Caturday?

NO we don't have any more cats, geez

This is what it feels like at La Casa de Los Gatos, these days. Like we're mothering some kittens. And we desperately need a DRINK, goddammit.

You ever try raising kittens? Geezus, they're a pain. So, what's going on, we ask? Bandicoot was sick for quite a while, and then we had to leave him and go away, and he wasn't doing too great when we got back. We've spent the past couple of months curing him of whatever stomach ailment he picked up and making sure he's doing OK.

Bandicoot with Gustav

See, he's getting old. He wants to be fed about once an hour, all day. Sometimes he'll eat some kibble, but mostly he wants his food brought to him, and he always was a messy eater, and he's gotten a hundred times worse. Seems like he's not seeing or smelling too well, either. If you don't bring his food to him, he climbs up on the bed and pokes you in the face with one enormous smelly paw. Actually, his paws aren't smelly at all. Just big. Bigger than my eyeballs. Which is what he likes to poke, mostly. He doesn't want water from a bowl, either. He wants to lick the water in the shower. And his coat was a matted mess after the long stay at the vet. We're clipping and brushing and what-all, but he's a pig in a fur suit, he does not care for this grooming shit.

And Gustav is kinda sensing something in the offing because Bandicoot just wants to be left alone to sleep all the time. So Gustav has taken to howling every night, I mean Siamese cat x water buffalo bellows every night from, like, 1 am to 3 am. I'd kill him, except he's suffered enough already. I think. Little fucker. Sleeping like a baby next to me right now. Just half an hour ago he was trying to sit on Gojira's face and howling because she bit him in the ass. Apparently she does not care for this face-sitting business.

Gojira with Zingi-bee

Gojira is still freaked out about Zingiber dying and won't go outside any more. She only wants to be at home, preferably in bed with us. (Fucking bitch wants to be RIGHT BETWEEN both of us, too, so forget a sex life.) And she squeaks like a motherfucker when she doesn't get her way. Also, too, claws. Hers are like tiny little razors. You can't tell you've been scratched till part of your leg bleeds and falls off. There's no possibility of trimming them, either. She's not the type to hold still that long, and we'd have to *catch* her first. Always an exciting sight, watching two rapidly aging people chasing an extremely lithe, swift, and nimble cat around. And when she's not being obnoxious and shrieking in your ear and bouncing off the walls, she's demanding attention. Pet me, pet me, scratch my ears, check my butt for poop stains, pet my belly so I can remove the skin from your hands. If she weren't so stunningly cute, she would have been a slipper a LONG time ago. Little bitch.

And MADU has suddenly developed a need for affection. What's with this? The lady with the French-perfumey big bosoms isn't giving him enough lately, or what? He's still running off to visit her regularly, I see him hiking down the road all the time, the little slut. Then he comes home and wants to drape himself all over us, and could we please pick him up and hold him so he can fall asleep in the most comfortable position and drool.

There was a time when the little fucker would barely give us the time of day. AFAHWC, we were convenient stepping stones for hunting mice on the hill.

I miss those days.

Yeah, so, WTF, y'all, check out the fucking heat wave that's cooking the whole middle of the country AND the eastern seabord, is this reality time for global warming deniers, or what? Will the stupid subside long enough for the marching morons to realize that they ARE every bit as stupid as everyone else has believed for years, and that global warming has finally decided to, like, personally cook their asses or something for being such fucking dolts? Only thing is, they'll be sure to take all of us with them when they go, y'know? Just to be assholes. Srsly, this heat is nothing to fuck with. Remember to wear sunblock, stay cool and aerated, go to a public place that's airconditioned, or your local pool, or whatever. Stay indoors, if you can. Drink LOTS of water, but not too much too fast. Stay safe!

Here's something for y'all to enjoy!

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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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Entertainment: Pud-Idiotcracy

Ever get tired of listening to the talking heads bleating in unison like so many scrapie-suffering SHEEP???

No? Yes?

Well. Whichever stance you take on that question, 23/6 can help. The new, improved Strat-Anal-o-tron will assist you in putting together instant analysis on current political events. No thought required. Hilarity ensues.

Or something. Los Gatos de la casa seh "Checkidout." Or would, if they weren't too busy sleeping the sleep of the deeply unrighteous who have spent most of the day driving us crazy with repeated fights over nothing, nose smashings, sneezings, flying snot, bouts of diarrhoea, and general orneriness.

We must get a better hobby.

Current hobby:

Gojira Helen Wheels

Missing portion of nose not visible in current shot:

Madu Bodoh t3h Narcolept

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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.

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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!

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Caturday!

Egon's right, you know.

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

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Caturday!

Every parent has their favourites. Dem's mine. Zingiber casts me a "Whaa?" glance while Gojira studies him avidly. As in "Does yu has a flavour?" avid. She's lying on her favorite spot right now - my injured knee, off of which I had hauled her barely a minute ago, holding her all squashed down on the bed with her chin flat on a pillow while I munched her velvety gray ear. She always meeps in protest, but the outrage is undermined by the endless purring.

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Silly Cat Tail - er, Tales

I know I've promised to tell the stories of all the felines over here at Casa de Los Gatos. Well, the time has come. My injured knee is acting up today, so I have time to blog. And of course, Gojira is being the thorough pest she plays so well. Gojira is about 4 now, a mostly Russian Blue mix of sproing and spite. We adore her. She is utterly wild and unpredictable, though. You never know if she's going to bite or run away, or thoughtfully lick you or step on an injury. Or pee on the bed, though she doesn't do that too often, thank TPTB.

