Goodbye, dear Gustav

Gustav is gone.

After 13 years of living with us, he has taken his earsplitting yowls and his chrysanthemum bud of a tail to the other side of the Rainbow Bridge, there to await us with a cynical expression and a complaint, no doubt.

He was not the easiest of cats, but the poor little guy had a very hard life before we got him. Abuse, neglect, abandonment, kicks, and beatings were his lot from birth, pretty much. He was rescued, with his mother and siblings, from a drain in which he was born. Some cruel person had dumped the pregnant mama cat in there and poured liquid on her. Ants were biting her and the babies. You could say his hard life began at birth.

He survived a few years of being passed around -- nobody wanted him, because he was not a 'pretty' animal. He was lean and rangy and the suspicious look got worse, I imagine, after a few different people rejected him with kicks and blows. When he came to us, we had a houseful of cats. We took him in because his alternative was death. We will never regret saving his life. He was not an affectionate cat, and it took him years to learn how to play with toys, or interact with us. The first time he ever played with a toy, after he'd lived with us for two years, he sneaked downstairs in the wee hours of the morning. We were awakened by odd, scrabbling noises in the living room. When we turned on the light, there was Gustav, lying on his back, batting at a ball -- looking embarrassed as hell.

He never liked people. He was not the kind of cat to approach people looking for petting. He shrank away from them and yowled loudly, convinced they meant him no good. He came to us with his mother, Greta, to whom he was greatly attached. He would attack any cat who came near her. He never attacked people, to his credit. But he did not like sharing Greta with anyone. Greta was a sweet, affectionate kitty, and it was difficult to interact with her, with Gustav getting anxious and yowly when she would approach us for pets or treats. Unfortunately for us all, she died shortly after her arrival. She threw a blood clot. A terrible death. Gustav was never the same after, although Bandicoot, the best of all kitties in the world, took him under a mighty fraternal paw. The Coot was easily three times Gustav's size, weighing in at an impressive 20 lbs in his fattitude, whereas Gustav never got much beyond 7, maybe 8 at the most. And the Coot was very fluffy, and he would let Gustav curl up in his enormous furry coat to sleep. So Gustav was somewhat consoled by the Coot, although he got on everyone's nerves with his unending complaints, and occasionally, the Coot would bite him about the ears. Which just made him complain louder.

After the Coot passed on, Gustav started deteriorating pretty quickly, poor guy. His legs got weaker and weaker, and eventually he couldn't get up on our giant bed any more. We couldn't train him to use the kitty stairs we bought, so we made him a comfortable bed on the floor. Little by little, his world shrank to the scope of the bedroom, although he did still go outside when it was warm and sunny. Then he got a nasty infection in his eye, right around the time we learned that our beloved friend, Cris, had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Life became very hard, then, with Gus on the verge of losing his eye while Cris died by inches.

It cost us a lot of money and he needed a veterinary opthalmologist's services, but we managed to save his eye. Shortly thereafter, Cris died. I lost a dear and very much-loved friend, someone I had loved for nearly two decades. And I thought we had saved Gustav.

Lately he seemed to have more and more difficulty walking. His feet were acting strange, and his gait was very unsteady. Sometimes he would trip over his own feet because one foot had turned inward or outward unexpectedly. And the crying was getting worse. It was hard to tell whether he was just screaming because he screamed a lot of the time anyway, or if he was screaming because he was in pain. We had him on pain medication for his arthritis, but his kidneys were going and his digestive system was pretty messed up and he had lost most of the sight in one eye, and he never could smell very well because he'd always had herpes.

So when we heard him yowling on Friday, we thought, it's probably time for his pain medication, poor guy. But then the yowling got very strange, and we ran into the bathroom and found him lying on the floor having a seizure, or something. His body was rigid and trembling, he was lying on his side, he had peed himself and was drooling and frothing at the mouth, with one foot drawn up to his chest. We dried him and wrapped him warmly in a towel and held him and tried to calm him, but it was obvious something was very wrong with the old guy, and not so clear that anything would help. But we called the vet anyway, and finally found someone.

She didn't know much about his history, so she suggested we try to save him. Apparently, Gustav's retinas had blown out, so he had suddenly gone blind. The treatment she recommended would have meant medicating him daily. He might not regain his vision. And it was just a matter of time before his kidneys gave out anyway. He would have to stay in the hospital for 36 hours.

We did the right thing by the boy. It was a hard choice, not because there was any possibility that we were wrong, but because it feels so arrogant to take a life, when we cannot give one. But for Gustav, there was no quality of life left. Blind, surrounded by two rambunctious younger cats who seem to remember how he attacked them when he was younger, not really enjoying his food, unable to see, smell, walk, or hear very well, in a house full of stairs? If I were in his place, I'd want the bliss of the needle. Can't eat, can't shit, can't walk, can't hear, can't smell, can't taste, can't see? What's left of life to enjoy?

And for a cat so averse to human contact to be picked up and medicated three times a day? He only let us medicate him when he was very, very sick, because he was too weak to run away. As soon as he got his strength back he started fighting me over the medication. He's never bitten me, but he has, on occasion, got a claw stuck -- deep -- in me and caused some not insignificant bleeding. I know he doesn't mean to, but that doesn't make it hurt any the less. And he's very good at refusing to do things. Plus, he never really learned to interact with people. He's always preferred the company of his own species. And these last two remaining cats of the family never liked him and never will. His life would have been hell.

