Kittehs, Kittehs, Everywhere
I have always liked cats. I like dogs fine too and we had dogs when I was growing up, but I have always really been more of a cat person. My earliest memory of cats is the barn cats at Peterson Ranch where I named them regardless of gender. I was still young enough to think that dogs were boys and cats were girls and when they had babies that was what happened, girls came out cats and boys came out dogs. I have never claimed that I was a sensible child. I named my favourite cat Barbara. He was a tomcat but I didn’t know that, nor did I care.
When I was twelve my cousin gave me a cat for Christmas. I know my mom and my aunt had no idea that he was going to do that but my uncle was very (perhaps too much so) enthusiastic about the idea and so we left their house with the already named Thomas O’Malley in tow. He was a handsome tuxedo cat and was utterly devoted. On the night before Valentine’s Day some jackass caught him in the alley and stomped the hell out of him. I was distraught at being unable to find him and we had to go to a Sunday dinner thing and when we got back Thomas had pulled himself through the back fence (we found bootprints and his collar bell crushed in the mud by the hole in the fence) and all the way to the front yard. All the muscles were pulled on one side and he couldn’t use his hindquarters so he had spent the day dragging himself with his front paws. I was devastated. We gently picked him up and put him in a box and took him inside, cleaned him up and mom planned to take him to the vet the next day, Monday. He would not let me out of his sight and if I left the room where his box was he would drag himself out of the box and follow so I just started dragging the box around that night so he wouldn’t hurt himself anymore. Mom took him to the vet and he thought with some time Thomas would be fine but then he died Monday night at the vet’s. I was convinced that it was because he couldn’t find me. I was twelve and felt guilty for not finding him sooner or before he could be hurt by unfeeling bastards who find animal cruelty amusing.
When we moved to Douglas we were out in the country again. There were no barn cats at first but soon after we moved in some strays showed up. We live at the top of a loop road, the stop sign past our house is a Y turn either left to the mountains or right back to town, so a perfect place to dump unwanted animals. By the time the dumped animals make it back to our house (if they do) they are traumatized and hurt and scared to death. We feed them and doctor them if we can catch them. They stay feral for the most part and breed like bunnies each year. Natural selection happens and so each year the crop of kittens gets culled, predators and cars on the road are a danger to the big cats as well. Our stray population is usually about a dozen, though one year we had twentyseven cats at the end of the Summer, a good year for cats that one.
The year I went away to college my mom adopted a house kitty from the ones tame enough to touch and Peesties (her name started out as Pester, but morphed as names will do) was a sweetie and smart as hell. She could tell the difference between butter and margarine and you had better by god be putting real butter on her popcorn. She also stole the felt baby Jesus off the Christmas tree every year. I did an experiment one year and put ALL the felt nativity ornaments along the bottom of the tree to see if she would take the ones in easy reach instead of the baby Jesus high up at the top. Nope. She only wanted the baby Jesus and she would climb the damn tree to get him and hide him in the packages underneath. My toasted marshmallow of a step dad was the worst for spoiling her. (toasted marshmallow: hard and crunchy outside, pure melted goo inside) He was always “accidentally” buying toys and treats for Peesties. Also, who in the house only ate butter on their popcorn? Yeah, dad. (mom uses margarine and I put powdery cheese on mine)
Currently we have about sixteen to eighteen cats, mostly females. We lost three of our mama cats this year and the oldest kittens were already eating real food by that time, so they will be fine. Earlier this year we had a grey cat show up that was very skittish, she would run anytime we went out to feed. Pretty soon though she was being all friendly to me. We started calling her BFF. She even started letting me pet her and scratch her ears and she would roll over for tummy rubs. (That is something the wild kitties just don’t do) Pretty soon she showed up with two babies and brought them to me, so tiny that their eyes were still closed and they had little cords on their belly buttons. She kept them on the porch where I could get to them and so I started going out every day and handling them to try to tame them early. They were born so late in the season that they were not going to live through Autumn unless we could find homes for them. I would check them and bring them inside and Mom and I would pet and squee over them and then I would take them back outside and BFF would nurses them until the older kittens would shove them out of the way at the buffet.
Since I had named the last batch (Teacake and Muffin: two orange and white kittens, Goldenrod an orange tabby, Truffles a brown tabby. There was also Cupcake the calico and Harley and Freckles two of the brindles, but we lost the three brindles and the two calicos early on, sadly. There is also an older kitten that is all black but for a tiny bit of white at his throat, I have been calling him Cole, oh so original I know) Mom named the two newest babies Andy (a grey stripe like his mama, named for Andy Griffith) and a Chester (a brown tabby). Odds are both would be female since girl kitties seem to live longer/get born more frequently. But gender is never really a consideration.
When I lived in Laramie I had a pair of sister kitties (Peppermint and Possum) and a mostly Siamese tom (Paradox) and when I had to give them up to move to Denver I was heartbroken and swore to never have a housecat again.
