Caturday!

And we're still not ready for our long-awaited Caturday guest!

So we leave you with a Gustav story for your amusement.

Gustav with his momma, Greta

Gustav and his Mum, Greta came to stay at La Casa de Los Gatos some seven years ago. Gustav's story is quite sad, really. Some idiot adopted his mother Greta but never had her spayed and, when she got pregnant, dumped her on the streets to fend for herself. You see why we don't approve of teenage pregnancy? Some other nasty soul, when Greta went into labour, kicked her into a drain and poured some sugary substance over her. Fortunately, a kind hoomin came along and found ants trying to eat the mother and her babies alive (ugh!) and rescued them all.

The kind soul took them home, cleaned them off, and proceeded to find homes for them all. Gustav was not the best looking of the bunch, so he was placed together with his dear sweet Mum, in a home with a young lady who liked cats.


Unfortunately, the young lady had a boyfriend who didn't like Gustav. He's never been an "easy" cat. He's loud, jealous, clingy, possessive of his mother, possessive of his hoomins — he was really meant to be an "only" cat. Unlike Bandicoot, he doesn't have a friendly open temperament and a sweet nature. The Coot visits all our neighbours fairly regularly and introduces himself to their guests as well, and offers to jump on anyone's lap for a quick belly petting or ear-scratching. Nor is he like Madu, who is basically an indolent catloaf and won't move if a stranger comes into the room. Actually he won't even open an eye to see who it is, sometimes, but, if petted, will purr loudly enough to be heard a couple of rooms away.

Gustav isn't gorgeous like the lovely Gojira, whom everyone falls in love with at first glance. She can be as difficult as she likes, with her plush, silvered gray fur, her lithe and delicate figure, her long, pointy paws, acid-green eyes, little pink sticking-out tongue. She's too beautiful to expect anything but indulgence. Nor is he a big silly fluffito like Zingiber, who runs away screaming from strangers (but they laugh rather than get annoyed because he's so big and fat and fluffy and looks so ridiculous waddling as fast as he can to get away).

No, Gustav is nervous and twitchy and shy and suspicious. He won't come when called. He won't make eye contact. He leaps away when touched. He has a loud, raucous, Siamese-type voice. He also has herpes, which makes both his eyes kind of pinkish and watery. He's a scrawny fellow. He cries a lot. His markings aren't exceptionally beautiful or distinguished.

So, of course, the boyfriend didn't like poor Gustav. And is the wont of some cruel hoominz, he would kick or hit Gustav whenever the poor kitteh was in the room. (Nasty jerk, we sincerely hope he comes back as a cockroach for his next seventeen lives and is beaten and eaten by cats!)

Some months of this, and the saint who placed Gustav heard about it and insisted on taking both Gustav and Greta back into her own home. But, like our dear friend Lizzy, of 922Cats fame, she had more beasts than house to house them in, numbering in her menagerie this handsome fellow:

Corky at home

as well as several tortoises, some of them maimed; a veritable herd of cats of various ages and sizes, mostly rescues from horrible fates; several drop-in ferals (to whom Gustav did not take kindly); birds; and deity only knows what else. Fish? Frogs? Could well have been.

In the event, Saint Francis Assissi II was getting ready to move to a far and distant land and could not take the entire menagerie, so we were asked to please take Corky, Greta, and Gustav. Having burdened ourselves, at that time, with SIX indoor cats, three ferals, three rescue opossums, and a family of skunks (not to mention the raccoons and that goddamned herd of deer that come by and eat our tomatoes, roses, and wisteria to the fucking ground alla time) we debated long and hard. But what could we do? What would you do?

So we got on a plane and filed the paperwork and paid for the vet visits and special carriers and flew for hours and came back with two cat carriers and one very upset dog. And thanks be to the deities of furry beasties, we managed with the help of Madame X and her wonderful partner to schlep the beasties up the stairs and into the house. Greta was wonderful and easy, but Gustav attacked all the other cats (though never us) from day one.

It has been some seven years now. A year after she came, Greta threw a blood clot and almost died on the spot. We took her to the emergency clinic and they did not think she would make it, so we said goodbye to dear, sweet, beautiful Greta.

