Movin’ On

Our catio guest–see last week’s post–has departed, more or less on schedule.

I say “more or less” because we decided to give him a couple of extra days in the resort. It wasn’t that big a deal. Tuxie was an easy guest, unlike MM when she had her surgery. Not quite as mellow as GT/Rufus, perhaps, but then, nobody is.

The weather was hot after his operation. A couple of days toward the beginning of the week set or came close to setting high temperature records.

Didn’t faze¬†Tuxie a bit. He spent most of the days sprawled on the cool foam pads.

He was much more active after dark.

Hang on, let me give you a closer look.

I think he was meditating, though I wouldn’t swear to that.

By the way, note the odd position of his left hind leg. That’s not a side effect of the surgery. He’s sat like that for years. It seems to be a neighborhood thing; we’ve seen Rufus and MM sitting with a similarly-extended leg as well.

MM couldn’t wait to leave. Tuxie was in rather less of a hurry. He strolled out of the catio and buried his nose in the bowl of food we had put out for him. When he finished eating, he moseyed his way down the desk stairs, sauntered across the yard, and ambled off on his rounds.

Nor has he been unsettled at dinner time.

MM is always in a hurry to make sure I fill the bowls. Tuxie figures I’ll get it done eventually, and there will be plenty of time for him to get on his feet–and he’s right.

Another Guest

We have a catio guest!

Involuntary and hopefully of strictly limited duration, I hasten to add.

Way, way back last July, when Rufus–called “GT” at the time–moved into our garage for what we expected would be a short visit, I said “Once everything settles down and they [Fix Our Ferals] reopen, Tuxie will be paying them a visit.”

“Settles down.” It is to laugh. But it has gotten a little quieter around here, and FOF is reopening, so…

Tuxie’s appointment is Sunday morning. We wanted to make sure he didn’t miss it, so we snagged him Tuesday afternoon and moved him into quarters on the deck.

I suggested he think of the time not as pre- and post-op, but as an extended vacation. He doesn’t seem convinced.

He spends most of his time lounging around and complaining.
Mind you, that’s basically how he spends every day. And to be fair, I should note that the previous photo shows him mid-yawn, not mid-yowl.

Tuxie is a bit skinnier than we’d like, but two meals a day should help with that.

And we really, really hope that he’s not FIV-positive, because that would really give us a difficult decision to make. Realistically, the Rufus solution is not on the table. Of course, it wasn’t on the table last August either.

But be that as it may, at least Tuxie will get to spend a week or so in a luxurious retreat with catered meals and plenty of attention.

He doesn’t seem too unhappy about that.

The Political Prisoner and the Pampered Princess


Meezer Mommy spent ten days as a guest in our garage, three before her surgery, and seven after.

Well, we considered her a guest. Judging by her behavior, she considered herself a political prisoner.

pp1She was sullen. She spent much of her time sitting in the darkest corner of the recovery cage, muttering darkly under her breath about how the oppressed proletariat meezers would rise up and defeat the evil biped bourgeois. Or something like that. Whenever we got close enough to eavesdrop on her mumblings, she would stop talking and climb into the litter box. No doubt she planned to accuse us of forcing her into the box when she eventually put us on trial before a jury of her peers.

But on Wednesday, we returned her to the wild. We had planned a modest ceremony: a bowl of gooshy food and a recording of “Born Free“. At the first glimpse of freedom, she tore out of the cage, leaped over the bowl of food, zipped across the yard, and vanished under the gate before the first bar of the song was complete.

She spent Wednesday afternoon getting reacquainted with her turf. I spotted her crossing the street from one of her regular haunts to another late in the afternoon. And she finally made an appearance at the backyard bowl a couple of hours after I took the kitty krunchies out.

Clearly her incarceration didn’t leave her with any lasting mental scars. She was hanging around the back yard Thursday afternoon, asserting her authority over Faux Tux by grabbing all of the treats I tossed in their direction, and she had more than a few words with Grey Tabby when all three cats showed up for the ceremonial Filling of the Bowls. She’s reasserted her dominance, and she’s quite happy to keep her distance from us–but eat as much food as we care to put out.

Then there’s Little Bit, aka The Kitteh To Be Named Later.

She’s spent the past week and half in medical isolation in the spare room. She knows a good thing when she sees one. It took her less than a day to box train herself, ten minutes to decide that gooshy food is delicious, and three days to figure out that being patted is almost as good as–and sometimes better–than gooshy food.