Last week I was having trouble sleeping and went outside to see the kitties at o’dark early a.m. (they are usually awake and it is cool at dawn) I found Andy still warm on the deck, her little neck broke. There are any number of predators that will do that, and there is a big mean tom that has been coming around and sniffing after BFF, we keep running him off and I swear the next time he will get a dose of lead poisoning. What we usually do with unlive animals is throw them over the back fence and let the circle of life take care of business but I couldn’t do that. I had been out looking for the kitties earlier and could only find Chester so I thought that BFF probably brought Andy up there and put her near the usual box they slept in, Chester was behind some storage things across the porch. I put on gloves to carry Andy and trekked up the hill behind the house to the old cellar where Dad used to bury our pets. I found the metal box that Peesties was in (she succumbed to smoke inhalation after the house fire years ago) and put Andy in there. It was peaceful and such a pretty day that even though I was sad I felt good to put her with PesterKitty and she wouldn’t be all alone. I know, I am a total sap.
So this week we could see that Chester wasn’t getting any bigger and BFF is trying to wean the bigger cats because they are too big now and hurt her when they nurse. Unfortunately, this ends up weaning Chester who is way too little for that and can’t eat crunchy food yet. I was coming to terms with losing Chester too, since he/she is too little to live much longer what with early weaning and cold weather coming. I was playing with the kitteh and Chester fell asleep so I moved to the easy chair and since cats are a wandering blackhole of relaxation and napping, I fell asleep too.
I woke up and Mom had gotten a box filled with old clothes and a stuffed animal and was ready to adopt the kitten. So yeah, we can has kitteh.
I am pretty sure she is a girl. Her name is Chester Pester Houdini (because the first thing she did was figure out how to open the box) and we are calling her Chessie for short. She looks like maybe she is going to be long haired, but it is hard to tell yet. She is certainly a brown and tan tabby with the face markings and all, also a raccoon ringed tail. (sometimes I call her little Cajun Coonass Kitty, but not in front of company since that is not a nice thing to call people)
It is hard to get pictures of a cat that is constantly laying on your chest, but I have tried. As soon as my real computer is set up I can transfer the pictures but my laptop does not have the right port for my camera card. Damn. She is cute as hell. And MamaSue spoils her AS much as I do, so I don’t want to hear anything about how I am such an indulgent mother, letting her nap in my shirt and sleep in my bed… so don’t even start! Ha. She is eating good and figuring out how to drink, she hates the nipple on the bottle but will eat thickened formula from my fingers and she really likes turkey and rice mushy babyfood. She has almost figured out the drinking thing, but the bowl still confuses. I think she’ll get the hang of it in a few more days.
SO DAMN CUTE!!! My mom, she is crazy. But I guess that makes me crazy too, since I am going along with it, huh? *grin*
When I was twelve my cousin gave me a cat for Christmas. I know my mom and my aunt had no idea that he was going to do that but my uncle was very (perhaps too much so) enthusiastic about the idea and so we left their house with the already named Thomas O’Malley in tow. He was a handsome tuxedo cat and was utterly devoted. On the night before Valentine’s Day some jackass caught him in the alley and stomped the hell out of him. I was distraught at being unable to find him and we had to go to a Sunday dinner thing and when we got back Thomas had pulled himself through the back fence (we found bootprints and his collar bell crushed in the mud by the hole in the fence) and all the way to the front yard. All the muscles were pulled on one side and he couldn’t use his hindquarters so he had spent the day dragging himself with his front paws. I was devastated. We gently picked him up and put him in a box and took him inside, cleaned him up and mom planned to take him to the vet the next day, Monday. He would not let me out of his sight and if I left the room where his box was he would drag himself out of the box and follow so I just started dragging the box around that night so he wouldn’t hurt himself anymore. Mom took him to the vet and he thought with some time Thomas would be fine but then he died Monday night at the vet’s. I was convinced that it was because he couldn’t find me. I was twelve and felt guilty for not finding him sooner or before he could be hurt by unfeeling bastards who find animal cruelty amusing.
When we moved to Douglas we were out in the country again. There were no barn cats at first but soon after we moved in some strays showed up. We live at the top of a loop road, the stop sign past our house is a Y turn either left to the mountains or right back to town, so a perfect place to dump unwanted animals. By the time the dumped animals make it back to our house (if they do) they are traumatized and hurt and scared to death. We feed them and doctor them if we can catch them. They stay feral for the most part and breed like bunnies each year. Natural selection happens and so each year the crop of kittens gets culled, predators and cars on the road are a danger to the big cats as well. Our stray population is usually about a dozen, though one year we had twentyseven cats at the end of the Summer, a good year for cats that one.