Then, two years ago, Corky lost control of his bladder and his back legs. We helped him get up and down and cleaned him and tried to give him the best life we could (and he had a horrible pre-adoption story, too), but in the end none of us — not the poor doggie nor ourselves — could take it anymore. So we said goodbye to the best little doggie in the whole wide world. Goodbye, dear Corky. You were such a good dog, dear.

Corky getting ready for walkies

Gustav was still on tranquilizers owing to his habit of suddenly attacking any cat within attacking distance. One of the indoor cats (the mother of Madu and Gojira) decided to uphold her lifetime feral status by running out of the house at high speed and refusing to return; another outdoor inhabitant took off one day and has yet to return (dear Simona, please come home, all is forgiven, love, tpc). Bob-the-almost-Bobcat also took off, never to return. And Faridah left for a trip across the rainbow bridge. The possums moved on, the baby skunks grew up and moved away, the raccoons moved over the hill (one family recently returned, to Madu's great chagrin).

The half-blind deer vanished, probably victim to our local cougar. One of the males, with a fine set of antlers, has also disappeared, but one of the boy babies now has a nice, if small, antlerage and fair bids to replace the old fellow. At least we've seen him leaping about on the hillside with a couple of does and some of the cutest fawns. They took some herbage out of the tomatoes, but we responded with chicken wire, so we've had a good tomato crop this year. Although we still mourn the loss of the Sterling rose. (pigs!)

Gustav discovered toys. We took him off his meds, and one night we heard the strangest sounds coming from downstairs. We put all their toys in an old milk crate under the dinner-wagon. Sneaking downstairs, we found Gustav carefully lifting several toys out of the milk-crate before finally settling on a fluffy to play with. The yellow fluffy was the toy of choice for some months, although he would still take his terrycloth bunny and blue racoon out. Finally, he settled on the terrycloth bunny and began taking it upstairs to bed with him every night.


This was good. He had never played with toys before, and it was good to see him enjoying himself. Also, the more tired he is, the less aggressive he is.

The high point of Gustav's life with us came during the catnip incident.

We used to put the catnip on a high shelf in the closet, in a ziplock bag. Periodically, we'd take out a few pinches and sprinkle them on the floor, and everybody would go wild. We figured the catnip was safe high on the shelf because the two fatties were way too fat to climb up there for it, and Gojira (the only other climber) was too intimidated by Gustav to try for it.

Imagine our surprise when we walked through the front door to find the entire floor of the house covered in catnip and five cats lying around on the floor, paws-up, looking blissfully stoned! Apparently, Gustav had climbed up and "liberated" the nip, ripped the bag open, and shared generously with friends.

We now keep the 'nip in a glass bottle in the freezer. Even if he gets the damn door open, he's going to rue the lack of opposable thumbs.

He's totally rehabbed, by the way. He now sleeps close to us — still nervous and twitchy, but happy to get ear rubs and chin scratches, and mostly good to everyone else. Mostly.



To everyone on the Gulf Coast as Hurricane Gustav prepares for landfall: May you all be safe and protected and may your furry friends be safe with you. Gustav apologizes for the coincidental naming. This is one thing you can't blame the poor fellow for.

Stumble It!

Entertainment: Belated Caturday Post

Yesterday the weather was truly and stupendously yucky, with a blanket of fog enveloping Casa de Los Gatos, and a mingy drizzle of rain throughout the day. Your hosts at this fine blogging establishment were forced to tunnel through Cattitude to get a spot in (our very own, we might add) bed. Five lumps graced the sleeping space for much of the day, with lasers muted to mere slits of malevolence. Bitter complaints ensued at every attempt to change position (reading in bed is not easy, when one's arms are pinned down).



Thus, blogging was light. No one felt much like it. No inspiration came from the Cats and Catlets, either.

In between muttered dreams, they murdered dust bunnies for exercise. Attempts by your hosts to flee the prison of the bedspace were futile. We were permitted the occasional meal break and bio break, usually accompanied by much nagging along the lines of, "Get the hell back into my sleeping space! I need your body heat, beyotchez."