We said goodbye to him at the doctor's after assuring ourselves that he suffered no more. I hope by the time we go, we have the same option. Goodbye dear little Gustav. You tried so hard to be a good kitty. Life was not very fair or very kind to you. We tried our best to give you everything that made you happy, dear. We miss you very much, and always will.

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Caturday

That's Bandicoot. The big one. Gustav, the normal-sized kitty sitting next to him, has been desolate for the past two days.

Bandicoot was very, very sick this weekend, and we have no idea what happened. He spent all of Thursday night vomiting (yes, all fucking night, like every couple of hours). As you all know, certain people at La Casa de Los Gatos have extremely sensitive stomachs. We're talkin' hear someone/thing yarking within the limits of hearing distance, and barf along in tune. We're talking smell anything barfacious, like shit, stale piss, vomit, rotting corpses, and it's technicolour yawn time in old Hollywood city.

We're not naming any names now. We are not. But let me tell ya, anybody who has hardwood floors and can sleep through cat barfage, well, you're a better man than I am, Nelson.

Cats barf all the time, right? No big deal? I mean, do you know how much cats barf? If someone could figure out how to turn cat barf into a power source, we could probly run the whole planet very efficiently with low pollution thankyewveddymuch.

Wrong. If your cat barfs a LOT? Like all night a lot? Take the little fucker to the ER. They're really sick, and chances are their core temperature has dropped really low and they're completely dehydrated from all the vomiting, and if their gums are white or bluish, they may have been poisoned and could be close to death.

He was crying in a strange voice, and no beast in pain goes unheard in these parts. That's the policy. So we bundled him up and took him to the vet, and he had a chest x-ray and a sonogram and a blood panel, and I plan to plate him in gold when he returns. Lets just say it cost an arm and a leg, but I am grateful.

He has feline enteritis. Not the panleukopenia (FPV) kind. It made his tubby hurt a lot. He's on painkillers, antibiotics, and an IV drip for fluids and has been in the hospital for two days now. We're leaving in a little while to bring the babby home.

Oh, and Gustav, up there? When Gustav's mom threw a blood clot and had to be ... killed, OK? She was killed. Gustav was desolate. He had never really been separated from his Mom and didn't know how to cope. Bandicoot very kindly took him under an enormous Maine Coon paw and kept him company and kept him out of trouble and slept next to him to keep him warm, and put up with his bullshit. (Gustav was extremely neurotic and crazy when he first came, attacking all the other cats constantly and yowling in a voice like a Siamese on crack. Rescue kitteh. Bad history. Tranquilizers for two years.) So ever since The Coot has been in the horse spittle, Gustav has been inconsolable. And when he's inconsolable, he yowls. LOUDLY. You know, just in case you don't realize he's, like, suffering, or whatever.

Geezus, I can't wait for it to stop. He didn't let us sleep much so I ended up taking a pill, which I hate (I don't like taking medication of any sort and react badly to most of it, but two days without sleep is too much) and I have a splitting fucking headache from the medication. I sure hope he quits yowling soon or I'll have to kill myself.

Just kidding. If I killed myself I would miss out on the joy of bringing our own dear Bandicoot home at last, after two whole days away!

Just look at that little punim. Who could resist such a one?

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Caturday!

Yes, it's that time of week again, and despite missing my best (and fattest) feline buddy, I still celebrate me some kittehs on a weekly basis (in between daily and hourly celebrations, of course, which are required by Our Feline Overlords).

What are the little fuckers up to, or rather, what have they been up to lately?

We got Bandicoot some chewable vitamins because he's getting old, and the sparkle in his eyes was dimming some. Needless to say, he quickly figured out that these are dispensed of a morning right after the hoomin wakes. Right, you got it. Every morning on the dot, 17 pounds of fat, hairy, stomach-swinging Bandicoot (with inch-long claws of a painful sharpness) proceeds to leap on me in anticipation. And if I don't wake up, why, he just extends those little razors and pokes me till I do. He will lick noses, exhale on me, sneeze on me, poke me in the eye with a paw, all until I wake and give him his treat.

Cat snot, ew.

Gojira would like a taste of Bandicoot's chewy vitamins, but since she already acts like she's huffing speed, she is SO not getting any. Ever since Zingiber abandoned La Casa de Los Gatos for his other home (I still maintain they're xenoanthropology grad students from a different planet out here doing fieldwork), she's taken to dragging this little toy around and making "Come watch me hunt and kill, kittens" noises (Zingiber took to doing this after he adopted Gojira and took her under his Mighty Muffin Maker -- not with real mice, of course. He was too stupid for real mice. But he regularly hunted (mostly unsuccessfully) a series of toy mice which he would then bring her, dragging them up the stairs with loud yowls).

Every night she brings the stupid thing upstairs and places it on the floor on one side of the bed or another. Throwing it down just means she'll repeat the trip. She's also (for whatever reason) decided she can't be touched or looked at with intent at certain times. Any attempt to make contact, real or virtual, leads to loud, indignant meeps, leaping and running away, frequent licking of the spot on which someone might have touched her if they weren't across the room, and terrified expressions, sometimes in quick succession.

What do I know? I hear cats make a substance in their brains that's analogous to LSD. I could believe that.

