oct 2009 7 Comments
in Animals, Photos Tags: awwwww, cat, cute, kitten, litter, Popeye, stray cats
My friend’s neighbor’s house seems to be a cat factory. Apparently all the stray cats in the area like to congregate under the shrubs and porches and other sheltered places on her property. What do they do there? They have kittens. Lots and lots of kittens.
See that squinty little guy in the front? I call him "Popeye."
There are five in the latest litter, which I got to see this weekend. I am told that they are only a few weeks old. Each one is just big enough to fit in my hand. They are they softest little things; even their little claws haven’t really sharpened yet. The tiny mews that escape their mouths are so precious that I can’t help but squeal when I hear it. The best part is that while they are just courageous enough to be curious about people, they are still too young to know that they should probably run away when one of us tries to pick one of them up.
All I know is that I must have some seriously good karma going on. If I didn’t, my conscience would have shut itself up and not reminded me that 1) my grandparents don’t like cats, and 2) we have a very large dog that could swallow a kitten whole. If that karma weren’t so good, I would be well on my way to becoming the crazy cat lady with hundreds of cats inside and out, to whom I would leave all my worldly possessions when I die. It took every ounce of my moral fiber not to take one of those little squirts home with me.
But honestly, though – how lucky am I to be able to resist a face like this?
The things we do for love
06 Jun 2009 4 Comments
in Animals, Photos Tags: adoption, allergies, Bonnie, cat, Flickr, love, marriage
Every once in a while we’re forced to do something that, while completely necessary, just breaks our hearts. I was faced with that moment on Wednesday. I had to give away Bonnie Cat.
I found Bonnie at one of the pet shelters that had set up shop in the entrance of PetSmart. We had only gone in to look at the fish, but the cute little kittens were calling me.
“Megan!” they cried, “Megan, come pick us up! We’re adorable! We’re fuzzy! We fit in your pocket! Resistance is futile!”
Poor Mike did his best to drag me away, but it was all in vain. He sighed heavily as the shelter workers sat me down and placed in my lap a warm ball of fluff that immediately began vibrating with the loudest purr I had ever heard. Within two minutes, it was asleep, curled up with its head pressed into my stomach. Without thinking, I heard myself ask the worker to explain to me all the particulars of the adoption process.
There were three main reasons for wanting to get a cat, and they all have to do with the particular stage of life at which I currently find myself.
- Babies. At almost thirty years old, my biological clock has been ticking ever louder these days, but my brain, knowing full well that I can barely afford to feed myself, convinced me that I don’t yet have the resources to raise a child. As Mike has said, babies can’t eat love. They need food. Hence the pet to coddle and smother with affection and temporarily satisfy the maternal instinct.
- Long distance relationships. Mike was afforded an incredible opportunity to study in a graduate program in the field he wanted. I had never seen him so excited about anything, so naturally, I was thrilled for him. The only problem was that the program was at a school far, far away, thus causing us to attempt the dreaded long distance relationship.
While I am a relatively solitary person, I am still human and get lonely when left by myself for long stretches. Hence the fuzzy pet to fend of the loneliness, because the fish and hamster weren’t cutting the mustard. - Dogs. To be honest, I’m more of a dog person. I grew up with dogs. I know how dogs’ minds work. Cats, to this very day, are still a relative mystery. Granted, I’ve gotten to know one dog-like cat very well, and now consider myself more “bi” when it comes to animals, but I’m still a dog person at heart.
Knowing what I know about dogs, though, I know that I don’t have the physical capability to take care of a dog right now. Dogs need to go out for walks. Dogs need to go out to poo. Dogs can’t be left alone for an entire day. My work schedule right now just won’t let me handle a dog. Hence the more independent cat.
Despite all these compelling arguments, there was one strong reason not to get a cat: poor Mike is allergic. I’m not talking mild, occasionally itchy eyes, here. I’m talking full blown wheezing despite twice-daily doses of Benadryl. Since we’re being married in a couple months, I didn’t think it would be fair to ask him to take allergy pills every day for the next twenty or so years.