Yup. Despite the disorientation of being kittennapped, held in captivity, and poked and prodded by the vet, she made it from scared kitten hiding in the corner of her enclosure to playful kitten rubbing against our hands, climbing in our laps, and purring loudly in less than four days.

lb1Did I mention playful? She’s got toys. Mr. Mousie-Fish is pretty neat. He’s a teething toy, and he’s getting a workout.

lb2The crunchy ball is OK. Nothing great, but it makes interesting noises. The dangling feather is lots of fun.

lb3The real prize, though, is the seussian weeble toy. Those shiny mylar tails make it Th3 Gr3At3st T0y 3V3r. Every play session ends with a complaint. “But I’m not done playing with the weeble! You can’t send me back to the enclosure yet. I’ll be all hyperjettic!”

It’s a legitimate argument. She does have a tendency to literally start climbing the walls after we put her back in the enclosure. But we stay firm, and never extend the play session by more than an hour.

Four feedings a day, more toys than she can play with at once (though she certainly tries to play with them all simultaneously), and snuggles whenever she wants. “Pampered? Me? Oh, yes. More please!”

Highs and Lows

A few quickies to wrap up October. The last few days have been a strange mix of good news/bad news and excitement/terror.

It rained on Halloween. The rain started around 9:00 and stopped about 2:00. Naturally, Sunday’s newspaper was full of bad puns about the “reign” on the Giants’ parade.

Other than puns, the only significant effect of the rain was to discourage trick-or-treaters. We had about ten, considerably below last year’s high water mark (sorry) of three dozen or more.

No pumpkin spice costumes* and no broken bolts. Superheros predominated, but there was at least one ballerina/fairy princess. That’s a tough distinction to make when you can’t see if she has wings, and I didn’t want to hurt her feelings by asking.

* Now that Halloween is over, can all of the pumpkin spice foods please just go away? No, really. No need to wait until after Thanksgiving. Honest!

The Kitten Chow was popular. We had a mixed assortment of Reese’s Pieces, Almond Joys, Reese’s Miniatures, and Hershey Bars. Most of the kids were young enough that being told to take a handful of candy was so mind-blowing they didn’t even care what kind it was. So, no statistics on popularity, just some very happy faces.

Did I say there were around ten young bandits? Actually, there were two who didn’t show up in costume. Meezer Mommy showed up shortly before sundown with Little Black and Tiny Tux in tow. They all shared a bowl of kitty krunchies and a few cat treats we tossed from the window.

More happy faces.

The sad news arrived Saturday when MM showed up with only Tiny Tux. As promised, we had put out an offering for the little grey critter (gooshy food, which was quite enthusiastically devoured by Faux Tux and Grey Tabby) both Friday and Saturday. But when Little Black didn’t show up, our tenuous grip on our willpower failed.

Tiny Tux, aka Little Bit, aka TBD is now living in our spare bedroom. Yes, we went out and snagged her* Saturday afternoon. She had her first vet visit yesterday, and will remain in isolation until we’re sure she’s healthy. She’s getting antibiotics for an eye infection and she’s sufficiently undernourished and dehydrated that we don’t want to give her vaccinations or flea medications quite yet. Nor, at her age (estimated at 6-8 weeks), are the tests for FeLV and FIV accurate. So, isolation for her, multitudinous hand-washings for us.

* She’s still at an age where sex is a matter of opinion. We think “she” is the genetically correct pronoun, and will work on that basis unless proven incorrect. And if she has a different gender identity when she grows up, we’ll support her completely.

Taking on another kitty, especially one who’s going to need special care and attention to civilize, is a bit of a scary prospect, but, well… Let me put it this way: Sunday night we gave her a bowl of food, tucked her in (figuratively speaking), and went to bed ourselves. Five minutes later, a coyote started howling just beyond our back fence. I can’t think that bringing Little Bit inside was the wrong decision, though I suppose the coyote would beg to differ with me.

Meanwhile, Meezer Mommy is now temporarily residing in our garage. Or rather, around the time this post goes live, she’s at Fix Our Ferals to ensure that she doesn’t gift the neighborhood–or risk her own health–with another litter of kittens.

We suspect she’s a stray, rather than a lifelong feral, and she’s such a beautiful lady that we wish we could (re?)socialize her and find her a new home. Unfortunately, that’s just not going to be possible at this point. Perhaps she’ll forgive us for the indignity of her current incarceration and non-consensual surgery, and continue to hang around the backyard bowl. If so, well, who knows about the future?