Those of you who have cats or have had one know what I mean when I say I am ruled by them.
I have two, Troy, aka "T" (named after Tesla's drummer), and Love Bug, aka, "Buggy" (named after no one, she had unusally huge eyes when she was little). Their personalities are complete opposites.
"Buggy" is loveable, docile, and sleeps by my side, or inside the crook of my legs at night. When she was little, she had this thing of trying to lay across my neck, which I had to break her from since I do not care for asphyixiation.
She loves milk and curling up in my lap when I read. She's not too picky when it comes to food, she will pretty much eat whatever I give her. She does not have a tail, it's a little stub, I suppose she was born with it. She's muscular and stout, but a real puss when it comes to storms, kinda like me, except I don't hide in a spidery hole *shudder*. She is skiddish around other humans, why, I don't know. She hears a voice that is neither me or my husband's, into the hole, under the house, or up the stairs she goes.
Her claws are sharp and do not feel very good when they dig into my flesh. It's not because she's attacking me, she's doing what I call "kneading bread". She has a funny way of standing, especially if she is looking outside or has just stepped out there. Her little legs are spread apart, ready to either bolt under the house or stalk an unsuspecting bird. There have been times when she has sat on my chest or hip while I slept, wanting to go outside. I ignore her until the meowing is unbearble. I had a video clip on my profile once about a cat who did just that, execpt Buggy does not use a baseball bat to wake me up. She cracks me up when she all of a sudden pops up or steps from around a corner, her tail stub twitching, and the legs spread apart. She has a funny way of letting you know when she has to use the bathroom. She runs up and down the stairs, into the bathroom, then outside. This process is repeated several times until the smell hits your nose and hopefully she made it to the litter box or outside. Usually, it's in the bathroom, unless the door is shut.
All in all, she's an ideal pet. She's into her fourteenth year of life, but she still has a lot of vitality although sometimes her hips seem to give way when she runs across the kitchen floor. I like to think it's because the floor is slick.
T, well, he's a brat. No other way to describe him. I found him in the street, crying his little lungs out until I finally coaxed him into the yard. My husband was inside repeating the word "no". Poor little baby kitty, I tell him, he's gonna get ran over.
At the time I had another cat, "Scooter" ( she died of some kind of fungal infection in her bones at the ripe old age of eleven). Both Scooter and Buggy were not happy with the new addition. That tiny orange and white baby got wacked anytime he approched either one of the girls (cats). For a few weeks, I thought Buggy would kill him.
Then he got comfortable with his surroundings. Soon the ambushes began; hiding behind the couch, under the table, or under the bed. A slight movement of a foot under the cover rendered a hefty pounce, claws dug into the bottom of the foot and teeth/fangs sunk into a toe. Scooter and Buggy were under constant attack, Scooter didn't back down, Buggy? She has mastered the art of slipping from sight and claw. Don't think for a minute she lets him get away with it though. He supports several scars on his pink nose.
T hadn't been in the family long until one morning he didn't come home. I was sick, he was so little, so vunerable. I'm worried, I tell my husband. I begin to call his name then I hear a meow far away, I move in the direction of the sound. Then I see him. Relief! I see he's not walking so well. I try to pick him up and he lets out the most horrible cry and hissing. We get him to the vet where we learn he has a broken hip, most likely from a car or possibly a kick from a human. It was going to cost some money to fix him. I just couldn't let the little guy suffer and I did not want him put down. I let my husband make the call.
A week later, T was brought home with a tiny hip replacement. We never did figure out what happened, but he keeps away from cars.
T has totally dominated the household. Sometimes, Alan, my husband, eats sunflower seeds when he watches television. We have discovered T likes them as well. He will climb up on Alan's chest and wait while Alan cracks open a seed. It's only two or three of the nuts but that's all, he jumps off his chest and pursues other interests like terroizing Buggy if she's around.
He loves peanutbutter, not a whole lot, just a little on the tip of my finger is enough to satisfy him. I have discovered he cannot tolerate milk, no matter the type, he pukes it right back up. Grasshoppers, the little green ones are a favorite, he like to bring them in and play with them until he grows tired then eats them. Now, the big green and yellow ones, they get thrown up, ugh, nasty.