However, eventually my soft spot for cute animals won over my sense of logic and I brought Bonnie home. The following nine months were a blast, but tinged with the knowledge that I wouldn’t be able to keep her.
I was really fortunate to find someone to take Bonnie when the time came. I was terrified that I would have to return her to the shelter, never knowing if anyone had adopted her. Her new people are a young woman about my age and her husband. We work together, and a friendship has been slowly blooming between us for the past couple months. She is a very sweet person, and I couldn’t think of anyone better to take in my cat.
Although I knew from the moment I signed the adoption papers that I would have to give her up before the end of summer, nothing could have prepared me for the gut-wrenching evening I spent packing her and her belongings and taking her to her new home. I bawled while washing out her food dishes and packing them in a box, while reaching under the couch to find her toy mice, and even while dumping the contents of her litter box. Every few minutes or so I would scoop up Bonnie in my arms, squeezing her until she tried to wriggle free from my clutches. I think she knew something was going on, but how do you explain something like this to a creature that doesn’t understand English? There was no way to explain to her that I was giving her up because I loved her and because she needed to be with someone who could take care of her.
When I got to Bonnie’s new home I managed to straighten myself out long enough to create the illusion that I wasn’t as bothered as I really was. I expected to start crying again when I turned out of the apartment complex, but instead found myself in almost a state of shock. I haven’t cried over her since that night until now, as I type these words.
I’ve learned a few things from this experience.
- Cats are definitely cooler than I used to think. With the exception of a couple I’ve met, they’re quite affectionate and friendly, and not nearly as jerky as I make them out to be.
- Cats are funny. Have you ever seen a cat chase its tail? Or play in an empty cardboard box? Hours of free entertainment right there.
- Cats are also very strange. They nap in the sink and bathtub, prefer ancient erasers to expensive catnip toys, and will run like mad back and forth from one end of the room to the other without reason.
- A cat’s purr will be amplified quite loudly if that cat sticks its face in an empty flower vase.
- Owning a cat has given me the confidence that I am capable of taking care of another living thing. The prospect of having children someday doesn’t seem as daunting as it did a year ago.
- I now know for certain that I would never be able to give up a child for adoption.
The Cat & The Mouse
06 Apr 2009 4 Comments
in Animals, Photos Tags: Aaron Copland, cat, chase, disease, mouse, pestilence, piano, The Cat and The Mouse, youtube
I would like to preface this post with the following statement: I do not keep a particularly messy house. Sure, I go through spells of leaving my clean laundry unfolded in the laundry basket, or leaving books and magazines spread over the kitchen table. On occasion, I will leave a dirty dish either in the kitchen sink or on the counter for a night before putting it in the dishwasher. While I live in a state of relative chaotic disarray, I certainly do not live in squalor.
Now that I’ve said that, I can get on with it.
Bonnie Cat has a number of little toy mice that I have bought for her since we became flatmates. Most of them have been batted under the furniture. I imagine that when I move, I will find a happy little nest of toy mice that have settled in the most unreachable corners underneath the couch.
Once in a rare while, when left to her own devices (read: I don’t feel like fishing a toy out from under a bookcase for her) Bonnie will somehow manage to reach one of her toys and dribble it soccer-style across the apartment. Inevitably, though, she will swat at it a little too hard, knocking it once again under something and out of her reach. ’Tis the circle of life.
Imagine my surprise this evening when one of Bonnie’s toy mice jumped up and ran away from her!
You guessed it, gang: it was a real, honest-to-goodness mouse scurrying along the baseboard, desperately trying to escape the curious cat that trailed close behind.
My first thought was that Bonnie was going to try to eat it. My second thought was not of the potential disease that my sweet kitty might ingest, but of the blood and guts and fur and bones I might have to clean up. No sir-ee, Bob, you can bet your bottom I was not about to let that sort of carnage happen in a place where I often walk barefoot. So, I did the first thing that came to mind.
