Small Box

Big CAT

That’s Maximus, doing his trick of stuffing a very large cat (himself) into a rather small box.  This one labeled Travels.  I wonder, does that mean he’s telling me he knows what all the upheaval in his house is about?

There are quite a number of boxes scattered around these days, though this has become one of his favorites.  Probably because it’s in the office, and he can sit there in Regal Cattitude and watch me earn kibble.

His brothers have declared it soo warm for boxes, and spend their days spralwed out on the cool tile.  Or napping in the sink.  Nothing quite like a faucet with furry fringe to provide a highlight to one’s day.

Adventurous Blue-Eyed Devil

Prince Charming and Puck frequently go into the garage to commune about male things.  It’s a bonding ritual, I am sure.  For Puck, this usually involves climbing all over the motorcycle.  I think he envisions himself with the wind in his fur and his tail floating behind as they roar up twisty canyon roads.  He’d look quite handsome in a leather jacket, don’t you think?

Last night they were in the garage, and I think poor Prince Charming had a momentary lapse of reason (very rare for him) because he opened the door to outside.  The Great Out-of-Doors.  And Outside Puck Scampered.  Our cats do not go outside.  It is Verboten.  Off Limits.  Does. Not. Happen.

Around the house dashes Puck hollering at the top of his kitty voice.  Prince Charming is in hot pursuit.  The backyard light clicks on (gotta love those motion sensors) so Puck can be found, until he turns around, retraces his route at full speed, and goes back into the garage.

The door closes, and Prince Charming, Puck held firmly in his arms comes back inside, white as the proverbial sheet.  “Did you hear him?!  He got out!”  Puck, apparently, did not like The Great Outdoors.

I was off doing something-or-other, and completely unaware this near disaster has happened.  From now on, Sir Puck can do his male bonding indoors.

You would think, as frightened as he was, Puck would stay far, far away from outside, but Noooo, first thing this morning, he’s pawing to go back into the garage and have another adventure.

16 Weeks

Phred, standing Tall

Hard to believe our little house demon is already 4 months old.  He’s grown so much.  If he grows into those legs, he is going to be a very tall fellow indeed!

The photo above is one of the rare moments when he’s standing still.  Something he rarely does.  He does, however, still wrestle with Maximus.

Trouble

We’ve got trouble,
Right here in Kitty City!
With a capital “P”
That rhymes with “F”
That stands for Phred!*

Our newest house demon is a whopping 2 pounds 7 ounces and 12 weeks old.  Growing by leaps and bounds.

 *apologies to Robert Preston

California Phred

This is California Phred
He is 6 weeks and 3 days old

How does that song go?  Ooops, we ‘ve done it again!  Yes, we’re trying once more to introduce another new Tribe member.  We’re hoping that since he is so young, and another boy, that Max and Puck will accept him.  It’s been a week.  So far, so good.

Phred is like our current felines – a foundling, hand raised by our vet, the only difference being we’ve brought him home earlier than we did with the Hellboys…speaking of, they are teaching him all sorts of dirty tricks!

In just over a week, Phred has learned to go up and down the stairs, to climb out of his kennel if the lid is open, to scale the baby gate (which ahem used to keep him localized to a particular area) and to use the “big cat” litterbox (when it’s convenient).

 Phred still has a soft-sided kennel for containment, as he’s too small to have free run of the house.  It also helps me get work done, as I’m not wondering what he’s gotten into next!

The photo at left is for size comparison.  Max is a big boy, but so far, he’s treated little Phred well.  No claws, and only licks when he has the sprout in a head-lock.

So far Phred’s favorite toy is Puck’s fluffy tail, much to Puck’s dismay.  And our hands.  He has very sharp teeth.

Quick Cat Toy

Or how to re-purpose old socks

Ingrediments for a quick cat toy:

• a pair of old socks, with a little stretch left in the elastic
• a tub of catnip

Put your hand into the sock, like you’re going to be acting with sock puppets.  Everyone remember how to do that? I turned this one inside out, as I wanted to have the fringy bits show when it’s completed.  You don’t have to turn it inside out.

Scoop up a bunch of catnip from the tub.  I don’t measure.  This is quick and simple.  You want enough to fill just the toe of the sock.

Turn the sock right side out, still holding onto the wad of catnip.  Basically, you’re pulling the body of the sock over the hand holding the catnip.   Roll it into a ball, starting at the toe.  This is how I was taught to pair and roll socks when I was a kid, doing laundry.  Same principle.

One pair of old socks gives you two cat toys.  Our Tribe hasn’t unrolled the socks yet.  Crushing the catnip will refresh the scent.  This happens when I unexpectedly step on these.  Nice thing is they don’t hurt your feet when that happens.

Manic Max with his new toy.  Yum!

 

Grandmeow

to the rescue!

Fiona has gone to live with her Grandmeow in San Diego.  Mom (aka Grandmeow) has lifted a huge burden from our shoulders, and I am ever so grateful.  I was, literally, at wit’s end.  Fiona will have a good home, and the best of care.   Grandmeow is the person who taught me to care and love animals as much as I do.