He's a hunter, both cats are. T is more so than Buggy. Of course, they have to bring their trophies inside the house. Birds, mice, a rat or two, snakes, Cicadias, even a squirrel(it was dead, but behind the couch) have been lose in the home. I know I enjoy coming downstairs in the mornings and seeing feathers everywhere. We have even been graced with a bat's presence, thanks to T.
He rarely drinks out of a bowl, he prefers drinking from a faucet. I think he learned this from Scooter. People? Not a problem, even the neighbor keeps his garage open so T can go in to maintain the mouse population, which I appreciate because that usually means he has brought them home for us. Thanks man.
If we do not have one of our doors cracked open, just like Buggy, he's telling us he wants outside, usually by stepping across our heads, if that doesn't work, he's trying to take the curtian off the window. Sometimes it may not mean he wants out, it could mean he's thirsty, or he wants food, or simply nothing at all. Little shit. We try to accomodate by cracking the back door so my darlings are able to come and go as they please, but then this invites strays too. In the winter this is a real problem. The doors are closed, it's cold outside, and when he wants in, he pulls the screen door back with his paw then lets it go, BAM! I do not get a full eight hours sleep. I'm not complaining, that's just the way it goes.
He has a urinary tract issue, so we have to give him wet cat food in order for him to maintain a normal pH. When that refrigerator opens, he's right there, and he know where that food is at. If I haven't taken the can out, he shows his displeasure in several ways. Attack a foot, attack Buggy, or attack the little rug I have in the kitchen. Most of the time it's all three. I was hoping he would get over the tantrums as he grows older, but alas, no. He is getting a little more docile the older he gets, but there are those moments....
I have to keep a pillow on my desk so he can curl up next to me, otherwise he's trying to lay on top of the laptop which does not work well when I am using it. I don't know if I could have another cat when these two are gone, as much as I love them, when I lose a pet, it's like losing a child. It breaks my heart and several days are spent in mourning. I tend to be more of a cat lover than of dogs although we have two of them.
I have two, Troy, aka "T" (named after Tesla's drummer), and Love Bug, aka, "Buggy" (named after no one, she had unusally huge eyes when she was little). Their personalities are complete opposites.
"Buggy" is loveable, docile, and sleeps by my side, or inside the crook of my legs at night. When she was little, she had this thing of trying to lay across my neck, which I had to break her from since I do not care for asphyixiation.
She loves milk and curling up in my lap when I read. She's not too picky when it comes to food, she will pretty much eat whatever I give her. She does not have a tail, it's a little stub, I suppose she was born with it. She's muscular and stout, but a real puss when it comes to storms, kinda like me, except I don't hide in a spidery hole *shudder*. She is skiddish around other humans, why, I don't know. She hears a voice that is neither me or my husband's, into the hole, under the house, or up the stairs she goes.
Her claws are sharp and do not feel very good when they dig into my flesh. It's not because she's attacking me, she's doing what I call "kneading bread". She has a funny way of standing, especially if she is looking outside or has just stepped out there. Her little legs are spread apart, ready to either bolt under the house or stalk an unsuspecting bird. There have been times when she has sat on my chest or hip while I slept, wanting to go outside. I ignore her until the meowing is unbearble. I had a video clip on my profile once about a cat who did just that, execpt Buggy does not use a baseball bat to wake me up. She cracks me up when she all of a sudden pops up or steps from around a corner, her tail stub twitching, and the legs spread apart. She has a funny way of letting you know when she has to use the bathroom. She runs up and down the stairs, into the bathroom, then outside. This process is repeated several times until the smell hits your nose and hopefully she made it to the litter box or outside. Usually, it's in the bathroom, unless the door is shut.
All in all, she's an ideal pet. She's into her fourteenth year of life, but she still has a lot of vitality although sometimes her hips seem to give way when she runs across the kitchen floor. I like to think it's because the floor is slick.
T, well, he's a brat. No other way to describe him. I found him in the street, crying his little lungs out until I finally coaxed him into the yard. My husband was inside repeating the word "no". Poor little baby kitty, I tell him, he's gonna get ran over.
