June 24th 2010 9:59 pm
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When I had to use to my litterbox yesterday, first I went wee. There wasn't a lot of litter in the box, so I wasn't comfortable about also going ookies in it. I also knew I *should* go ookies in it, so I tried to figure out a way to do so -- all the while really needing to go ookies. So I formulated a strategy and situated myself accordingly.
Well, I did the best I could, and I scraped a lot of litter around (well, "a lot" is speaking relatively, since there wasn't all that much litter in the box to begin with), hoping to cover it all up nicely. When I looked, I was surprised at how well-hidden it all seemed.
But when I turned around to exit the box I saw that I had, um, shall we say, not achieved the objective. I decided to pretend I didn't notice anything, walked around the ookies on the floor next to the litterbox, and sought out my dad for some snacks.
Then my mom came in from the garage with her arms full of laundry from the dryer. She brought the bathmat into the bathroom and said, "Oh! Won has decorated the bathroom!" My dad said, "Really?" He sounded puzzled. "Yes," my mom said, "Won has put decorations all over the floor. Well, not *all* over, but there are little feline . . . 'decorations,' right next to the litterbox."
She went into the bathroom and was in there for a while. First I heard a scraping noise, then I heard a plunk noise, then I heard a fshhhhh-fshhhh-fshhhh noise, then I heard the toilet paper roll rolling, then I didn't hear hardly any noise at all for a while. Then I heard a flushing noise, then I heard the water running in the sink. Then I heard my mom take the towel off the towel rack and then a moment later put it back on again. Then she came out of the bathroom and petted me and said, "Hi Won. Please don't decorate the bathroom anymore, okay?"
I have no plans to decorate the bathroom anymore, believe me. But decorating the garage is another thing entirely . . .
June 18th 2010 11:48 pm
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The other day my mom was cuddling me. She stuck her nose into my fur and said, "You smell like French toast! Mmm, yum! You're making me hungry!"
And yesterday she said, "You smell like a vanilla milk shake. Where have you been that you smell like a vanilla milkshake?" I haven't been anywhere, Mom; just around the house.
I don't know where she gets these ideas. I don't think I smell like food at all. I think I smell like the towel on the shelf in my dad's office where I sit and look out the window to watch kittyvision. And that towel smells like the linen closet, which itself smells like lavender because there is a lot of lavender soap in there as well as towels. (I know this because I have crawled around inside the linen closet investigating and sniffing every shelf.) And none of those things smell like a vanilla milkshake or French toast. Nothing anywhere in this house smells like a vanilla milkshake or French toast; at least, not to me.
My mom thought her previous cat Patrick smelled like cinnamon raisin bread. She has some very odd ideas about how cats smell. Either that or the olfactory bulb in her nose has been malfunctioning for a long time.
May 28th 2010 2:45 pm
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This is a terrible injustice! My inalienable feline rights have been violated! My individual freedoms have been interfered with! I am a victim of atrocious discrimination! It's a tragedy of the first degree! Someone, call Amnesty International! Call the ACLU! Call the Commission for Feline Rights!
My mom won't let me go into the garage. :(
May 15th 2010 11:33 am
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The other day my mom and dad were getting ready to go out somewhere. It must have been someplace fancy, because my mom changed clothes three times, opening and closing the closet door over and over. I thought that looked like fun, going into the closet and coming back out again. So when she had the door open I snuck in. Only I didn't know she had finally chosen her outfit, because she then closed the door and went out of the room. I was stuck in the closet.
After a moment it wasn't fun any more when I realized the door wasn't opening again. I began to paw at the door. Nothing happened. I meowed and pawed some more at the door. Finally my dad opened the door, just as my mom came into the room.
"I didn't know she was in there! How did you know to let her out?" my mom exclaimed. My dad said "I heard her banging on the door." Well, I was not exactly banging on the door. I was pawing at it. The door is loose and shakes when you push on it. I guess it sounded like banging to my dad in the other room.
"I only had the door open for three seconds! I saw her behind me just before I opened it. I didn't think she had enough time to sneak in," my mom said. Hah, she totally underestimates me. I can be the sneakiest of the sneakiest. Sneaky is my middle name. Won Sneaky Ton, that's me. Yesiree. La Furtiva, they call me.
