Snoozing Prey

Warm moted rays slant through window blinds
  in a shifting pattern of filtering dust upon the empty hardwood floor.
Dozing peacefully, coal black fur rising and falling,
  in serene slumber upon the warm floor, the afternoon shadows grow long.
Dreaming of vittles and tidbits aplenty, unaware of lurking danger, she purrs now and again.

Creeping through the long green grass and up upon the flower bed,

                                                                approaches the king of all the beasts,

                                                                the terror of the neighborhood,

                                                                the big orange striped tomcat.

Eating where he may, stalking what he might,

He rules the beasts of his long street with equal charm,

                Not caring size or shape or even species.

Stalking unsuspecting victims his delight.

                                           
Stirring out of tranquil slumber, stretching languid limbs,
noticing the passing sun has moved to fill the window sill.
Kitty leaps with ungraceful house cat agility.
Lands upon the ledge and stretches comfortably.
Sunlight fading but still warm, the open window brings smells
   of outdoor grandeur, the sleepy kitty dozes once again.


Streetwise stripey sees the threat, the thrill of the unchallenged,

                                                a napping suspect, easy prey.

With an evil snarl he leaps upon the outside ledge,

His pride, his dignity bold as a ferocious tiger,

He faces down his enemy,

                the great fat house cat.

Sensing danger, eyes fly open, unfocused from their sunny overdose

                                                   nose to nose with the mighty king!

With a streak of coward in her heart, the black feline

Backward leaps and darts for cover.

Quaking like a falling leaf, banished from her sunny alcove

                                                   shamed by her cowardice,

                                                   feeling safe in her new haven beneath the dusty desk

She stretches once again and snoozes, safe and warm.

 

 

All creatures great and small . . .

It started with a cat. My very first pet I remember was an orange cat named Pouffy. Yes, I was only about 5 when we adopted or obtained or maybe she found us, and I was allowed to name her anything I wanted to. I loved her so much.

I loved her enough that I put her in a doll clothes suitcase and followed my dad around as he hollered, "Pouffy . . . here kitty, kitty, kitty." It took him a minute to realize that the angry meowing and hissing was coming from my pink suitcase I was carrying around as I followed him, which would explain why the sound was always so close. But I digress.

We brought Sherman Tank into our family when I was about 6 or so (I'm guessing at ages, I have no idea). He was a 180 pound black Great Dane who loved my sister and I so much he let us ride him and when he was tired of us pulling on his ears or messing with him, he would put a large front leg over the top of us and lay his head down on us. What a great dog.

When we moved to California in the late 70's we had a little Yorkshire Terrier named Mr. Bojangles. He was adorable. We carted him around. We took him for long walks and the grey cat, Sammy, used to bat him across the floor as she stalked him like a lion. He was so good natured, with his tongue all curled up, he panted away and waited for someone to give him some love, even if it was a large grey cat.

I had a series of hamsters, one in particular stands out. His name was Big Al after the bear in the Country Bear Jamboree. I adored him. I even gave him haircuts (he had long white fur and some black on his face). He wasn't the smartest hamster ever. He would put all of his treasures, food, toys, everything in the attachable closed-in running wheel. Then he'd get in and run away . . . food, toys, and what-nots flying through the air and raining down on him as he worked out. Silly rodent.

We won't go into the mice. Suffice it to say we bought our mom home 2 mice. Since she collected the collectible kind we thought she'd like to have some real ones. Except they weren't two girls like the pet store said. Nope . . . and Brenda and I decided to raise bunches of mice and sell them to the pet store where they would be sold as pets and not snake food. It got ugly. It got smelly. We gave up, selling the whole mess back to the pet store. Sorry baby micies. <sigh>

Okay, to recap since then since this blog post could go on and on and you would sigh and think this woman is nuts about animals and when will it end . . . I've had dogs, cats, parakeets, cockateils, hamsters, mice, guinea pigs, rabbits, rats, and chinchillas. I also count my outside wild friends as pets and love to feed the birds, the squirrels, even the wild rat who sneaks out during the day to steal some of the blue jays' peanuts.

I have a wish list of animals I want to adopt but the state of California says, no-no. I would dearly love a hedgehog. Sooooooo dang cute, especially the babies. I would really like a ferret, but nope, even the hubby is saying no on that. We saw some in Arizona once and he wrinkled his nose and said they smelled funny. Sheesh.

I also have a list of animals banned by the HOA. Chickens! Oh my goodness, I want a chicken really bad. Actually a herd or no, a flock, a bunch? Anyway, I want several. They come in so many pretty colors and they lay eggs and cluck and are super fun to play with. And a goat . . . goats make me laugh. They make me want to hug them for being so naughty. I love the little pygmy ones the best. I think I would also like a tiny burro and a pony and a llama. They would just be fun to have . . . oh and a pot belly pig would be the best. I think David is secretly happy the HOA is strict about no farm animals. Darn it.

In the meantime, my animal population is down to 5 critters (a dog, a cat, a rabbit, a chinchilla, and a rat) and 3 people living in the house. According to the other occupants of the house there should be a more equal ratio of people to pets. Darn it. I only have one of everything and they want friends. Maybe I'll sneak home another one when no one's looking. An orange kitty? We've always had an orange kitty. I'll name her Pouffy.

The suds went flying!

The story I'm about to tell you is, in fact, true. I couldn't make stuff like this up if I tried.

