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

Claire Thunderpaws

Claire Thunderpaws

1992-2011

The end of an era has arrived.  Claire crossed over into a better place this morning.  She is the last of the original Thunderpaws Tribe.  She graced our lives for 18 wonderful years.

Muppet Nose: Claire was not the swiftest of cats.  It was our notion that Jim Henson was inside, pulling the strings that made her move…frequently he was on sabbatical.  Claire had the ability to sit, staring down any wall with great finesse.

Claire 286:  Some people think cats are from another universe, and only on Earth to observe and report back to the Mother Ship.  If so, Claire had the slowest connection of all: 286 baud.  We think she often dropped her connection, leading to her lost and slightly bemused expression.

Mademoiselle Moonbeam: Besides having the plushest of grey coats, Claire was our space cadet.  She saw things none of the other cats did.  Chasing dust motes, anyone?

Claire the Nibbler: Claire bit.  But it was never a problem.  Her nibbles were telegraphed so early, and so well, it was the humans’ fault if they didn’t move their fingers.  She had the sharpest, whitest teeth, even at the graceful age of 19.

Claire loved her catnip-stuffed mousies, and would often wander the house, meowing at the top of her voice, mouse firmly held in her jaws.  We miss you Claire.  To the end, you were sweet, gentle and kind, never any trouble or mischief.  Vale Claire.

Kira Thunderpaws

2002-2006

Kira was a blonde:  sweet, clueless, pretty.  And I say that meaning no offense to any blondes reading this blog, it’s just how she was.  Every day was a new day, full of adventures…probably because she would quickly forget whatever had happened the day before.

She was a fawn.  I tend to think of that coloring as the canine equivalent of a Siamese cat.  Like most greyhounds who have a colored mask, she turned grey early, and spurned any attempts at using Miss Clairol.

Like our other greyhounds, Kira was a rescue from the dog track.  She broke a hock at 18 months, and came to live with us.

She was always happy for a walk.  Or a Whopper – hold the onions!  She liked her squeaky toys and to play with her furry companions, or by herself.  She was a master at digging holes in the backyard dirt, and taking dust baths when the holes were suitably large enough.

She hated wind, thunderstorms, and almost any severe barometric change, meeting them with panting and pacing.

She taught us to cherish each day, and live it with wonder and delight.  Kira died of a seizure four years ago tonight.  No medical history.  Just  there, then suddenly gone.  She died in my arms.

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

Otto Thunderpaws

Otto “Mr. Attitudinous” Thunderpaws

1994-2010

This morning we took Otto on his last trip to the vet.  He is now pain free.  Otto graced (some might say controlled) our lives for sixteen wonderful years.  He was always there to meow an opinion, knowing full well that all household decisions depended on his likes and dislikes.

Otto was a red head.  Red headed cats are different.  They have attitude, and Otto did, much more than such a small furry creature could contain.  Neither other cats, nor dogs, nor people 10 times his size fazed him.  He was red.  He was fluffy.  He was Otto.

There is an emptiness to the house, but we know he is now at peace.  He survived much longer than anyone, us, or the vet expected.  9 months with cancer – that’s a long time by the cat chronograph.  Farewell Otto.

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

Rupert Valentino Thunderpaws

December 2007 – June 2008

We adopted Rupert on Valentine’s Day, hence Rupert Valentino Thunderpaws.

Rupert, or Baby Rupe as I called him, had a difficult start – he lost his right eye to infection as a kitten, as well as having quite a nasty respiratory illness.  Still, he was a survivor.

He came home with us as a little pot bellied, sway-backed scraggly bundle of fur.  He was a joy!  Unlike most kittens, Rupert didn’t jump; with one eye, he had no depth perception, though our vet assured us he would learn how eventually.

Sweet.  Kind.  Loving.  Rupert liked nothing better than to be with Mom.  In my lap.  On the desk. I put a chair nearby so he could hop up easily.  As he grew, he got the longest legs – there wasn’t any need for him to jump to see what was on the coffee table.  He just streeetched out those paws, and had whatever he wanted.  You see Rupert didn’t think of himself as handicapped.  Many was the time I turned around, to find he had unraveled spools of ribbon down the stairs, around the kitchen and through the woods.  “Who me?” he would say.

Unfortunately Rupert wasn’t able to outgrow his hard-scrabble beginning, and succumbed to FIP 4 months after we got him.  Though his time with us was short, we wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Otto’s Apothecary

Otto’s Apothecary is once again open for business.  The Orange Menace, as he is lovingly called, has cancer.

What we originally thought was a bite on his tongue – as older cats sometimes do when they lose fine muscle control around their jaw, is not.  It’s a tumor.  We’ve decided not to pursue any heroic measures.  Keep him comfortable, safe and well fed for however many sunny afternoons he has remaining.

We’ve had Mr. Attitudinous for over 16 years, ever since he was a small bundle of orange fluff, and he came home with us from the Humane Society.   He walked in, jumped up on the bed, rolled over on his back and went to sleep.  There was no doubt in his furry brain that he was home for good.  This is Prince Charming’s cat.  Let there be no mistake who Otto’s human is.  They are inseparable.

The door of the fridge is once again a pharmacy, a little of this, a squirt of that.  Once a day for this preparation.   Twice a day for another.  I am thankful we have a compounding pharmacy nearby, and they can make up Otto’s medications in liquid form.

So, dear readers, if posts seem a bit sporadic, or sometimes less than upbeat, or covered in cat spit from a strong shake of the head, well, you’ll know why.

Mr. Attitudinous

This is Otto.  Otto the Attitudinous.  Prince Charming is his human.

Otto is also part of the reason why my mojo took a vacation.  Otto got sick.  4 different medicines, twice a day, and special food sick.  The vet thought infection, and we originally suspected pneumonia, but his lungs were clear.  At the ripe young age of 15, something was bound to happen.

Unfortunately Otto’s illness also happened the same week Prince Charming had a business trip.   He only takes one a year, and this was truly bad timing.  We had the talk about Otto.  When would enough be enough?  I persevered with the medications, painkillers and food.  I woke up every morning, wondering…  Would today be the day?

Every night I went to sleep, thankful the ornery orange boy had made it through another day.

In an effort to get him to eat, I mixed up his food:  Science Diet A/D, Royal Canin A/D, broiled chicken from the deli, canned tuna.  The fridge looked like a test kitchen at Purina, with all the opened cans.   Eventually, it was Friskies Mixed Grill and canned tuna juice he’d eat, with a periodic nibble of dry food.  And yogurt every couple days, to keep the intestinal flora going.

Long short story:  Otto made it! He perked up once he was off the antibiotics, and got even better when Prince Charming came home.  I know this is just one episode of probably more to come, but we’re thankful to still have the fuzzy menace with us.

Otto, of course, is now demanding tuna juice with every meal, and multiple trips outside to sniff the breeze.  He’s the only cat allowed out of doors, and always under supervision.

Excuse me, I have to go now.  Someone is demanding pets.

Homage to an Unknown Quilter, Part II

Tra La! Tra La! It’s Done! It’s Done! O Happy Dance!

The quilt is done.  I am so happy!  I  had to whack off (that’s a technical quilting term) some of the edges of the stars to even things up around the perimeter, but overall, I think it turned out well.  At 61 x 84 inches, it also turned out larger than I expected.  The back and the binding are just cotton scraps pieced together.  I knew I saved them for a reason!

I think the quilt will get some use this winter, keeping us, cats, kittens and anyone else who passes through warm.  It’s just the right size to use while sitting on the couch.

Everything is a cat toy!