We're not naming any names. The issuers of the erstwhile threats continue to slumber close by, and inspection of our body parts reveals evidence of recent encounters with overly sharp claws (how did those scratches get there? And when??), encounters that were clearly lost, since the winners have no shame about staying right close to the humanoid heating pad. We don't see any scars on their furry butts.

One of them appears to be dreaming of tasty mice - he's been making little running motions with all four paws, interspersed with growling noises deep in the throat, and the occasional SMACK! of furry lips.

At any rate, the sun's out now, and it's a beautiful clear day, and three of the five louts have been summarily evicted (leaving the worst clawdaddy firmly centered in the bed ON MY FUCKING PILLOW), so it's back to blogging as normal ... insofar as anything at Casa de Los Gatos could ever be considered normal.

Yes, yes, I know ellipses are meant to imply elision, not pauses as in the spoken word, but don't go all Twisty Faster on my ass, fer cryin' out.

Stumble It!

Gardening

It's been a long time since I put up a gardening post. What with all the stress around the layoff and preparation for the visit to the maternal unit, there hasn't been much time for garden-minding.

Winter's been dancing around the edges of Autumn, killing the buddleia flowers while occasional odd days of warmth and sunshine bring the leaves to life. The shasta daisies put forth an occasional white-rayed flower with a deep gold heart. The alyssum has never stopped blooming, a froth of white cascading down the hill, making silvery-green pools around the feet of the bougainvillea.
The bougainvillea (the one with wicked thorns) is blooming wildly, all magenta and light green, while the other, less thorny individual has lost all its flowers and is concentrating on growing long, slender branches, gold-leaved, for next year's flowers.
Blackberry is invading everywhere, as is the seedy wild dill. It's lost most of its feathery fronds to various depredations, but occasionally lifts flat, gold, umbelliferous heads among its silvery bluish trunks. Oddly, the plumbago continues to bloom, pale flat bluish heads peeping through the packed trunks and leaves.
The Luculia is finally blooming, with its tiny pink balloons of buds and cerulean stamens against the deeper pink of the fragrant blossoms. One can't hardly walk past the front door without brushing its perfumed daintiness. And the solanum is blooming, much more than before, every two leaves seem to be sheltering a deep purple, yellow-throated cluster of blossoms. And the burmese plumbago, low-growing and bronze-leaved, is putting out flowers of an impossible gentian violet, although the leaves are redder than usual from our cool nights. The irises did not set their second bloom this year. I wonder why?



Down on the hill, the rose is sending forth long, thorny canes, invading the space of the echium, the ceanothus, the oleander, and the manzanita - almost crowding them out, in fact. I must teach it some manners.

The last of the scabiosa, the pincushion flowers, are blooming, deep burgundy and pale pink. The whites, creams, and darker pinks seem to have gone to seed, and lots of little seedlings are springing up all over the hillside. Nigella seedlings are everywhere, too, and I expect a glorious spring crop of blues and whites. Even the blue flax set most plentifully, and here and there the glorious gold gloriosa daisies and Mexican cosmos (nearly the orange of a marigold) and calendula, gold, orange, and yellow, and even Iberis, pinks, whites, and mauves, are blooming, punctuating the weedy greens of the hill.

My blue fescue (festuca ovina) survived everything that's been hurled at it this past two years, although a more golden variety cacked hopelessly under the deck.
The dietes (scourge of my garden!) is finally cut down to the point of a single blooming mound, but continues to propel itself into spots where its not wanted. The yellow iris took quite a beating, but I think it will survive. The white oleander at the bottom of the hill hasn't stopped blooming since March! A perfect white lace veil of blooms. And here and there I find a little treaure, a Canon Wendt linaria, or other toadflax blossoms, pink, yellow, mauve, dark gold, the occasional cluster of pink evening primrose, a lonely fleabane in all its glory, dark gold hearts, pink and white rayed flowers.