At any rate, Gojira, Dennis, Madu, and two other little gray/black stripers were born to a feral female named GrayGirl, who hung out around Dave and Jo's. Jo asked if I would take one or more of the kittens, who she carefully hand-nurtured to remove the feral mama's influence (mama had access to her children at all times! Jo is a kindly human). I ended up taking Madu and Gojira, and their mama. Mama was way too feral to be happy and comfortable living inside, although I kept her locked in initially. After some 2 months, when I judged that the kittens were old enough to be weaned and comfortable without their mother, I let all of them out to explore. Mama ran off, although I did see her lurking nearby for a while. The kids really loved the new digs, and enjoyed romping outside but also liked the comfort of a warm safe bed at night.

Cut to the present, with Madu The Mighty Hunter who is worth his weight in dead rats, moles, gophers, and mice. Fortunately, he leaves the birds and snakes alone. Gojira, at a mere 6 lb., is too small to hunt effectively. She's deadly on moths, but the rats don't fear her. However, she periodically has insane fits when she pursues moths, running vertically up the wall before gravity overwhelms her and she bounces onto the bed below.

A couple of months ago, she noticed that moths fly around outside the French doors on the porch. Some atavistic memory must have bubbled to the surface of her tiny little brain. She watched them for a day or two displaying worrying signs of fascination. Then, suddenly, in a "shock-and-awe" move, she blitzkrieged - the curtain. It's a good thing she's light and the doors are double-glassed. I'd hate to see her fly through the closed door. In any event, the little idiot hung on to the curtain by her front paws, kicking furiously at the moths. I'm screaming "Get down! Get down, you'll tear my curtains," and the sound must have eventually penetrated that famously nonlistening little brain. She looked at me with enormous round acid-green eyes as her hind paws slowly sank and her little potbelly bulged out. I was laughing so hard! She looked like a little, hairy fruit slowly slipping off the tree. Then - rip, tear! - it dawned on her that her sole support was shredding and she was closer to the floor (and Gustav's sharp teeth) than she wanted to be, so she propelled herself somehow into a sidewise leap onto the bed, jumped three feet in the air, turning round in mid-jump, landed on my injured knee, ricocheted off a wall, and disappeared in a flurry of fine gray fur down the stairs.

What a pest.

Gojira with her Zingiber


Dennis with his Saint Blondie

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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.

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Caturday!!!

And, for all you nonbelievers, a rare photo of Domino munching Casa de Los Gatos-supplied kibble on the neighbour's deck while Bandicoot watches lazily and Boca glowers in the background. Boca is the neighbours' cat, a rescue Manx found at a garbage dump up North. The owner of the dump had a big ol' Alsatian who was planning a Bocaite snack, when the guy snatched the little kitten from the jaws of certain death and handed her to the neighbours, saying, "If you don't take her, mah dawg's gonna eat her, fershure." She rode home in the truck and has since taken many road trips, sitting on A's lap while I drives. Never knew a cat who enjoyed car trips before.

Domino's a sweetheart, with three white spots on his belly, which is how he got his name. Tried to turn him into an indoor cat, but he's just too feral. He would sit in the window, staring out, and cry for hours, very softly (he squeaks, rather than meowing), and if any human came close, he would put his head down, shut his eyes, and shiver all over. So he lives outside, and is very happy with that arrangement, visiting various houses for a nibble. We try to keep him supplied with whatever he needs, including the (very) occasional visit to the vet.

Don't feel bad if you can't see Boca. She's exceedingly well-camouflaged!!

And to make up for the lack of Caturday posts, here's another:



This is Gojira's "Whadefuck you lookin' at, Willis?" expression. Such a pretty little princess! And I do love holding her black-purple cold little pawpads.

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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.

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Felinquents!

At long last, I have managed to upload all kinds of photos of The Chiyuldrun! I'm so pleased. It's like having prezzies all over and over again!
I'll admit it - I love getting prezzies. Sister sent one last week. Beautiful, mirrored, beaded, tasselled hanging thing. A small work of art. I locked it in the office, because I could see Gojira's poison-green eyes flicking interest waves at it. Gojira, aka The WahWah Petal:

seen making Slitty Eyes of Revulsion at camera and minder while simultaneously showing a little pink tongue.
She's been her usual Bad Self today, rubbing her chin on my computers while attempting to chew through the velcro cable strap on TOPWIL's computer. Later she tried for the camera strap, which is when I decided to punish her most severely by holding her to have her photo taken. She thinks photos don't do her justice. Her beauty is too great to be captured by some silly little machine. On the plus side, she did give me a friendly finger-lick, which was very sweet of her. She has the longest, daintiest pink tongue. Not at all like the sandpapery rasp of her dear darling sweet Uncle Zingiber:
He is the sweetest kitty ever. If only he weren't such an unqualified lump! He used to weigh 20 lb, I think he's down to 19 now. He loves me utterly and I love him too. My Fat Boy. Such a silly bee. Other names: Zingy Burrito, SillaBle, PumpkinLumpkin, BreathofDeath, StinkyFur. His tongue will take your skin off in sheets. And, he's a compulsive licker, with sticky spit. Ugh. Still, he has the sweetest disposition, and apart from weighing a ton and walking over me as if my middle name were "Rug," he is a dear.
And he's very fond of The Bad Little WahWah Girl:

Bit blurry, but I think that's because they did not want to be photographed in A Compromising Position, and moved at the last minute. Or he could just be holding her down to keep her from sproinging about at high speed.

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