Anyway, my mom apologized to me, which was nice, even thought I knew she didn't know I was in there. My dad said it was good it was only the closet door I snuck through this time, rather than the front door like I did last week. My mom heartily agreed.
I disagree. Sneaking out the front door was a lot more fun.
May 9th 2010 12:00 pm
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It was a quiet Friday afternoon like any other. My mom was resting, my dad was out taking pictures. I was drowsing in the bedroom keeping my mom company, when I heard unmistakable noises coming in the window. My mom heard them too, and we both looked out to see none other than Nasty Cat on the back fence, taunting the neighbor's cat at one of its windows.
Nasty Cat was growling and moaning in her nasty voice, while every now and then the neighbor's cat flung herself at the window from inside, trying to defend her turf. That only made Nasty Cat moan louder, and hiss, and claw at the window, which only made the neighbor's cat puff up her tail and claw back at the glass. See how nasty Nasty Cat is? All she does is spread trouble wherever she goes! She is nasty! She must not be tolerated! She must be stopped!
So I spent the afternoon very upset that Nasty Cat has come back to make trouble for us peaceful indoor-only kitties. But of course I could not get outside; my mom is very careful not to let me even into the garage anymore, let alone outside.
But when my dad came home later on at dusk I was able to surprise him by squeezing out the door before he knew what was happening, and in a flash I crossed the next-door neighbor's lawn and hid behind their shrubs. I think I heard my dad say a bad word, then I heard my mom's voice outside, calling my name. From behind the neighbor's shrubs I saw her look under my dad's car in the driveway, then she looked under her car in the driveway. Then she looked under the neighbor's car in their driveway. I heard her say, "How am I going to find a black cat at night? I'll never be able to see her!"
She began walking toward where I was, so I scrambled up a tree and onto the fence (the same one I climbed a couple of years ago when I got spooked and bolted out of the house, and freaked out and went missing for 7 hours). I could smell Nasty Cat on that fence! Aha! I was on the trail! Perhaps now I could finally hunt her down and settle things once and for all!
But I heard my mom calling my name. Somehow she could still see me, and she squeezed through the neighbor's side gate and came into their yard, following me along the fence. "Hi, Won! Whatcha doin'?" she said as though this was the most perfectly natural thing in the world, chatting with me as I walked along the top of a fence. I did not want her distracting me from my mission so I meowed at her. She paused and said again, "Whatcha doin', girl?"
What a dumb question. What does it look like I'm doing? I really wish my mom wouldn't be so dense sometimes. Anyway, I went a little farther along the fence, and my mom kept following me and asking me "Whatcha doin', Won?" She didn't sound upset or anxious at all; she sounded really relaxed and casual. She reached up to pet me, so I let her scratch my head a little while I tried to form a strategy for the hunt. "Hey, baby, you're a good girl, that's a good girl," she cooed while scritchy-scratching my ear.
Then she grabbed me by my scruff and lifted me down from the fence single-handedly.
Darn it!! Foiled!!
Ooh, I was so angry and upset! I squirmed around and meowed and wailed and twisted and thrashed and howled, but my mom would not let go. We squeezed through the neighbor's side gate and headed back across the lawn and through our front door, her cooing "What a good girl! Oh yeah, you're a good baby girl cat," the whole way, and me flailing around trying to wrest myself free.
As soon as we got inside she said to my dad, "Quick, shut the door, I'm losing my grip on her!" My dad very was glad to see us both again. I was not so glad. I was still annoyed about Nasty Cat; I hurt my arthritic hips when scrambling up that tree; I hurt myself a little more thrashing around in my mom's death-grip; plus it was just very undignified for me to be hauled about by my scruff as though I were some kind of feline hooligan. I mean, really, I am a very lady-like cat, and to be treated as though I were some sort of alley cat riff-raff was quite an insult to my dignity. So I was miffed, frustrated, disappointed, achey, sore and embarrassed.
