Scootin' Along

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Bad Memories

May 3rd 2005 6:14 pm
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My Mom pointed out that one of my friends, Cassie, has a picture and diary entry about a bird. “See that, Scooter? Do you remember when Mommy helped the little bird? Remember Greta Grosbeak?” Do I remember? How could I forget? I didn’t like that bird and it brings back bad, bad memories . . . . .

It was back in 1996. We lived in Colorado, where I never got to set paw outside, not even on a leash. I saw lots of birds through the windows, and they were pretty good entertainment, but I hated this bird. If it was so silly to leave the nest before it could fly, Mom should have just left it there on the ground. But nooooo--she couldn't stand watching it, hopping up and down, chirping its little brains out, in the hot sun. Just like Cassie’s Mom and Dad, she gave it my cage that night, too--of all the nerve! But, I ended up with a new cage out of it, so that wasn't so bad. At least she never brought that bird in the house--we wouldn't let her (SooLing agreed with me on that). But we watched her through the window, feeding that bird. All I wanted to do was feed on IT. I just knew it would taste like chicken, my favorite. I was so mad; I just wanted her to stop going out there to that bird. Finally, a few days later it flew away with its own dad and mom and I was sooooo glad!

I know, it's not a pretty trait, but I have to admit, I was very, very jealous. Wow! I must have been holding on to that anger for years and it felt good to vent it. Now I can go back to being my "sweet" self.

gotta scoot . . .
Scooter

 

I win!

May 5th 2005 6:29 am
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It took a long time, but I finally got my way. You see, I have a routine at bedtime. I jump up on Dad’s side of the bed, then I walk over him to get to Mom. I go right up to Mom’s face and touch it with my nose, give her a gentle head-butt right on her face, and she scratches my ears and pets me. Then, I go lie on Dad’s legs and go to sleep.

Well, last night it was going as usual until I got back to Dad, and he had turned onto his side! That won’t work--he’s supposed to be on his back. I glared at him. “Sorry,” he said, but he stayed that way. Okay. I climbed up on top of him and perched there, then I stared down at his face. He played like he was asleep, but I wasn’t buying it. I glared some more--I didn’t budge. It took a long time, but finally he said, “Okay, Scooter,” and he rolled onto his back. YES! LEGS . . . FINALLY!

As I drifted off to sleep, I heard Mom laughing.

gotta scoot . . .
Scooter

 

I want to thank all the little

May 20th 2005 1:27 pm
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I want to thank all the little. . . . What? I didn’t get an award? But, Mom, you said I got “five paws” You said that’s the best. What? Only TWO voters? Oh. What’s wrong with the rest of them? Oh, so they didn’t get to vote yet? So there’s no prize? Well, of course I know I’m a prize, Mom. But I thought maybe there was a chicken dinner or something special in it for me. Maybe for dinner tonight, huh, Mom? Yeah, let’s celebrate!

Oh, yes . . . thank you,

Scooter

 

I'm baaa-aaack!

June 7th 2005 7:38 pm
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You didn’t know it, but we’ve been traveling. I wasn’t crazy about it, but some of it was fun. At a nice park in El Dorado, KS where we had lunch one day, I met my first Canada Geese—lots of them. Whoa, are they BIG!! They stood at attention when Mom let me out of my carrier—that was nice of them, don’t you think? Mom wouldn’t give me any slack on the leash, though, so I couldn’t get close enough to tell if they taste like chicken. Do they?

I didn’t like the smoke alarms that made all 3 of us jump right out of bed, but going outside in the middle of the night in Quincy, IL was exciting. Lots of people, sirens, big trucks, flashing lights. Mom said to tell you “false alarm”.

Mom was happy to learn my diary was featured on 5/30, but sad she didn’t find out until the next day—heard her mumbling something about “cheap motels, no internet.” The nice place in Morton, IL that had internet made Mom and Dad happy, and I was glad to find out about my new friend, Kazumi Joy. But my window there wasn’t very interesting to look out—just a cornfield. Why were we there?

Riding in the car is an instant, uh, laxative for me. Under 10 minutes sometimes. You should have seen them scramble to find some place to pull over every time I used the litter in THAT way. One day it was 3 times.

I had lots of time in the car to perfect my trills and practice rrrrrrrolling my rrrrrrr's. Mom said I was going to wear out my triller, but I didn't--it still works fine. They enjoyed my singing. I saved some of it for the middle of the night, though, so people in the motels could enjoy it, too.

Traveling is tiring, so I’ve been trying to catch up on my sleep. The guilt-ridden Mom sat outside with me while I napped in the fresh air today. A few short walks on a leash are the only outside time I’ve had in the last 2 weeks—they owe me and I intend to collect!

I’ll tell you about the bad parts of the trip another day—need more rest first.

gotta scoot . . .
Scooter

 

I’ve Got a Secret . . . sssshhh

June 10th 2005 4:47 pm
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I think Mom still feels guilty--she took me outside 3 times yesterday for fresh-air naps. So, I’m rested enough to tell more about my trip. There were good things: chicken for lunch on days I had to ride in the car, king-sized beds, and fascinating smells in the carpet in Dodge City--hey, I’m an animal! Then a bad thing happened in Kearney, MO on the way home. I can’t say what, though--it’s a secret. We cats are really good at keeping secrets. Mom keeps saying, “I wish we knew what happened to Scooter.” But I’m not telling.