Fiona and Maximus Cat were not getting along, and his bad behavior was escalating.  Escalating to the point where we had to pretty much keep them separated.  Not that Fi was the aggressor.  Not at all.  Max decided he didn’t like her – and in cat business: That. Is.  That.

Lest you think we just brought her in, and tossed her into the existing mix, we didn’t.  There was a slow integration, and things seemed to be going OK.  Then, somehow, something changed.  Fiona is a sweet, timid soul, and well, that was just fodder for Max to show off his macho-ness.  Which he did, by chasing her whenever he could.  Fi took to hiding under the furniture, coming out to eat, then hiding some more.

I even consulted an animal behaviorist, to try to find out what could be done to work things out.  And this helped, so long as a human was there paying attention to them.   The instant my back was turned – the chase was on.  This was no way to live, for humans or felines.

Grandmeow sends us “Fiona Flyers” with updates on how she’s doing.  Better and better every day.

Meet Fiona

Fiona Thunderpaws

I’d like to introduce you to the newest member of our Tribe, Fiona Thunderpaws.   To set the record straight from the beginning, that’s Fiona, after the character in Burn Notice:  gun-toting, explosive, capable and adept.  She is not named after the princess sidekick of a green ogre.

We’ve been feeding a family of stray cats all summer.  Fiona joined them about 2 moths ago. but was obviously not feral.  She was noisy and unafraid of humans, though a bit skittish.

One evening, about 2 weeks ago, she munched down her kibble, but kept hollering and hollering, so Prince Charming went to investigate.  (You know where this is going, don’t you?) Long story short, in he brought her, and in she’s been ever since.

We took her to the vet the very next day, both to see if she had been chipped (she wasn’t) and to make sure she didn’t have any contagious diseases the rest of our fur babies might catch.

A clean bill of health.  Quite surprising, given she’d been outside for so long.

The vet estimates she’s about 6 months old.  She will get fixed and chipped next week.  Shhhh!  Don’t tell her she has another trip to the vet.

She’s getting along famously with the Hellboys.  There is much chasing around, mostly of the “Tag!  You’re it!” variety.

Claire, our most senior at 17 has accepted her.  The two of them can be periodically found grooming each other.

Fi has the throatiest purr of any cat we’ve ever owned.  I’d say she’s been smoking unfiltered cigarettes and drinking bourbon, to get that purr, but cats don’t do either of those things.  Besides, she’s too young to smoke.

Did I mention Fiona has racing stripes?  I’m sure this means she will become a regular speed demon once she’s  settled in.

Fiona with racing stripes

Big Boys

Maximus: 12 pounds 10 ounces

This week the Hellboys went into the vet for their annual check-up.  I knew they had grown, but hadn’t quite realized how much.  They are no longer kittens, but full fledged cats.  At least in size and stature.  In my mind, however, like all the other fur babies, they are, and always will be spry youngsters.

Max weighed in at 12 pounds, 10 ounces.  He’s grown into a fine strapping fellow.  He wanted nothing to do with the vet, and decided if he could hide his face in my arm, and not see out, then obviously no one could see him, and he would avoid whatever awaited in this odd smelling place.

Puck: 10 pounds 4 ounces

Puck, his brother (yes, despite what they look like, they are truly brothers) is a bit smaller at 10 pounds 4 ounces.  There is indeed a cat under all that fur, and you can tell when he walks on you that he is not a lightweight.

Puck also expressed his displeasure at the vet’s office: growling.  A sound I’ve never heard come out of his furry self.  Low.  Deep.  Scary.  It didn’t help that the vet tech kept referring to him as a her. He’s a manly cat under all that fur, and people had best not forget it!

Max, showing off his Tuxedo Spot

Empress Minnie Moo-Chee Thunderpaws

1993 – 2007

Empress Minnie Moo-Chee Thunderpaws.  First cat.

Minnie, named originally for Minnie the Moocher, was our very first Tribe member.  She’s the one who started it all.  6 pounds of feline refinement, she ruled the house with a velvet paw and titanium claw.  It made no difference to her -  large, small, dog or cat,she let everyone know: She was boss.

The Empress, as she was often called, was very selective.  Strangers were not tolerated.  Many was the time she would run to the door, growling, then turn to see if we were watching.  If so, her job was done.  She’d warned us of intruders, and went to hide in the back of the closet.

If, however, she decided she liked you, then there was purring and head butts and cat drool.  The fine paw on your face, to check if you were awake for pets.

I’ve often thought that Minnie, or perhaps one of  her relatives was the model for the “Tournee du Chat Noir” poster.  It captures her personality so strongly.  Small.  Solid.  Prickly but classy at the same time.  Very certain of who she was and what she wanted.  She reminded us often that her ancestors had been worshiped as Gods for thousands of years.

Minnie came from the Humane Society.  Small golden eyes peering out from the back of the pen.  Minnie paved the way for everyone else.  She taught the dogs, who were 10 times her size, proper etiquette, as well as the other cats.

She eventually succumbed to some sort of internal illness.  We don’t know exactly what, as it didn’t lend itself to diagnosis, and doing a necropsy was out of the question.

Minnie, you taught us well, and we are forever grateful.