It all started with a bit of a stressful day. Too many errands to run. Trying to finish my to-do list. Migraine troll pounding away behind my left eye. In general, just one of those days where I was glad it was time for some me time. So I decided a bubble bath with my crossword puzzle book was just what the doctor ordered.

I started the water (after shooing the cat out of the tub) and added lavender scented bubbles. Our tub is one of those large whirl tub bathtubs with a step to get into the tub. I couldn't wait to sink down into that warm water and let the cares of the day disappear. I had added a tad more bubble bath soap than I meant to and the bubbles were really getting big, so I turned the water off and went to step onto the first step. Then I remembered my face soap and decided to give myself a nice facial while I was at it.

I reached for the soap and went back to step into the bath tub and that's when all hell broke loose.
My left foot was in the tub and my right foot was on the step, which had some water on it from something (maybe the cat's water dish or maybe I splashed some on it while I was rinsing the tub before I filled it.)

Boom went Elaine, left foot slipping into the tub, leaving the right foot wrenched at an odd angle. I hit the water and smacked my back on the side of the tub and my right leg smacked the step. The pain was intense. My right knee was on fire, my back was throbbing and I was shocked.

Lavender scented bubbles had flown everywhere. The were all over the mirror around the tub, they hung from the ceiling and had speckled just about all the surfaces of the bathroom.

"David!!!!" I yelled. "Help, I've fallen and I can't get up." No answer. "David!" I yelled. He opened the door and just stared. "What in the world have you done? Are you okay?"

I explained as best I could and then we tried to hoist me out of the tub. My knee was throbbing and bruises were already forming on my leg. When I put weight on it, it gave way. And then there was my back. Wow, when I thought of taking a relaxing bubble bath I wasn't imagining this adventure.

David is such a nice hubby. He went and brought me some motrin and a package of frozen soy beans that no one will eat, but is perfect for icing my poor bruised knee.

My project for this week? I'm going to buy some cute duck nonskid stickers for the step. Dress up the bathroom and fix the safety hazard, what a deal.

Or maybe I'll just take a relaxing shower instead.

Carrot's Berrylicious Bad Day

Carrot stretched and climbed down off the blue round chair. Totally off limits, but seriously no human was there. Locked in their people cave, leaving a poor feline all alone all night. He strolled to the food dish and noted with disdain there was no kibble. Not even one. Is it too much for the humans to add food once in a while? He heard the door open down the hall and, with a speed only a cat can achieve, he was down the hall and in the bedroom. 

“Meow,” he complained. Nothing. One human in the bathroom, one lump in bed. Jumping up on the bed, he prepared for his louder complaint. The woman came out of the bathroom and scooped him up.

Note the blue claw covers. Carrot finds these annoying.

“Oh how’s my little Mr. Pigglesworth this morning?” he squirmed in disgust. Pigglesworth? Seriously. The food dish was empty and she was mocking him.

At least she was walking to the kitchen. Ah, this was more like what an orange, beautiful Persian kitty wants when he wakes up. A little breakfast and . . . she set him down on the floor to make that vile black beverage the humans appear to find divine. Seriously? “MEOW!!!!” She opened the pantry to get something and Carrot slipped in to see if he could reach the cat treat shelf. The door closed with a snick sound.

In the dark his eyes adjusted and he scanned the shelves. “Oh my catnip!” not one treat. He waited for her to open the door. “Meow,” he said in a small voice. Nothing. “Meow, meow, meow,” loosely translated this means “let me out of this dark horrid cave, there’s no food.” The door opened and Carrot strolled out, lifting his furry paws high. No big deal, he wasn’t scared. He liked being in there.

He froze; on the counter sat the blue towel and the bottle of pink Berrylicious shampoo. On the front of the bottle was a happy looking cat. Sucker. Carrot turned and bolted back to his bed under the forbidden chair. 

Not a problem, the woman found him and plucked him up with one hand. She sipped her vile beverage from the other hand, casually. Oh this was not good. Carrot made a last ditch effort to squirm free to no avail.

 

Plunk into the water. “You are a dirty cat, Mr. Pigglesworth . . . Mr. Smoosh Face, let’s clean your

This was not on Carrot's agenda.

eyes out. Poor Bumbles, you don’t like this, but it’s going to make you smell so good.”

"Oh my catnip stricken life, this was crap," Carrot thought. Not enough to soak his beautiful orange fur, but the name calling . . . Wet and soggy, Carrot darted out of the sink only to fall into the next sink. Lame. Who needs two sinks? To torture two cats? Seriously.

"Oh my catnip . . . I feel a little dazed."

The scrubbing continued. The rinsing commenced and then Carrot, humiliated and feeling like a pile of soggy cat kibble was wrapped in the blue towel. And scrubbed. And then set down in the bathroom so he could dry.

As he sat above the vent and let the warm air dry his fur, he plotted his revenge. There would be paper chewing . . . there would be the standard cat yodeling at 3 a.m. followed by the cat racing after the fake intruder at 4 a.m. Carrot pictured himself spread out on the counter, gloating in his beautiful catliness.

The door opened and the woman picked him up. The man was there too and wooed him out with treats. He didn’t even have to sit, beg, or speak for his treats (he really is a talented kitty, after all). Brushed out and feeling spunky he rubbed against the humans legs and meowed and purred. He forgot all about the morning torture . . . or did he?

"I'm beautiful and perfect."