icarusancalion

Rothy woke up suddenly with an angry "HSSS!" for no apparent reason.

He does this sometimes. It's startling, and this time scary.

Nightmares, maybe?

Rothy's curled up on my coat and hat.

I'm charmed, complimented ...

...and wonder if I'll have to wear a different one to work.

Am fogged. I came home from work, raring to clean before I packed up to kitty sit tonight.

...and fell promptly asleep.

Oops. Neglected!Callie did enjoy her cuddle time, so there's that.

Now it's midnight, I've had a few hours sleep, cleaning is abandoned for a quick dash out the door to cat sit. My worry about being too late proved unfounded. Kitty's not hungy -- she's in heat. And how.

I should be working on my Yuletide fic (outlined it in chat with sarka). But ... fog.

Should've brought the OAR (Overly Ambitious Rug, yes I've been working on it for two years but it's very close to done now).

Maybe plot out the SGA Santa fic? This is the first year I've signed up for two fests.

Someone please figure out how I can crochet lace and read fic at the same time, please and thank you.

A moment ago Rothy grabbed my hand with his claws and then, holding it, proceeded to do tentative little licks. He's never done that before.

=)

I think he likes me.

More Athena news: four weeks after being rescued from where she was starving in a Giant parking lot, she is now clearly happy. Also, spoiled enough to turn her nose up at duck wet food. (Too gamey, I suppose.)

She doesn't even look like the same cat. Her body is catching up to the size of her tail as she regains weight. She no longer looks like a five-month old kitten. That was starvation, my friends.

Look at her now.

*hums* If you could see me now...

I'm trying to talk her new owner (ha, owner -- she orders S. around) into buying her a $300 cat tower.

New video of momma kitty ... who's name is now Athena. Isn't she sweet?



Snuggly kitty snuggles.

Time for the freekibblekat.com quiz. It's cute.

Then, a little practice, and off to work.

Up at 4am ... don't know what to do with myself. The leftover cough from the laryngitis won't go away and sleep schedule is, as usual, whacked.

And -- rescued a cat tonight.

I was about to leave work. As I shut my door, I heard a meow.

Meow?

I looked back to see if was just the car door squeaking, and there was the source on the edge of the parking lot. He had hoarse voice, like he'd over-meowed.

A few minutes later, my ex-boyfriend (the local Chinese one, S.) stopped by to see if I cared to have a bite, and found me petting the cute kitten -- well, teenage cat, maybe about four or five months old. A fine-lined tabby with white paws and long, thin legs, a tail in extra-long.

"Why am I not surprised?" S. said, which is rich, because he's just as much of a cat person as I am, and that's saying something.

We were about to head out: "The tapas place? You know, I was thinking of stopping by but figured you'd be at a dance class or something--" (I got S. into ballroom dancing) -- when kitty very deliberately blocked the car from leaving.

Kitty meowed urgently. Something was wrong.

"Maybe he's lost?" He looked very young. We speculated, and then S. thought maybe if we brought him over to where the townhouses were, we'd see if he made his way towards one. It was probably a mistake to take him around the block by car, but S. had left the engine running, it had rained, and it was rather wet.

I didn't think it would work. But I humored S. because I knew who was going to be housing this cat if we didn't find his home.

Kitty started going up one sidewalk to a door. Then he looked confused. He trotted down that sidewalk and went up to the next door, but no, not it. He did the next one. He walked on the sidewalk, not the grass. This was an indoor kitty.

"He doesn't know where he lives," I told S.

We took kitty to S's house, naturally, because one, he doesn't have four other cats, and two, he lived next door (which is why he'll stop by after I get off work). He loves cats. His grandmother doesn't (it's his house, willed to him by his mother, but his grandmother's lived there for twenty years; it's Chinese thing).

Tucked in the downstairs bathroom at S's place, we discovered that kitty was a she, and she, though young, was a nursing mother. Gosh, we hoped that whoever lost their cat knew that kittens could be weaned onto wet food as early as three or four weeks. S. went out to get cat food and supplies for a litter box, while I discovered what a sweet, gentle cat this was as she melted in my hands.

S. arrived with the food, and that's when we discovered how lost this cat had been. She tried to eat the kitty litter, she was so hungry. In slow spoonfuls (I didn't want her to get sick) she voraciously devoured six mini cans of cat food. A week, at least, without food? I worried about her kittens. I didn't want to say anything, but it looked like she'd nursed kittens more recently than a week. The telling moment came when, sated at last, rested, comforted and warm, she tried the door.