At the time I had another cat, "Scooter" ( she died of some kind of fungal infection in her bones at the ripe old age of eleven). Both Scooter and Buggy were not happy with the new addition. That tiny orange and white baby got wacked anytime he approched either one of the girls (cats). For a few weeks, I thought Buggy would kill him.
Then he got comfortable with his surroundings. Soon the ambushes began; hiding behind the couch, under the table, or under the bed. A slight movement of a foot under the cover rendered a hefty pounce, claws dug into the bottom of the foot and teeth/fangs sunk into a toe. Scooter and Buggy were under constant attack, Scooter didn't back down, Buggy? She has mastered the art of slipping from sight and claw. Don't think for a minute she lets him get away with it though. He supports several scars on his pink nose.
T hadn't been in the family long until one morning he didn't come home. I was sick, he was so little, so vunerable. I'm worried, I tell my husband. I begin to call his name then I hear a meow far away, I move in the direction of the sound. Then I see him. Relief! I see he's not walking so well. I try to pick him up and he lets out the most horrible cry and hissing. We get him to the vet where we learn he has a broken hip, most likely from a car or possibly a kick from a human. It was going to cost some money to fix him. I just couldn't let the little guy suffer and I did not want him put down. I let my husband make the call.
A week later, T was brought home with a tiny hip replacement. We never did figure out what happened, but he keeps away from cars.
T has totally dominated the household. Sometimes, Alan, my husband, eats sunflower seeds when he watches television. We have discovered T likes them as well. He will climb up on Alan's chest and wait while Alan cracks open a seed. It's only two or three of the nuts but that's all, he jumps off his chest and pursues other interests like terroizing Buggy if she's around.
He loves peanutbutter, not a whole lot, just a little on the tip of my finger is enough to satisfy him. I have discovered he cannot tolerate milk, no matter the type, he pukes it right back up. Grasshoppers, the little green ones are a favorite, he like to bring them in and play with them until he grows tired then eats them. Now, the big green and yellow ones, they get thrown up, ugh, nasty.
He's a hunter, both cats are. T is more so than Buggy. Of course, they have to bring their trophies inside the house. Birds, mice, a rat or two, snakes, Cicadias, even a squirrel(it was dead, but behind the couch) have been lose in the home. I know I enjoy coming downstairs in the mornings and seeing feathers everywhere. We have even been graced with a bat's presence, thanks to T.
He rarely drinks out of a bowl, he prefers drinking from a faucet. I think he learned this from Scooter. People? Not a problem, even the neighbor keeps his garage open so T can go in to maintain the mouse population, which I appreciate because that usually means he has brought them home for us. Thanks man.
If we do not have one of our doors cracked open, just like Buggy, he's telling us he wants outside, usually by stepping across our heads, if that doesn't work, he's trying to take the curtian off the window. Sometimes it may not mean he wants out, it could mean he's thirsty, or he wants food, or simply nothing at all. Little shit. We try to accomodate by cracking the back door so my darlings are able to come and go as they please, but then this invites strays too. In the winter this is a real problem. The doors are closed, it's cold outside, and when he wants in, he pulls the screen door back with his paw then lets it go, BAM! I do not get a full eight hours sleep. I'm not complaining, that's just the way it goes.
He has a urinary tract issue, so we have to give him wet cat food in order for him to maintain a normal pH. When that refrigerator opens, he's right there, and he know where that food is at. If I haven't taken the can out, he shows his displeasure in several ways. Attack a foot, attack Buggy, or attack the little rug I have in the kitchen. Most of the time it's all three. I was hoping he would get over the tantrums as he grows older, but alas, no. He is getting a little more docile the older he gets, but there are those moments....
I have to keep a pillow on my desk so he can curl up next to me, otherwise he's trying to lay on top of the laptop which does not work well when I am using it. I don't know if I could have another cat when these two are gone, as much as I love them, when I lose a pet, it's like losing a child. It breaks my heart and several days are spent in mourning. I tend to be more of a cat lover than of dogs although we have two of them.
I suppose it's because I have never got over being attacked by a German Shepard when I was younger. Yet they rule us too. I just wish they would mow their own yards.
Hell, I'm too friggin' old to be jumping up and down!