But both my mom and dad were really happy I was back inside. I paced around the house for a little while, reassuring myself that all was well on my turf. My mom told my dad all the details about rescuing me, and how she could barely see me in the darkness, how she kept her voice calm and low so that she wouldn't scare me, and how she stepped (barefoot) on a thorn in the neighbor's overgrown, weedy yard right after she scruffed me, and they both said they were so glad she was able to grab me (ugh, "grab" me like I'm some common criminal!) and that they didn't have to leave the door open all night long waiting for me to come back inside from wherever I might have gone running off to.
See, my mom and dad just don't understand. I was not going to run off anywhere. I was only going to hunt down Nasty Cat and dispatch her once and for all. Then I would have come home and had a snack and had a nice little snooze and everything would have been just fine. But my mom and dad don't understand that. They have a rule that I have to be indoors all the time. Most of the time I don't mind. But when I see intruders, especially Nasty Cat, who tries to pick fights with cats behind closed windows, my blood boils and I must get outside to put things right.
Yeah, it's so braaAAAaave of you to pick a fight with an indoor-only cat, isn't it, Nasty Cat? I'll bet you're feeling pretty brave right now, aren't you? Feeling pretty cocky and arrogant, aren't you -- picking on defenseless kitties who you know can't get to you and give you the thrashing you so richly deserve! Well, we'll see who has the last laugh, Nasty Cat. I can be very patient, and my front door is going to open many, many more times in the coming months . . .
Just you wait, Nasty Cat, just you wait . . . !
April 7th 2010 9:22 pm
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A couple of weeks ago I had a horrible experience at the vet -- my teeth were cleaned and they pulled a tooth. The tooth had been bothering me, but it was not nearly as bad as the trauma of not getting fed the night before, being put into my carrier early that morning and left at the vet all day long with strangers, and feeling all goofy and dopey afterward. My jaw ached and the medicines I had to take made me feel really scared and sick. I kept on having tum-upses and felt really miserable for several days. I spent a lot of time hiding behind the chair in the living room.
Once my dad stopped giving me the medicines I began to feel a lot better. It is strange to be eating without that tooth -- food keeps on falling out of the side of my mouth where it used to be. I have to learn a new way to eat. But at least it doesn't bother me anymore.
A week after my unpleasant dental experience, my mom and dad took me back to the vet. I was really scared I was going to have to go through the same thing all over again, but luckily all that happened, after a lot of talking, was the vet pried my mouth open and looked inside, and then we all came home. I was glad about that.
But something strange happened when we got home. My mom and dad brought me inside and opened my carrier, then they left again right away. They didn't come back for 3 or 4 hours, and when they did, my mom had hospital smells on her. (Hospital smells are just like vet office smells, but without the dog and cat smells.) I was very confused by this and very upset. Usually my mom and dad help comfort and reassure me when I've been scared, but they weren't even around, and I was in the house all alone by myself for a long time. I was so very glad when they came home.
My mom has been in bed a lot, and she's had trouble walking and getting around. I hope the doctor is helping her get better.
February 8th 2010 12:44 pm
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I have reason to believe my mom and dad have been tricking me by sneaking me pills hidden inside tasty chickeny chewy treats.
For a while they have been giving me a few tasty little treats twice a day. I always thought it was somewhat odd that one of the treats was chewy with a crunchy center that tasted a little funny. None of my other chewy treats had crunchy centers that tasted funny, but I didn't think much of it because the treat was so chickeny and chewy and fun to eat. But one time I bit down right into the crunchy center, and it tasted really bitter, so I spit it out. Even so, it left a funny taste in my mouth; fortunately the other treats covered up that funny taste.
So the next time I was offered the chewy chickeny treat I sniffed it very carefully first. And I did detect something non-chickeny about it. I took an experimental bite and felt that crunchy center inside it. So I spit the whole thing out, tasty chickeny chewy part and all. I remembered how awful and bitter that crunchy center tasted. And because of that I have reason to suspect that crunchy center was actually a pill.
Usually when I need medicine, my dad pries my jaws open and pops a pill (or squirts a liquid) down my hatch. This is something I grow tired of rather rapidly, as you may well imagine. I've even nipped my dad once -- by accident of course; or even twice, maybe. Or three times. By accident, of course. Well, maybe 4 or 5 times. Accidentally! Of course. Or maybe more times . . . OK, a lot more times -- purely accidentally! Ahem. So, anyway, he stopped trying to pry my jaws open.