A garden is a wonderful thing. I don't know how I'd survive without mine. And later when the heat and sun wanes a bit, Bandicoot will come to call me in, or simply to sit by my side, companionably staring out at all the small life from the shade of my brimmed straw hat. We'll talk in low tones, he'll lean against my side. Madu may wander in and try for a hummingbird (they're much too fast for him, thank goodness, that indolent marmalade lump!). Gustav might cry from the deck for his "substitute mamma" to come back up. And perhaps a certain tub of marmalade, who shall remain forever unembarrassed by the bruiting about of his name will come to chide me for not paying attention to him, and only him, who deserves me more than anyone.

Miss Dainty Paws is far too precious to venture into the lower garden, where some passing canine! might be able to feast its lowly eyes upon her silvery gray visage and poison-green eyes. She'll be up on the high hill, looking down at us all below, unfeared by mouse or bird. She's fast enough to hunt them, but too small and light. I often worry an owl will carry her off some night. Unlike the other lumps which would require mutant eagles of vasty wing dimension. She'd make a tasty mouthful for a tiny pterodactyl.

Luckily, I needn't worry about those. Off to the garden, then!

Stumble It!

Caturday??!?

Yes! It's Caturday!

I threw my back out last week and I've been in so much pain, but I feel better today, although that might just be the muscle relaxants and pain meds talking. I am (very carefully) headed outside with the iPod and a book. Maybe I can get some reading done. Maybe I can even cook tonight. (Yucky week of store-bought food, feh!)

Zingiber is snoring his head off in bed. The others are all outside, roaming in the sunshine. I hope that silly Madu has not found someone else to get in a fight with - he's always coming home covered with scabs and scratches and his pretty nose and ears all marked up. For a good-looking kid he sure is one stupid little piglet. Good thing we all love him so much.

Stumble It!

Caturday!

Egon's right, you know.

As far as they're concerned, every day is caturday.

Stumble It!

Caturday!

Gustav reads using his belly

I confess, dammit!

Whaaa?

Disciplining Zingiber

Whaaa?

My little hooligans. The garden's calling my name quite loudly, so I'm off to rip out some weeds. Yesterday's haul was three gigantic trashbags. Hopefully they'll all still be alive when I return.

Stumble It!

Caturday!

So sez Maru, and because she makes me laugh a lot, I'm going along. Besides, she's so fucking uncivil, it makes me feel all extended-pinky-tea-sipping.

And today at Casa de Los Gatos, it rained and thundered and lightninged for a good part of the morning, which forced those poor overworked felines to assume the positions:


You talkin' to zzzzz

I swear to god this child was asleep till I brought out the camera:


Madu pretends to be awake

Zingiber: Faking it so well.


Whaaaaa? Gzzzzzaw ...

Who hates you, asshole? Schnorrerrrrrr ...



And, least but not last - or WEvs, Gussie:


I Hate You

so much, I could forget to eat or pee because I needed to hate you ... zzzz

At least they're consistent.

Stumble It!

Madu!

Elegantly stretching out one long, slender paw
Madu - so well-named! Honey-colored and sweet by nature. How he suffers from his sister's depredations! That evil child got her name because it was her habit to make large wells in the featherbed, in which she would hide and wait for him to sashay by. Then she would rear up on her hind legs, utter her version of the Godzilla Roar (it sounded like Meep! to us), and bite him on the arse. The poor guy must spray when he pees, she's bitten his butt so many times.

Winking lewdly at the photog
He has the loudest purr this human has ever heard! The first time he purred as a kitten, he scared himself, it was such a boomer. You can hear him from the next room when he's in a good mood.

Hobbies: Killing small things, leaving "presents" for parents in interesting spots, massaging beds, purring, sleeping, and dining al fresco.
Pluses: Teetotaler, unlike hollow-legged sister; sweet-natured; not interested in human food, wet cat food or treats; not terribly interested in toys; restrained in use of catnip; saintly forbearance towards bratty younger sister.
Minuses: Doesn't like coming in the house except in inclement weather; overly fond of killing small things and leaving them where they may be stepped, sat, or reclined on; occasionally given to severe beating of bratty younger sister (forgivable, considering the brat in question).
Madu assumes his favorite position

Stumble It!