Springing into action, I grabbed a glass from which I had just been drinking. At the last second, I realized that the glass was still quite full, so I deftly dumped it into a houseplant. In the most athletic display I have seen from myself since before I reached double digits, I found myself leaping over the coffee table, skidding in my socks across the hardwood floor and dance around the excited cat at my feet. Somehow, during all of this, I managed to place the glass over the mouse, trapping it beneath an apple juice-soaked dome of safety.
I really needn’t have worried so much about Bonnie. It quickly became apparent that she had no intention of eating the mouse, but of playing with it: batting it, swatting it, tossing it in the air and generally terrorizing it. The poor thing cowered under the glass, visibly trembling with abject horror.
Unlike my mother, I am not afraid of mice. I just don’t like them running willy-nilly throughout my home. That’s why I keep my rodent pets in secure cages.
This little mouse, now that it was safely harbored under the glass, was actually quite cute. The thought did cross my mind that I might have a new pet, but the idea of disease and pestilence quickly made me reconsider.
Sliding a magazine under the glass, I airlifted the tiny intruder to the front door. I figured the relative wilderness that separated my apartment complex’s property from the manicured lawns of the neighborhood behind us would be a nice place for the mouse to find a new home. I gently placed the magazine on the ground and, stepping back, lifted the glass.
Do you know what that little bugger did? It made a bee-line right back towards my building! Son of a bitch…
Only when I returned to my living room and sat down at the piano did I find myself laughing. While Bonnie strutted proudly about the apartment, I realized that I have a new appreciation for the piece I’m teaching one of my students: Aaron Copland’s The Cat and The Mouse. I think everyone who plays it must be required to witness a live chase.
Kitty crack
17 Feb 2009 12 Comments
in Animals, Photos Tags: Bonnie, canned tuna, cat, Food, kitty crack
When it’s time for a normal meal, Bonnie will sit nicely beside her placemat, meowing gently as I pour a bit of food into her bowl.
If Bonnie has been especially sweet to me that day, I will give her a bit of canned tuna.
She knows the sound of the can opener, and the second I place it on the can, I hear her bounding in from whatever corner of the apartment she might be hiding in.
Badumbadumbadumbadum…
Unlike her normal meals, Bonnie does not sit politely whilst I dish out her snack. Rather, she will try to climb up my leg, meowing hysterically, reaching for the plate before I have even gotten the fish out of the can.
Somehow, I manage to get the plate to the floor without tripping over the cat. Bonnie quickly wolfs down the tuna, licking every last speck from the plate.
When she is finished, she turns to me, rubbing against my legs, purring violently. I pick her up, and she nuzzles against my chin, as if to thank me for my infinite kindness. She looks into my eyes and…
…and then the change happens. Her pupils suddenly dilate. She begins to squirm, so I let her down. Without warning she tears out of the kitchen.
Badumbadumbadumbadum…
While I go about my business, Bonnie runs back and forth across the length of the apartment. She leaps over chairs, she skids around corners, she attacks my sneakers. She lets out these weird meows in a timbre not usually emitted from her throat. She has become a wild cat, and no walls can contain her.
Badumbadumbadumbadum…
I try to ignore Bonnie as she races with wild abandon around me, but it can be difficult when she uses me as a springboard to fly across the living room onto the couch. At times like these I feel like I should sew her a little cape.
Finally, forty-five long minutes later, she is passed out on the floor beneath the coffee table. Her tuna high has worn off.
Canned tuna is like kitty crack.
Feline mind tricks
07 Feb 2009 11 Comments
in Animals Tags: Bonnie, cat, damp sheets, jedi, midnight bathroom run, mind control, spilled water
I can’t remember the last time I slept all the way through the night without getting up in the wee hours of the morning to pee. I’m not eighty, folks. I’m just a poor soul cursed with a small bladder. Although, having to pee every hour or two has its advantages: I know where every public bathroom is in every mall in a thirty-mile radius. But, I digress.