But then I began getting those chewy chickeny treats shortly afterwards, with the funny crunchy centers, and I thought they were really great and life was fabulous. No more pried-open jaws, no more icky medicines, just tasty little chickeny chewy treats . . . until I bit right into that funny crunchy center. That's when I put two and two together and began to wise up about what was really going on. My mom and dad were pulling a fast one, exploiting my love of chickeny chewy treats to trick me into taking pills.
This is not good! How can I ever trust another chickeny chewy treat ever again? This is enough to put me off all treats completely, for fear they are a superficially innocent means of administering vile medicines. I am afraid I must remain ever suspicious from now on, lest I be fooled into actually swallowing a pill. Yuck!
Well, at least my daily pumpkin is still unadulterated . . . so far . . .
January 21st 2010 12:12 am
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The other night I felt really awful. My tummy was on fire, especially when I went wee in the box. I tried not to yelp when I went wee but I couldn't help it. And it felt like I had to go wee every two minutes. Ooh, my little tummy burned! And stung! And I had to strain so hard to go wee. And from all the straining I had an enormous tum-ups of all the food I'd just eaten, plus a little hairball.
All this commotion got my mom out of bed (it was after midnight). She told my dad there was blood in my urine. There was a lot of chaos for several minutes, and I knew something was up, but I felt too miserable to go find a good hidey-hole. The next thing I knew I was being put into my carrier and whisked away in the car. My mom and dad know how much I hate my carrier and how much I hate the car, and how much I hate everything else associated with carriers and cars, but they insisted upon dragging me out into the dark, rainy night, as if I didn't feel miserable enough already.
I was taken to a strange place and was poked and prodded by strange people. Somehow a man made me wee into a little bowl. That was extremely strange. He went and looked at my wee in a microscope. He told my mom and dad that there were lots of wide blood cells in my wee. (Maybe that's why it hurt to wee, the cells were so wide. Or maybe he said white blood cells? I'm not sure.)
Anyway, another man gave me a shot and a pill, and then gave me fluids into the scruff of my neck. The shot made me feel woozy but the pain began to fade away, so I began to relax somewhat because things stopped hurting so bad. I barely remember sitting in my carrier in the lobby for a while, then being whisked back home through the dark, rainy night. I think I saw lightning off in the distance, but I'm really not sure. When we got back home I just crawled behind the little palm tree in the living room and hid. My mom and dad offered me some food and even some treats, but I felt too lousy to eat anything.
The next day I felt really lousy. My dad gave me 3 medicines and 2 of them made me feel woozy and wonky and the other one tasted foul. Nothing good ever happens when I get whisked away to strange places and get poked and prodded by strange people. My life becomes miserable for days afterward. And my mom and dad wonder why I hate the carrier and the car so much . . .
But I digress. So, I was saying that I felt lousy for the next day, but today I felt a lot better. My dad stopped giving me 2 of the medicines, and I feel a lot more like my usual self. I even went wee without any real problems. My mom said she hasn't seen any more blood in my wee, so that's good. I'm not quite back to where I was before all this began, but at least my tummy isn't on fire any more. And at least they're not making me wear one of those [CENSORED] cones.
December 19th 2009 1:12 pm
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The weather has turned mild and sunny, so my dad opened the window in his office again. It's really nice to sit there once more. There's a soft blanket for me to lie on, and I can spend the day watching the goings-on outside. My dad calls it Kittyvision. No offense to my mom's lap, but, well, Kittyvision is Kittyvision, what can I say?
December 17th 2009 3:00 pm
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The days here have become cloudy and rainy. It is very cool -- sometimes actually cold. I am very glad to be an indoor kitty now. I did not like the cold when I was a stray. But that is over now.
Up till recently I have been taking my naps in my dad's office, on a shelf by the window. But now that it is cool and rainy I find I like sitting with my mom and curling up in her lap. That is a lot nicer than sitting on a shelf by a window. Her lap is comfy and cozy and very peaceful. It is so very pleasant to have a snooze in my mom's lap on a gray, drizzly day. She goes tappity-tappity-tap quietly on her little laptop computer, and I drowse and dream of hushed winter days.
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