Madu is a punk cat. He got two ear piercings last week. He's a fucking idiot, too. He never seems to win a fight, but he sure knows how to get in them. Of all the animals who have lived at La Casa de Los Gatos, this is the only one who seems to get in a fight every fucking week of the year. The others got in a couple of fights, and that was it, they got the shit beat out of them and it never happened again. I'm beginning to think this dumb fuck goes to sleep in the middle of a fight. There's no other explanation for the weekly bod-mod attempts.

Gustav has taken to mugging us for pettings. Yes, the same Gustav who spent the first two (or more) years in this house acting as if he was going to be eaten by the Horrible Hoominz is now sticking his face in a person's face occasionally, asking loudly for hugs and kisses and pets. See, Prozac works miracles.

They're all getting old (except Gojira, in whom youth, quite literally, springs eternal). Right along with the rest of us, I guess.

But it's Caturday, and the garden is calling, so I'm off to enjoy the beautiful greenth, and the hot golden sun and deep blue skies of Paradise! Happy Caturday, all!

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The Secret Loves of Animals

Over on Treehugger.com, some fine individual posted a few videos that will touch you to the very depths of your soul.

Watching these, who can say that animals do not feel love, joy, gratitude, kinship, friendship — all those emotions that we arrogantly assume are reserved only to us humans?

Here is a gorilla named Kwibi, meeting again someone who helped raise him a decade ago:



Kwibi clearly has not forgotten his human friend, to whom he clung, and by whose sleeping place he stayed all night, calling and crying out. If we could understand his words, what would they say? "I love you, I remember you, I've missed you all these years? Thank you so much for saving my life?"

And what about this lion, returned to the wild to live among his kind?



Obviously, he hasn't forgotten the people who loved him and played with him when he was just a cub. What a joy, to be privileged to witness the friendship between these members of two different species.

And here, a dog tells her person how happy she is that he came home in one piece, safe, from a battlefield far away.



Hey, little doggie, you tell that human. Hey, human person, lucky you to be the object of such lavish affection!

Love is love. It doesn't matter what race you are or, obviously, even what species you are. La Casa de Los Gatos is grateful for these beautiful glimpses of the enduring power of love.

May the long time sun shine upon you
All love surround you
And the pure light within you
Guide you all the way on.

A Very Cellular Song, The Incredible String Band

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Animals: Rare Clouded Leopard Found

in Bangladesh. Nomming on a monkey.

Image copyright AFP

The Independent is reporting that this cute little 3-month-old clouded leopard cub was discovered with his mother and sibling having a little nom on a related (to us) species. Clouded leopards have been believed to be extinct in Bangladesh for over 20 years.

Villagers captured the cub in the hope of selling it, but have since been persuaded to release it. Hopefully, its mother will find the poor little thing and successfully raise it to adulthood.

OTOH, La Casa de Los Gatos feels that stupid hoominz deserve to be exterminated in large numbers to give other species with whom we share the planet a chance at reweaving the ecoweb. OTOH, it's somewhat heartening that the villagers gave Baby plenty of chicken (which he nommed enthusiastically) and milk to keep him fed and fit for his journey back to Mom.

Good luck, little one! Grow big and strong, and the rest of us will try to save your habitat so you'll have someplace to live when you grow up.

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Animal Stories: For Jacqui and Lizzy

Sometimes you think you'll never get over that wall:



and then some kind soul comes along with a backpack and a couple of bags.

Sometimes all it takes is a helping hand.

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In Memoriam: Banshee

Image Copyright Sharon Boggon, fabric artist/Web designer extraordinaire*

For those of you who know, La Casa de Los Gatos was established so that its inhabitants could, among other things, pay full attention to the joy that is Cats.

We regret to announce that joy is somewhat diminished as of Saturday, April 18th. Our good friend Lizzy of the blog 922 Cats saw one of her 922 — Banshee the Elusive and Beautiful — off on her journey to the Rainbow Bridge.

All dogs go to heaven, it is said. What is less well known is that all OTHER critters also go to heaven. Humans have intent, and memories, and willful behaviour. Animals do not. They may remember, but are not ruled by, the past; and they do not speculate about the future. Theirs is an eternal Zen-like now. So we know that although Banshee the Beautiful knew that she was greatly loved, when her time came to go, she went, and did not worry about what lay ahead or those she left behind. This memoriam is for those who will miss her.

She lived with Lizzy for fourteen years, though she was older when she left. So Lizzy mourns her, and as Friends of Lizzy, we mourn her too. Enjoy what lies beyond, little kitty! Long may you nap in sunbeams, and may every flower fill your air with sweet scent. Beyond the rainbow bridge, where the mice are fat and the birds are lazy, and you don't have to share your Fancy Feast with anyone, wait for us all to join you someday.

In Memoriam, Banshee D.
?/1995 - 04/18/2009

*Sharon Boggon's beautiful work — and fundraising activities — may be viewed here. The image credited to Sharon Boggon may not be reproduced without her permission.

Note the tiny face of Banshee hidden in this beautiful example of Crazy Quilting created by Sharon Boggon. She sits at the peak of a triangle with its endpoints at the golden butterfly and a collection of three buttons. Like Banshee herself, she is elusive and very difficult to see!

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Meta: Announcement

Well, it's off to the chop house, people, and I'm happy to report there's a reason doctors like mine are called "sawbones," cos that's what the fella will be doing, cuz, sawing off me bones.