I know that meow. It's the same one cats use when there's a bird just out of reach. It's also the same one they use when their kittens are in danger. Those kittens are still out there. My mind formed a picture of some reckless asshole dumping a cat and her kittens in the woods because he (or she) didn't want to deal with a litter.

I knew it was hopeless, but I got a flashlight and tried to hunt through the area where we found her. Too dark, too steep, and my slippery work shoes were no help. A neighbor (walking his dog at midnight) offered a harness and leash, suggesting that we put her on one and have her lead us to them. The harness was too big, but he was a nice guy, wants to know what happens.

In the morning, I'm bringing over a cat carrier to take her to the vet, check for a microchip. (S. works from home tomorrow, waiting for the plumber.) We'll see if we can get a harness. Can only pray the kittens make it through the night, and that we can find them in the daylight.

Or pray that I'm wrong, and she just doesn't like being kept in a room. S., for his own peace of mind I think, has decided on that interpretation.


ETA: Breaking news. All the kittens are safe and sound -- because she's not a nursing mother. She's pregnant.

The doorbell rang. Grumbling, I hauled my butt upstairs to find some fellow with a landscaping truck.

"I--"
"I'm not the one who makes decisions around here," I cut him off. We get a lot of offers to clean gutters/fix the roof/rake leaves/carpet clean our all wood floors/plant corn or whatever. I've learned to keep it short.
"No, no, I'm from Meadows Farms and I'm here to drop off the vinca."
"Uh...."
"Where should I put it? Also, your cat is escaping."

I catch the cat, puzzled. I'm well aware that we're trying to replace the dead grass but I hadn't heard anything about a delivery. Also...vinca? Weren't we getting ivy? "Um. Okay." Squiggling cat in hand, I direct him to put it under the tree out front.

I go downstairs. The doorbell rings several minutes later. I haul my butt upstairs, grumbling more. There are several potted plants that don't look at all like vinca to me (but what do I know?) along with several bags of dirt piled dead center in the middle of the yard. I scoop up the cat and hold her as a precautionary measure.

"Okay," he tells me. "The vinca dries out quickly in this wind so you should water it twice a day until it is planted."
Fine, fine, I nod, as the cat tries to work her way free. Only later do I notice he didn't have me sign anything for it or leave a receipt.

My uncle came home about forty-five minutes later. I told him about watering the vinca.
"What vinca?"
"The vinca in the middle of the yard?"
"Where? What? They weren't supposed to deliver that today."

I look out the window. Nothing.

The pile of bags, shrubbery, and (supposed) vinca were gone.

I swear I didn't hallucinate it.

A friend of mine grew up in one of those homes where animals were considered "unsanitary" and "destructive."

They also put blinds on all the windows (including the little window in the door) because "people might look in!" believed children should be seen and not heard, locked everything at all times, kept a meal schedule ("fish on Fridays"), made prudent shopping decisions, and paid all their bills weeks early ("it could get lost in the mail"). Naturally my friend grew up uncomfortable around pets of all stripes.

Then she fell in love with a cat.

The cat came with the house she bought (prudent, expensive, well-researched). Kitty was very, very old, abandoned by the previous owners, and apparently never let in the house before.

Worried that the kitty (who lived outside) might be cold, my friend bought her a little cat apartment.

Kitty gazed at it in awe, looked up at my friend in surprise and gratitude, "Is that for ME?" and went in. And back out to gaze lovingly at my friend, then looked in shock at the little house (like she thought it might disappear), then went back in, and back out, so happy, so grateful. My friend became the center of that cat's world.

My friend bought her a toy, and received the same reaction, like a child who'd never been given a Christmas present. She loved that toy, and loved my friend more.

Eventually my friend let her in the house. She was not into cats roaming the house, but it was just too pitiable that this elderly cat was outside (even with a new cat apartment).

The intent was to keep kitty in one room, but once in the house, the elderly kitty lady couldn't resist exploring, went from room to room and back around again. She'd never been in a house so BIG. She wanted it all. And she wanted to be with her new heroine. My friend relented.

The elderly kitty lady was slightly incontinent, and had perpetual diarrhea. She determinedly followed my friend from room to room and would sit under my friend's chair at mealtimes, beaming with joy at my friend's company, emitting horrible gas.

My friend would wave the smell away and joke about it, complain about the messes, but she had never had a pet before, and had never been the focus of such unwavering devotion. She named the elderly kitty lady Holly, and loved her, smells, messes and all.

Holly, the elderly kitty lady, lived to a ripe old age and passed away two years later. Much loved, and much missed.

My friend is my mom's roommate. And mom moved in with five cats.