I have this weird thing where I don’t like to turn on lights in the middle of the night. If I do, I can’t get back to sleep. Remaining in darkness somehow keeps me in a safe sleep bubble. So, every night around 3:00AM I stumble out of bed, trip over my slippers and, half asleep, blindly make my way to the bathroom, groping for walls and doorknobs. It’s only about three feet from my bedroom door to the bathroom, so pitch black maneuvering isn’t usually a problem.
Unless there is a cat sitting in the hallway.
Bonnie Cat is not allowed in the bedroom. This rule is in place because a member of the household is very allergic to her, so the bedroom is a cat-free sanctuary into which he can retreat for a peaceful night’s sleep.
The first few weeks I had her were pretty excruciating. Every night she would sit outside the bedroom door and meow. I’m not talking howling, but crying meows that sounded like a child asking, “Don’t you love me anymore?”
Fortunately, I learned that she would stop after a while and that my guilt was only temporary. It’s an arrangement that works well for us: she gets free range of the rest of the apartment at night, and I get to sleep without a cat on my face.
However, in the midst of my blind middle-of-the-night bathroom runs I don’t always think to close the bedroom door behind me. Naturally, Bonnie Cat takes the opportunity to dart into forbidden territory, sniffing at everything she can before I snatch her up in my arms and kick her out of my chamber of slumber.
Usually, her intrusions are uneventful: she hides under the bed and I coax her out with some Kitty Greenies. But sometimes, just sometimes, disaster strikes. And last night was one of those nights.
Bonnie Cat had jumped onto the bed and, for some unknown reason, taken an intense interest in the glass of water that sat atop my dresser. From the bathroom I heard it: Clink! Clunk! Sploosh! Spatter! Scuffle! Sighing, and now totally awake, I swept into the room to assess the damage.
The glass had been tipped over, its contents spilled not just on the floor, but also on my bed and pillow.
“Shame on you!” I yelled, pointing a scolding finger in her direction. She knew she was in trouble so I didn’t even have to coax her out of the room; she just bolted, fearing my wrath.
Fortunately, my state of wakefulness didn’t last long. Two beach towels and a fresh glass of water later, I was sound asleep.
This morning I awoke well rested, but still a bit cheesed off at the cat that had made me sleep on the tiny corner of bed that was not damp. She spotted me from the living room and bounded towards me, rubbing against my legs and purring loudly. (She’s still a fairly young cat, so she bounds most everywhere she goes.) Sighing, I squatted down to pick her up.
For a brief moment our eyes met. A faint squeak of a meow escaped her mouth. I could feel the purring rumbling through her body. She nuzzled her tiny head into my neck, and was asleep within two minutes. Suddenly, I realized I was no longer angry with her.
What the hell just happened? I am not usually susceptible to the “cute treatment.” I hold grudges for years. I am fully aware that pets are like very small children, not knowing what they are doing is wrong. But this cat knew what she was doing. So why was I no longer peeved about the still damp sheets on my bed?
I think Bonnie Cat was secretly trained in Jedi mind control before I got her. In the split second that we looked into each other’s eyes, she must have said in that meow, “You forgive your cat. Knocking over that glass of water was no big deal. You like sleeping on damp sheets. Bonnie Cat is the sweetest cat that ever walked the earth. You will feed her tuna tonight.”
That’s my only explanation.
Seasons greetings
06 Dec 2008 1 Comment
in Seasonal Tags: cat, Christmas, Christmas cards, Christmas tree, decoration, seasons greetings, snail mail
Now that Thanksgiving has passed, I feel like it is safe to start decorating for the upcoming holiday. So, this weekend I will be lugging the large boxes of Christmas décor up from the dank, scary basement of my apartment, which can only be reached by going outside into the cold, throwing the contents onto every horizontal surface available, then lugging the empty boxes back downstairs.