I thought about asking to take it home wrapped in a napkin or what, to see what kind of stock human bone makes, but I'm assured that they'll just pickle it in formaldehyde, which is a known human carcinogen.

On the cat front, Bandicoot has a cold and the runny nose and eyes have created a bacterial eye infection which necessitates a visit to his doctor that I will not be privileged to effect, being, as it were, otherwise engaged. Madu, with his impeccable timing, has discovered wild onions, which he eats right off the hillside, and, much as I hate to admit to anything so coarse, he's killing us with his farts. Fortunately the skunks appear to be mating in the gardens of La Casa de Los Gatos, so the greater, as it were, evil, drowns out the lesser.

As further evidence of Madu's impeccable timing, let me note for his fans here that Idiot Boy (also known as Mr. Single Brain Cell, or Resident Narcolept) appears to have sustained a deep bite on his face — one puncture right above an eye and the other close to the carotid artery. Look for a big-mouthed cat. It definitely looks like a cat bite rather than some other animal. His doctor's told him often enough NOT to get in fights since he has a tendency to lead with his losing side. (We refrain from mentioning that whichever side he leads with is the one that ends up with holes in it.) I am greatly annoyed about this as, instead of passing out peacefully from opiates of high quality after several weeks of precious little sleep, I will be worrying about that worthless bag of fur even as they saw my joints off.

It took ten balls of cotton wool and two towels to clean up all the blood, but the wounds look closed and he has orders to permit himself to be schlepped to the doctor together with his dear Uncle Bandicoot. About Zingiber we say nothing except to mention once again that he is the prime example of "stink outside the box." Gojira is well and feisty. Gustav is elderly but not above using unprintable language upon his fellow felines.

We give thanks to the deities of the feline persuasion that the little bastid has finally stopped chewing on his den-mates as if they were choice steaks.

I'll be back in 10-14 days (the knee has to be rehabbed before it can climb the House of A Million Stairs, aka La Casa de Los Gatos). Meanwhile, Ms. Manitoba, FoTPC, Sirenita Lake, have at it, y'all.

Thanks for your good wishes, one and all.

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Caturday!

From the ICHC LOLcattery

We were supposed to let Cyrrie of 922 Cats host today's Caturday post. And as you can see from the photograph below, Cyrrie the avowed foodie is just as sweet as a kitty can be. No, he's not trying to nom Buddy, just bayve him.

Cyrrie Bayves Buddy

However, as Fate would have it, a sweet little white kitty named Pearl drifted by and we got distracted. So, apologies, Cyrrie, but when you hear of Pearl's adventures, you surely will not begrudge her the Hostess o'the Day position.

This is Pearl.


Thanks to Hurricane Gustav, poor Pearl became so terrified and discombobulated that she stopped eating for quite a while. As any cat person knows, if a cat doesn't eat for more than two or three days, it becomes a candidate for liver problems (specifically, hepatic lipidosis, or fatty liver disease). Which is why you should NEVER EVER put a cat on a diet without a vet's recommendation and supervision.

Well, Pearl, who is the most beautiful adorable little blue-eyed white shorthair, was temporarily rehomed due to Hurricane Gustav, and became so terrified that she hid under the bed and refused to eat. Naturally, she began showing symptoms of hepatic lipidosis, including yellowing of her normally pristinely (dare one say Pearly?) white ears. She's spent the past week in a feline hospital on an IV.

Her hoomin brought her back from the vet just yesterday, and she appears to have regained some appetite, which is good news. We are very, very happy for Pearl and her hoomin. If you have some kind feelings, good thoughts, beneficial karma, food vibes, or just general "be-well-furry-one" feelings running around in your personal hoomin bubble, please direct as many of them as you can spare towards little Pearl, who can use them. Let's hope she's soon back to a shining state of health.

Pearl in happier days:


Be well, Pearl! Be fluffy and furry and purry and happy and hungry and well-fed and contented and all good things that kitties deserve to be!

Gustav Proclaims Innocence

La Casa de Los Gatos' own personal Hurricane Gustav the Cat insists on DNA tests to prove his innocence. We believe him. He's hardly moved out the door for over a month now.

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Animals: Chris Rock was Right

Milagrito's first post is on the tough issue of animal rights: specifically, the aerial hunting of wolves espoused by Sarah Palin:



Chris Rock said recently that Michael Vick must be wondering what the fuck is happening, when he goes to jail for dogfighting and this woman goes to the VP chair for doing worse (we paraphrase). In the event, Milagrito sent us this video. As an Animal of Great Wisdom, Milagrito feels keenly the injustice involved in the aerial hunting of wolves, where the creatures are chased until they are exhausted by people in helicopters, then shot down when they can run no more.

Why don't these people have the guts to take the animals on one-to-one, armed with knife and/or bow? Isn't hunting carnivores all about bragging on how macho you are? You know, "My balls are so big I need a wheelbarrow to carry 'em around" type thing?

Gracias, Milagrito, Feline Pope-in-Exile, for alerting us to this totally cool (if upsetting) clip.

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Politics and Entertainment

Apologies to Chris Crocker, who we think is totally fucking rad and cute and talented, but this video has to be seen:



You hear me? Just LEAVE HER ALONE!