I’m not telling what sent me under the bed, growling, hissing, spitting and attacking anything that came near, including Mom and Dad. Maybe it was the thunder and lightning. Maybe I wanted to stay in a motel again, not in somebody’s house. Maybe it was the dog. Or the cat--she hissed and spit at me. Maybe I was just tired of traveling--I’m no youngster anymore, you know?

No, I’m not telling. I will say I got over the crazies later that night, after everyone went to bed and all was quiet. After a couple hours, I jumped onto the bed and nosed Mom. Wow, I’ve never seen her that happy when I wake her in the middle of the night! When she woke Dad, he was happy, too. Mom held me and petted me, saying, “I’m so sorry, Scooter. I’m so glad you came out!”

I’m all better now and glad to be home—MY home. I’m not sure why I’m getting so much outside time, but I love it.

gotta scoot . . .
Scooter

 

What’s In a Name?

June 12th 2005 8:45 am
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I have issues with my name. People use ‘he’ when referring to me. I’m a ‘she,’ but my name doesn’t shout “female,” does it? Even worse, a lot of people think Scooter is a dog’s name.

So how did I get this name? According to Mom, their 6 Siamese cats prior to me all had names beginning with S. Wouldn’t you know, when it was my turn, she was out of ideas! Looking in the phone book under surnames like Wu and Yi, she found Shi Na and knew that was the name for me. Huh? It seems she and Dad named me ShiNa, but that name just wouldn’t roll off their tongues easily. Since I was always ZIP, ZIP, ZIPPING around, of course they changed it to . . . Scooter?? Their logic, not mine--Zipper doesn’t begin with S.

What if my parents could have pronounced ShiNa? And what’s so hard about it, anyway? TWO syllables. Sounds like Sheena. I wonder about them sometimes. I love them, but they could use some help.

If I were ShiNa, I’d be unique--the only one on Catster, like my sister SooLing and my good friend Kazumi Joy. Hey, Kazumi Joy, tell us how you got your name.

If I were ShiNa . . . .

If, if, if. Too tiring. I’m zipping, or scooting, off to the back door now. A big RRRRRROWWW will probably get me some outside time. Issues can wait.

gotta scoot . . .
Scooter

 

Oh, no. Not again!

June 13th 2005 4:41 pm
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Mom called me Frisky this morning. “You’re Frisky,” she said. No, it’s me, Scooter. Don’t you recognize me? “She’s Frisky today,” she said to Dad. “That’s good,” he said. What do they mean? Oh, no . . . you don’t suppose?! No, they wouldn’t change my name again! Not after this long. I’m used to this one, really. I complained, I know, but I got over it, and it won’t happen again. I promise. Besides, Frisky starts with an F, not an S. F, S--they sound a little bit alike, but trust me, it’s an F. It won’t work. It has to start with S. S, like in S-C-O-O-T-E-R.

gotta scoot . . .
Scooter

 

I love you, Dad!

June 19th 2005 9:09 am
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Awwww. Dad loves his "Happy Father's Day" card. In fact, he said it's the best card he's had in a long time. Must be the picture of ME on the front! Yes, I'm sure that's it.

Moms seem to get a lot of attention here on Catster, but Dads deserve a little recognition, too, don't you think? My Dad is the one who usually feeds me, and he even tidies up my litter box, too. As for laps in this household, his is definitely the best. He’s easily persuaded into an afternoon nap with me outside . . . or inside . . . or anywhere. Hmmmm.

Where’s the “Father’s Day Stroll,” Catster?

gotta scoot . . .
Scooter

 

Father's Day Stroll

June 19th 2005 10:00 am
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I was admiring my own diary up on Catster, and then I saw MOSES’ new diary entry (he’s today's Cat of the Day). He mentioned his Dad and a really great picture of him. It was time to take matters into my own paws and make a Father’s Day Stroll!

So here it is: It’s pretty short, but look for the pictures of Dads on these pages (use these handy links): SooLing, Cybil, Cat-Six, and Tux.

That's my Dad, too, on SooLing's page, though he wasn't my Dad yet, way back then. I came later. He has even less hair than that, now, and well, he's a lot older, too. But he's still the greatest!

Tux, I'm not sure if that's your Dad, but it must be somebody that loves you, and that's the important thing!

That's all the 'Dad' pictures I knew about, offpaw. To the rest of you, Happy Father's Day.

gotta scoot . . .
Scooter

 

I’m a little sappy today

June 30th 2005 4:23 pm
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A bit of advice for all you felines: Don’t lie down in tree sap, or you’ll get up with great big nasty, sticky mats in your fur--and your mom will keep chasing you, scissors in hand.

That’s it--avoid tree sap.

gotta scoot . . .
Scooter

 
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Scooter ~ Our Angel


 

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