The year I went away to college my mom adopted a house kitty from the ones tame enough to touch and Peesties (her name started out as Pester, but morphed as names will do) was a sweetie and smart as hell. She could tell the difference between butter and margarine and you had better by god be putting real butter on her popcorn. She also stole the felt baby Jesus off the Christmas tree every year. I did an experiment one year and put ALL the felt nativity ornaments along the bottom of the tree to see if she would take the ones in easy reach instead of the baby Jesus high up at the top. Nope. She only wanted the baby Jesus and she would climb the damn tree to get him and hide him in the packages underneath. My toasted marshmallow of a step dad was the worst for spoiling her. (toasted marshmallow: hard and crunchy outside, pure melted goo inside) He was always “accidentally” buying toys and treats for Peesties. Also, who in the house only ate butter on their popcorn? Yeah, dad. (mom uses margarine and I put powdery cheese on mine)
Currently we have about sixteen to eighteen cats, mostly females. We lost three of our mama cats this year and the oldest kittens were already eating real food by that time, so they will be fine. Earlier this year we had a grey cat show up that was very skittish, she would run anytime we went out to feed. Pretty soon though she was being all friendly to me. We started calling her BFF. She even started letting me pet her and scratch her ears and she would roll over for tummy rubs. (That is something the wild kitties just don’t do) Pretty soon she showed up with two babies and brought them to me, so tiny that their eyes were still closed and they had little cords on their belly buttons. She kept them on the porch where I could get to them and so I started going out every day and handling them to try to tame them early. They were born so late in the season that they were not going to live through Autumn unless we could find homes for them. I would check them and bring them inside and Mom and I would pet and squee over them and then I would take them back outside and BFF would nurses them until the older kittens would shove them out of the way at the buffet.
Since I had named the last batch (Teacake and Muffin: two orange and white kittens, Goldenrod an orange tabby, Truffles a brown tabby. There was also Cupcake the calico and Harley and Freckles two of the brindles, but we lost the three brindles and the two calicos early on, sadly. There is also an older kitten that is all black but for a tiny bit of white at his throat, I have been calling him Cole, oh so original I know) Mom named the two newest babies Andy (a grey stripe like his mama, named for Andy Griffith) and a Chester (a brown tabby). Odds are both would be female since girl kitties seem to live longer/get born more frequently. But gender is never really a consideration.
When I lived in Laramie I had a pair of sister kitties (Peppermint and Possum) and a mostly Siamese tom (Paradox) and when I had to give them up to move to Denver I was heartbroken and swore to never have a housecat again.
Last week I was having trouble sleeping and went outside to see the kitties at o’dark early a.m. (they are usually awake and it is cool at dawn) I found Andy still warm on the deck, her little neck broke. There are any number of predators that will do that, and there is a big mean tom that has been coming around and sniffing after BFF, we keep running him off and I swear the next time he will get a dose of lead poisoning. What we usually do with unlive animals is throw them over the back fence and let the circle of life take care of business but I couldn’t do that. I had been out looking for the kitties earlier and could only find Chester so I thought that BFF probably brought Andy up there and put her near the usual box they slept in, Chester was behind some storage things across the porch. I put on gloves to carry Andy and trekked up the hill behind the house to the old cellar where Dad used to bury our pets. I found the metal box that Peesties was in (she succumbed to smoke inhalation after the house fire years ago) and put Andy in there. It was peaceful and such a pretty day that even though I was sad I felt good to put her with PesterKitty and she wouldn’t be all alone. I know, I am a total sap.
So this week we could see that Chester wasn’t getting any bigger and BFF is trying to wean the bigger cats because they are too big now and hurt her when they nurse. Unfortunately, this ends up weaning Chester who is way too little for that and can’t eat crunchy food yet. I was coming to terms with losing Chester too, since he/she is too little to live much longer what with early weaning and cold weather coming. I was playing with the kitteh and Chester fell asleep so I moved to the easy chair and since cats are a wandering blackhole of relaxation and napping, I fell asleep too.
I woke up and Mom had gotten a box filled with old clothes and a stuffed animal and was ready to adopt the kitten. So yeah, we can has kitteh.
I am pretty sure she is a girl. Her name is Chester Pester Houdini (because the first thing she did was figure out how to open the box) and we are calling her Chessie for short. She looks like maybe she is going to be long haired, but it is hard to tell yet. She is certainly a brown and tan tabby with the face markings and all, also a raccoon ringed tail. (sometimes I call her little Cajun Coonass Kitty, but not in front of company since that is not a nice thing to call people)
It is hard to get pictures of a cat that is constantly laying on your chest, but I have tried. As soon as my real computer is set up I can transfer the pictures but my laptop does not have the right port for my camera card. Damn. She is cute as hell. And MamaSue spoils her AS much as I do, so I don’t want to hear anything about how I am such an indulgent mother, letting her nap in my shirt and sleep in my bed… so don’t even start! Ha. She is eating good and figuring out how to drink, she hates the nipple on the bottle but will eat thickened formula from my fingers and she really likes turkey and rice mushy babyfood. She has almost figured out the drinking thing, but the bowl still confuses. I think she’ll get the hang of it in a few more days.
SO DAMN CUTE!!! My mom, she is crazy. But I guess that makes me crazy too, since I am going along with it, huh? *grin*