We'd love to. Alone in the middle of Nowhere, Alaska, when it's, oh, sixty below zero. With a bunch of wolves and polar bears for company. And no gun. Or coat. Or cellphone, radio, or emergency equipment.

Anyone who can order the aerial hunting of wolves and bears, despite the protests of the citizens should have to face those children of god with no more weaponry than god has given her.

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Animal Stories

Because the Repuglicans have been so vile lately that we all need something heartening, refreshing, just plain cleansing, not more of the evil slime.


The U.K. Telegraph is reporting that an elephant who was captured by addicting him to heroin-laced bananas has successfully completed rehab.

Xiguang, a wild bull elephant, was captured, together with three of his family members, by illegal traders in 2005. Fortunately, the traders were soon, in their turn, captured by police, who released four-year-old Xiguang and his relatives back into the wild. However, the authorities noticed that the poor guy was going through withdrawal — cold turkey, no less! So they sent him to Hainan island, to a rehab center, where he got methadone treatments to help him kick the habit.

It took him three years, but he appears to have been successful, and will now go, with the rest of his family, to a wildlife park in Kunming, the capital of his home province, Yunnan.

Before anyone says anything about giving rehab to an animal while heroin addicted humans languish in jails, Xiguang never wanted heroin; and he belongs to a species that has fewer than 33,000 living members that daily risk death at the hands of poachers.

Heroin-addicted humans share the earth with 6.x BILLION of their kind. We don't wish death on them or anyone else, but as anyone who has raised bacteria in a petri dish knows — when the colony outgrows the nutrient medium, it dies. We have exceeded the carrying capacity of our planet. We'll all go together when we go. It's a pity that we'll take with us wild elephants, tigers, lions, bears, buffalo, flamingoes, butterflies, whales, humuhumunukunukuapuua, whooping cranes, porpoises, tortoises, dogs, wolves, foxes, martens, skunks, stoats, leopards, civet cats, deer, turtles, alligators, frogs, toads, crocodiles, and every other living thing, creeping, flying, walking, solid or airy life.

Good luck, Xiguang! Long may you live in peace.

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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.

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Catur — um, pre-Caturday!

Lucky Tinkerbelle, this cute kitty with the schmutzy nose, is on his way to the UK. Why, you ask? See, Tinks — mind if we calls yeh Tinks, darlin'? — Tinks here was either dumped by his people or wandered off and got lost (yeah, right), and decided he needed some people to take care of him. So he showed up on the doorstep of a very nice English lady who was in Florida for her niece's wedding.

"He was lost. He was hungry and he really needed some support and someone to take care of him,"

said Sue Watts of Birmingham. You're a nice lady, Sue, and Tinks is very very lucky to have met you.

Sue dropped him off at the SPCA shelter on her last day in Florida. Well, you know what happens to little kittehs at shelters — they get put on the death list. If they're not adopted or claimed within a specific period of time, they get the needle. Or the gas chamber, or whatever they're using these days.

So there was little Tinks, with the sands of time running away through his alloted hourglass when — blessings on your kind head and heart, lady — Sue Watts telephoned the shelter. Had Tinks been adopted, she wanted to know. "No," said the shelter. And that's all she needed to know. Quick as a flash, she shelled out $3,000, filled in the required paperwork, and saved Tinkerbelle's life.

Tinks will be in quarantine for 6 months in the UK, but as soon as he gets out, it's off to a lovely home, double Devon cream and scones for tea, and all the loving care a kitty's heart could hope for.

And, in a brief public service message, we at La Casa de Los Gatos would like to remind you all: Please spay and neuter your pets. Because if you don't, you just create pain and suffering for all involved. Tinkerbelle was lucky. Many, many cats and dogs are killed every year because no one can afford to adopt them all.

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Animal Stories: Important Warning

Image courtesy of The Chai Story

La Casa de Los Gatos has no idea if this story is true, but — as all of us who might have four-legged friends know — better safe than sorry.

If you have a dog, and if you purchased this dog toy — pimple ball with bell. (Item #20227-001, UPC Code 0 4566320227 9) — please, for the love of dog, get that toy away from the dog at once and dispose of it responsibly.

This woman's dog was horribly injured by the toy, she says. Well, you know, on the internet, nobody knows if you're a — er, dog. We checked with Snopes, but they're still researching the story. The Consumerist has issued an alert, and the story is starting to appear in the news. No guarantee of its veracity, but there might be some fire behind the smoke.

In any event, as we said, better safe than sorry. The poor animal was, apparently, horribly injured. We who are guardians for our four-legged friends do everything in our power to make them happy, safe, and comfortable in return for their love, loyalty, and companionship. So if you have this toy, or if you know anyone else who has dogs and loves them, you might want to spread the word.

If your dog has been injured by this toy, you might want to contact Chai's owner and share your story, or you might want to contact the company itself: hbirk@fourpaws.com. Best to all you dog people out there, and to your doggies also, long may they remain safe and uninjured. Many thanks to dear friend KD for sending me the tip.

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Caturday!

La Casa de Los Gatos would like to take this opportunity to remind all our friends, visitors, and acquaintance that Caturday, while primarily designated for the celebration of all things feline (and some fucking relief from the endless stream of really awful news these past eight years) does not discriminate on the basis of species.

Buddy engages in a recreational sleeping match with next week's Caturday Guest!