I’m a bit hesitant about putting up the tree this year. It’s nothing special, just a fake, 5-footer from Target, bought on sale for $20 about three or four years ago. So, if anything happened to it, I wouldn’t be heartbroken. However, this is my first Christmas with a cat, so I’m a little unsure about the juxtaposition of Christmas trees and kitten curiosity. I can picture Bonnie trying to climb it, probably when I’m not at home, causing it to topple over onto her poor little body, thus emotionally scarring her for life. The point is, I’m more worried about the cat than I am about the tree. If there are any cat owners out there with advice, do feel free to send some my way.
I’ve even decided to get in the festive mood here at Melodic Insomniac. Those of you who read my posts only via RSS really should stop by the actual blog and check out the weather.
In addition to decking my halls with boughs of holly, it’s also the season for Christmas cards. I realize that I must be a little loony, but I really do love sending and receiving Christmas cards, perhaps even more so than everything else about Christmas. I suppose it goes back to my complex about receiving actual letters in the mail. I tape them to my walls, stick them on my fridge, line my doorways with those I have received. It’s one of the best things about this season!
To me, cards are more in the intended spirit of Christmas than the tree. The purpose of this holiday is to spend time with those you love, and to spread peace and goodwill to all, not just buying gifts for the sake of buying gifts. What better way to do that than to send handwritten love from afar, to let someone know that you are thinking of them?
I don’t necessarily condone sending Christmas cards to people you don’t really know, but there is a time when it is appropriate. Let me give you an example of each:
- Every year, I get a Christmas card from a man who manages one of the local piano stores. I also receive promotions and advertisements from him every other week. I’ve spoken to the man once. I have no intention of purchasing a piano from a man who doesn’t realize that I already own a piano, and whose pushy personality grates on me. His cards are printed with a generic greeting inside, and his name is signed in a cursive-like type; he doesn’t even sign his own name. I don’t think our relationship warrants an exchange of Christmas cards.
- I am not the best at keeping in touch with my extended family (you know the ones – second and third cousins who you’ve only met a few times and probably wouldn’t recognize if you passed them on the street). Distance and several generations have made it difficult for my lazy self to do so. That said, I always send my great-aunts personalized Christmas cards, at the very least to let them know that I am alive, and that I am thinking of them.
And so, I try to keep my list of Christmas card recipients restricted to my family, friends who are more than acquaintances, and my students. I don’t randomly send cards to the FedEx guy, or even our regular postal carrier. I also don’t feel obligated to send a card to someone just because he or she sent one to me (see the first example above). In turn, I don’t expect anyone else to feel obligated just because I sent a card to them.
I realize that these days it may be trendier, and perhaps even greener to send e-greetings during the holidays. But there is something about this tradition that I just can’t let go of. So, I intend to continue sending holiday greetings to my friends and loved ones, despite the curmudgeon-like attitude of some Scrooges I know. I plan to keep Christmas alive in the post every way I can. In fact, if any of you gentle readers who are not already on my recipient list would like to receive some seasons greetings via post, I would be happy to send one to you. Just email me your address, and I’ll send some holiday cheer your way!
Siesta
21 Oct 2008 2 Comments
in Animals, Photos Tags: Bonnie, cat, life, nap, sun
Bonnie is smart. She finds the best of both worlds: a sunny spot on a comfy chair directly below a heating vent.
I think I’ve let myself slide into a state of mind in which I’m not supposed to enjoy the simple pleasures of life because they interfere with productivity. My life has become so dictated by a sense of obligation to things that really don’t matter that I feel guilty if I allow myself to take a ten-minute nap. My body speaks to me, telling me to slow down, but I ignore it, afraid of the consequences of pausing for rest.
After a couple of very draining weeks, I’ve decided that I must try to live my life more like Bonnie does, letting myself sleep and play when my body tells me to do so. Screw the consequences.
What good is living life if you don’t allow yourself to enjoy it?
say what?