So, although we have some Caturday cats (mainly Buddy, whose story was told here and here), today we would like to share a good, happy, heart-lightening story of a dog who was unjustly accused, but proved himself innocent at trial.


Chhotu, the loving friend and companion of Rajkumari Devi, was taken to court for a breach of the peace, and won his case! He now has a clean record. Charges against Chhotu have been dismissed and he has been released to the loving arms of his best friend. From the article:

The court of the sub-divisional magistrate (SDM) in Purnea district, about 300 km from here, made it clear in its order that dog was not mad and its behaviour was also not violent.

“The SDM observed the dog’s activities and behaviour and concluded that it was neither mad nor violent as alleged in a police report,” said Dilip Kumar Deepak, a lawyer who helped dog owner Rajkumari Devi, a childless widow living alone with only the pet animal in her house.

The dog itself, along with Rajkumari Devi, appeared in the court Tuesday for second time within a fortnight.

Last month some of Rajkumari Devi’s neighbours complained that eight-year-old Chhotu was a mad dog and it had attacked and bitten several people. A case was lodged in a local court by a neighbour, Jagdish Das.

The police in their report to the court said the dog was violent and dangerous to peace of society.

Dilip said that in July the SDM court issued a summons to Rajkumari Devi to be present in the court along with her pet. “The court was compelled to issue a summons also to the dog in view of the police report,” he said.

Well, the dog had his day and we're very glad he won. Well done, thou good and faithful servant!

In other Caturday news, Tail Envy appears to be contagious. Unfortunately, it has now spread to the owners of said tails. As we pointed out in a previous Caturday post (a belated one, admittedly), Gustav the Psychokitty is a Japanese Bobtail.

Gustav with his dear departed mother, Greta

As you can see from the nice tail shot that follows, this particular breed of cat is not tailless (taillessness is considered a defect). However, in place of a tail it has what breeders refer to as a "pompom" and we here at La Casa de Los Gatos refer to as a chrysanthemum-budbutt. While his mother Greta was a lovely lady, very well-behaved, Gustav has a nervous disposition and a certifiable case of Tail Envy.


How do we know this? When faced, as it were, with the long tails of the other inhabitants, Gustav will, without warning, suddenly leap at their tails face-first and rip out a mouthful of tailfur. He even does this with Bandicoot whom he has adopted as putative parent since his mother's passing. It's very tiresome, as the other cats will be lying around minding their own business, as in sleeping (which they plan to compete in at the Catlympics, we're sure) when suddenly yowls and shrieks erupt from various parts of the house and Gustav is spotted trotting by with a mouthful of fur.


Now this little angel, the Gojira-girl, has begun to do the same. Problem is, she's doing it to her own tail. Every night for about half an hour or more, she viciously abuses her tail, beating it into submission with paws, claws, and fangs. It must be painful, because she leaps all over the place with indignant meeps. Unfortunately, she's not connecting her own behaviour with the pain in her own tuchus, because everytime she has to leap up from the sharp pains, she falls upon her tail savagely. Punishing it for being such a pain in the ass, is our guess.

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The Police State: FBI Investigates

CNN tells us that the FBI, at the request of Berwyn Heights Mayor Cheye Calvo and his wife Trinity Tomsic, will be monitoring an investigation into the recent "no-knock" raid in which the Prince George's County Sherriff's SWAT team kicked in the front door of the mayor’s home and shot and killed his two black Labrador retrievers. The investigation will be conducted by the Prince George's County police. Which is rather like asking the fox to take charge of the henhouse, but hey. The spokesweasel for the FBI is one Richard Wolf, in an ironic example of Interesting Names Connected With Strange Cases. The Prince George's County police chief is — Melvin High. The county sherriff? Michael Jackson.

Mayor Cheye Calvo formally requested that the U.S. Department of Justice investigate his case and other similar cases in Prince George’s County. To date, the Prince George's County police and the County Sherriff have failed to produce a warrant consistent with their claims. While Maryland judges are empowered to grant no-knock warrants, the warrant issued by Circuit Court Judge Albert W. Northrup was a standard search warrant.

However, when Mayor Calvo requested the SWAT team to show him their warrant, they refused to do so. That should be a punishable crime, since the Constitution specifically requires that government employees who enter a private citizen's home have (and, presumably, show upon request) a warrant that states specifically the place to be searched and the persons or things to be seized.

The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.

The Fourth Amendment is all but dead, the citizenry having traded it away for the mess of pottage that allows such criminal actions by government servants acting under colour of authority. Chances are, however, that the only "punishment" meted out to the police will be exclusion of evidence obtained by illegal search and seizure.

Subsequently, Prince George’s authorities claimed to have a “no knock” warrant, but failed to produce it when requested. The warrant that they finally did produce indicates that they never asked for, nor received, a no-knock warrant.

The fact is, the officers knew that they were behaving illegally. A detective signed a sworn statement to the presiding judge that he had provided Calvo a copy of the warrant at the time of the raid, as required by law. Why lie unless you are doing wrong?

The Washington Post weighs in:

The warrant issue will probably only heighten anger in the community over the incident. Even when a search warrant has been issued, courts have held that police must generally knock to announce their presence, preserve the privacy of a homeowner and let occupants know they are not experiencing an illegal home invasion.

"It's a traditional constitutional protection, going back forever," said defense attorney Richard A. Finci, who is not involved with the Calvo case.

Police officers are sometimes allowed to search without knocking, even without getting authority in advance, but courts have ruled they can do so only if there are specific circumstances at the time of the search that lead officers to conclude evidence might be destroyed or law enforcement could be endangered, said lawyer William C. Brennan, who is not involved with the case.

Do you think the Prince George's County law enforcement folks could tell us how to dispose of 32 pounds of marijuana between the time the cops knock at the door and the time the homeowner lets them in? A small amount of weed can maybe be flushed down the bog or set on fire, but 32 pounds?

Things took a turn for the surreal when Prince George's County Police Department spokeswoman Sharon Taylor said legal counsel had informed her that "no-knock" warrants do not exist in Maryland. CNN has a video clip of police defending their botched raid.

Taylor said:

"This warrant was for permission to search the premises," she said. "The special operations team that supported us made a decision about the necessity of entry at the point of being on the scene."

[...]

Taylor, a self-described dog lover, expressed sympathy for the loss of Calvo's dogs, but stopped short of apologizing for the incident.

"We've done these similar kinds of operations over and over again, to the tune of removing billions of dollars of drugs from the community and without people or animals being harmed," she said. "We don't want any of our operations to result in the injury or loss of anybody, and certainly not animals."

"I would say that the dogs presented a threat, I would imagine, to the special operations situation," Taylor said.

What's your degree in, Ms. Taylor? Weaseling? Incidentally, the Prince George's County law enforcement have bungled drug raids before.

It's time to end the so-called "war on drugs," whose major legacy to the nation is the imprisonment of one per cent of the population. If that seems ludicrous to you, consider that the prison system is privatized; but subsidized by you, the taxpayer; that prisoners are a cheap source of labour to manufacturers but the taxpayer derives no benefit therefrom; that every prisoner who is incarcerated for a drug "offense" has a family that is affected, sometimes severely — whether it's children who have lost a parent and a provider, however poor; or parents who have lost a pair of hands that could add economic, social, and emotional stability to the household.

Consider also that you, the taxpayer, heavily subsidize SOME drugs, like alcohol and tobacco, and the prescription pharmacopeia; that much of the prison population who you are paying to house and feed while businessmen profit from their cheap labour and take away your union jobs are in the hoosegow for offenses relating to marijuana, a drug that has no recorded fatalities; consider that if marijuana usage, possession, and even exchange were not criminalized, billions of taxpayer dollars currently spent to monitor, harrass, arrest, incarcerate, and otherwise interfere with ordinary citizens whose only offense is that they like to get high, could be used for better things — like a better health care system. Consider that prison has never rehabilitated anyone, only taught them how to commit worse and more dangerous crimes. And that prisoners are eventually released into the community from which they came, but it's a community that has changed during their incarceration and it's difficult for them to fit in. So they often turn to a life of crime.

Sheriff Michael Jackson and Police Chief Melvin High have not apologized for the raid, saying their officers acted appropriately. They claim the heavily armed SWAT officers in full protective gear were justified in shooting two innocent, tame, gentle family pets because they "felt threatened." Like we said before, clearly these cops are too wussy for their current line of work if they're scared of two black Labs. They should go into babysitting, there's good money in working as a nanny to the wealthy property-owning classes. Oh, wait, they're probably going to shoot the babies if they feel "threatened."

It turns out that Mayor Calvo and Ms. Tomsic were apparently the victims of a scheme in which packages of marijuana were sent to unsuspecting people and were intercepted by a deliveryman. Five or six other innocent residents of Berwyn Heights have been similarly victimised. Two men have been arrested in the marijuana shipping plot. And two sweet and much-loved dogs lost their lives for the complete idiocy of the LE of Prince George's County. And a couple or three very nice people are completely traumatized and will be for a long, long time.

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Animal Stories: Woman's Best Friend

This is Chhotu. Chhotu lives in the eastern Indian state of Bihar. He was picked up off the street by a kind lady named Janaki Devi. When Janaki Devi died, six months ago, Chhotu was adopted by her daughter, Rajkumari Devi.

Unfortunately, Chhotu has a rap sheet. Auntie Beeb says:

The dog, named Chhotu, has been in trouble with the law before. In 2003, a magistrate sentenced Chhotu to death.

Neighbours complained he had gone mad and bitten several people. But animal rights activists managed to get the decision reversed.

Chhotu's back in court on multiple biting charges. His hoomin, Rajkumari Devi, says he's only trying to protect her, as her neighbours have tried to break into her house to steal the deed to her property.

Rajkumari Devi on the right

And, indeed, at his recent court appearance, Chhotu was the very model of propriety. Says his lawyer:

"Despite the presence of so many people in the courtroom the dog did not bite or bark at anyone," the canine's lawyer Dilip Kumar Deepak said in defence of his client.

Chhotu and his hoomin have another date in court on August 5. Let's hope, for both of their sakes, that they win their case.

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Animals

Wet cat courtesy of ICHC

Nice to see somebody cares.

Just a couple of days ago, a blind puppy and her two siblings were found unconscious outside a home in Bellevue. The pets were exhausted from the 98-degree heat. The woman who owns the five dogs is facing felony charges.

Animal Control said it's not just about animals being left outside in the heat, but they're getting calls everyday about pets being left in hot cars.

"That could be a felony aggravated animal cruelty charge," said Biggs.

You can, apparently, do jail time on some animal cruelty charges. What surprised La Casa de Los Gatos was how ... low the crucial temperature apparently is. We've had 100F+ weather here for several months now, and it never occurred to us that the beastlies might be suffering from it. Well, they did get awfully long and flat and chose the cool marble tile to lie on, instead of the warm bedclothes, but still. We do keep them supplied with plenty of fresh drinking water, regular brushings (to remove accumulated dead hair), clippings of excess fur, the occasional icepack and a periodic light spray from the garden hose, or damp towels on their warm little heads. Poor fings.

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Caturday Guest Part I - Buddy Visits La Casa de Los Gatos

Today's special guest is Buddy of 922 Cats. And what a very special kitteh he is. He lives with Lizzy der kittehmeisterin and sibs Petunia, Banshee, Lucy, Cloud, Cyrano, Angel, and AreToo.

Buddy with Sweet Sib Cyrrie

Here, Buddy demonstrates to Cyrrie the proper way to ignore the paparazzi. Note Cyrrie's failure to follow orders as he gazes full at the cameraperson. Tsk! Note also Buddy's beautiful, clear green eyes!

Buddy Short-Tail

Buddy, like all cats, has several names: Three-Fang, Short-Tail, Buddy Bed Monster, Eater of Many Toes... (although his hoomin allows as how it might be Biter of Many Toes, or Nibbler of Many Toes, given that she still has all of hers ...).

Thus, when his siblings fell in love with the New Yorker cover, boldly declaring, "We all want tail enhancements," Buddy (politely, as always) declined. His hoomin claims he says it would interfere with his "brand."

Buddy demonstrates branding

How Buddy lost a good part of his tail, we shall never know. His hoomin says it happened before he came into her care, one dismal, cold, blizzardy day in 1998. But let her tell you for herself:

... it was November 1998 when I first eye-balled him - as I recall, my first words were, Oh sh*t!, on account of how many cats I was over the limit already. It was way late at night - he was all alone in the parking lot, but when I dutifully went to scoop him up he ran under a car and I said Fine! Good! And went on home. Did I slip a can of FancyFeast into my purse the next morning before going to work? Hmm.... I courted Buddy for about a month - that's how he got his name, me saying, Hi, Buddy, how are you doing today..... I stalked him, and bribed him with FancyFeast, and carried around my carrier just waiting for the opportunity to catnab him.

It's a good thing Lizzy has the honed instincts of a Cat Stalker &mdash or Buddy would not be around today to be loved and adored and "kittened!"

Finally it snowed. Big time. And I sat with him in blizzard conditions while he ate 2 cans of FF. And I threw in some catnip. Finally he let me pet him. As I rubbed his forehead I thought it's now or never, and I grabbed him and threw him into the carrier. He was not happy. I took him home and put him in the computer room and he put himself under the pie-safe and stayed there for 48 hours! No food - and oh, the goodies that I tempted him with! - and even no peeing!! But he gave in in the end, and over the next six weeks we worked things out. When I insisted he was a cat and not a turtle he gave up hiding under the little table he was so fond of. And finally we went to the vetz and started to integrate him into the horde.

Buddy demonstrates "turtling"

Buddy's names (the ones hoomins use, anyway) were earned honestly. Here, for example, Buddy shows how he earned "Buddy the Bed-Monster." Early in his stay at Casa de Lizzy, Buddy decided to "turtle" under the bed. He was eventually coaxed out by his determined hoomin, although he has not lost his "turtling" skills.

Buddy Three-Fang was bestowed after the first trip to the vetz, which caused poor Buddy to spazz out completely and break a fang trying to get out of his carrier. We suspect he had a horrible experience that involved a cat carrier and being dumped on the streets, since he's clearly not a feral. Poor Buddy must have thought that a wicked hoomin was going to do something bad and mean and painful to him AGAIN! But he's in good hands now &mdash Lizzy sets the gold standard in Cat Care, and Buddy will never ever suffer again in his life if Lizzy has anything to say about it. You hear that, Buddy? No more spazzing out with the cat carrier, sweetie.

Of course, Buddy had no idea at the time that Casa de Lizzy was the place all cats would want to be, if they knew about it. So he tried escaping. The first try, fortunately, was confined to the attic. Although it scared his hoomin badly, and probably strained numerous of her muscles from moving the objects stored in the attic to find the Budmeister, he was successfully found and dusted off.

The second escape attempt occurred 6 months later. The poor hoomin was about to leave town for an expensive professional seminar. Buddy apparated

[...] into the vestibule and into the open closet, all unknown to his hoomin. She carefully closed the interior door, took her bags to the car, went to go back inside, only to find a a frantic Buddy in the vestibule but then out the door and disappering in total panic. The human looked, the grandhuman looked, a kindly neighbor looked, and then the human had to go, with grandhuman and neighbor promising to continue the search. Every night of the seminar the human called home. And all the cat people at the seminar asked everyday, Is Buddy home yet? Needless to say, his human cried herself to sleep every night. Finally she got home, and illegally put notes in hundreds of mailboxes. She walked block after block for 3 days.

Buddy Diamondback

All in vain. Buddy was gone, vanished, no one had seen him, no one knew where he was. Poor Buddy Diamondback! And poor, poor hoomin!

Next: The Cat Came Back, or Buddy Returns. Stay tuned!

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