It's been too long . . .

There are some things, like dental appointments, that you don't necessarily enjoy, you might even put off actually going, but when I saw I hadn't written a thing in over a month I was shocked. "This is unexceptable," said the little voice in my head, always writing that perfect short story. Like the dental appointment, my stories weren't actually making it to the page. This morning as I tried desperately for sleep I wrote in my head about Oscar the rat we had when the younger kids were still in elementary school.

Now that I'm writing this story down I can see I need to ask my daughter Megan, illustrator of other books, to illustrate this. She draws the cutest rats. Anyway, a Thursday story to either entertain or terrorize you, depending on your view of fancy rats (not the roof rats in our attic we called Terminex for.)


Oscar was a lucky rat and he knew it. The lady came into the store many times to say hello to him as he desperately tried to get comfy on top of his small igloo house in his small cage. One day the lady came into the store wearing a bright pink sweater. She brought with her the lady jingling her keys, the lady who one always slipped him a few extra carrots, because she knew the spunky, younger rats always got picked first, leaving him, all alone in his cage.

The lady in the pink sweater put him on her shoulder and they shopped for stuff. His heart beat a little bit faster as he smelled her vanilla smell. Was it her hair? He sniffed it and even nibbled a few strands. Luckily she did not notice. She put a new big water bottle with a little spigot on the end in the shopping cart . . . oh boy, for him? Oscar ran to her other shoulder and noticed her dangling ear ring. He playfully nibbled on her ear and she giggled. She tossed some chewie toys and a bag of gourmet rat food into the cart . . . oh boy, for him? He ran to her other shoulder and watched as she added a new food dish, not as exciting, but for sure for him. Finally she threw a bag of the softest litter into the cart, making everything all wobbly for a moment. He hung on with his cute little toes and thought . . . oh boy, all that was HIS?

Other rats went home in boxes with holes in the lid and sides, but not Oscar. Oscar the rat was a lucky rat, as he rode home on the lady's shoulder. He ran from side to side, looking out the window as the other cars zipped by. Some people laughed when they saw Oscar perched there. Some people were horrified.

When they got home he sat in the bathroom floor and waited for her. He nibbled on the door, but it seemed like a lot of work, so he curled up in the corner and took a little nap, head tucked under his belly, all toasty.

When the lady came to get him from the bathroom he saw just what kind of a lucky rat he REALLY was. His cage had THREE spacious levels. One, two, three. The lady had put his food dish on one level, an extra big igloo on the bottom . . . oh boy it was all for him, sleep on top of the green igloo, or sleep in the igloo, his nest was complete.

As he explored past his igloo, he found the little toys the lady had purchased. A chewy wooden carrot, a crinkly round ball, and yummiest of all, little pink strawberry yogurt drops.

He explored his new cage mansion, sniffing all the corners, he ate all the strawberry yogurt drops, and most of his food. He hunched over his bowl and looked around past his cage. He heard other stirrings and knew there were other critters to meet on his next adventure OUT of his cage. He liked IN his cage but his little ratty brain was curious about what the rest of the world held.

The night after eating, nibbling on toys, and running up and down the ladders, he stretched out, with his tail next to him and slept soundly, dreaming of other friends, more ladders to climb and stuff to chew on. Oscar's adventures in his new forever home was just beginning.

Doggy Pedicures

Ever wonder how JoAnn's feet always look so perfect and tidy looking? It's her dogs' giving her pedicures.

Today we took a footsie picture today (it's replaced the popularity of the infamous selfies, which I always was bad at anyway). Well Teddy, an 11 month old Newfoundland pup and Ludo, a very large tongued German Shepherd, decided my feet, especially my toes were in very bad shape indeed.

So, they nibbled and licked and made sure I was all pretty and perfect for the selfie. It tickles, by the way, and the wet, slobbery toy he carefully placed next was slightly, sorry boy doggies, it was kinda gross.

My feet, however, on the right, look perfect. Thanks, guys.

More on my adventures tomorrow.

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.

Cats Love Owning a Pet Human

  Pixie, luxuriously stretched out in my bed, our daily fight for prime bed real estate begins again. She waits for one of us to get up, sometimes tricking me into getting up by demanding food or shredding paper that may or may not be important tax papers. The minute my feet hit the ground she is on my side of the bed, curled into a little ball, snoring and purring at the same time.

                I love to watch the news in the morning, in bed where it’s warm and toasty and I won’t wake up my sleeping offspring too early. My husband, immune to the TV being on, snores on and ignores our cat shredding, meowing, demanding feline.

                This morning I went to fill my coffee cup and there she was when I got back to my bed, so I moved to the stuffed chair in front of the window in our room (I call it my thinking chair). I enjoyed myself, on this beautiful, rainy coffee sipping, news watching morning. Disgruntled that I would not be coming back to bed, Pixie jumped down and came to the ottoman and meowed and meowed and meowed, which I interpreted as, “I would like to see out of that window. Open it now, woman, open it now.”  So I pulled the blinds up and she jumped up to the back of the chair, surveyed her kingdom, meowing at me occasionally. I was too busy sipping coffee to see if she was just commenting or needed anything.

                I got up to refill the coffee cup. I really should just move the machine up to my bedroom in the morning. Gone two minutes and get back to find Pixie, curled up on my afghan, hand crocheted by me. Her sleeping on my afghan is okay but she is kneading away at it with her little sharp spiky claws, most covered with soft paw covers. She has this blissful cat look. I booted her, anyway. Rudely. She meowed at me and stalked off to the bathroom to perhaps poop in my whirl tub bath again. Too bad I keep water in it now. What a drag. She came back and meowed at me. Insistently. So I returned to the bathroom and gave her fresh water and stirred the existing full cat dish. No, Pixie does not own me, not at all.

                I wandered back to my chair, with a paperback book and turned the volume down on my way past the TV. To my astonishment and chagrin, there was the stripy beast, in my spot, again! So, I figured I’d go down and stretch out on the sofa. Meow, meow, meow. Seated in prissy cat style at the bottom of the steps, she glared at me until guilt overcame me and I came back to my flowered chair. The couch was hard to sit and read and sip my coffee without spilling anyway. Right, if that’s what I want to believe. My cat just manipulated me into coming back to her domain.

                I sat in the chair and sipped and went back to reading. Pixie jumped up on the arm of the chair and placed her head on my arm, making it hard to turn pages. I pushed at her and she didn’t move, so I let her sit on the arm of the chair until, in her quest to have the best seat in the house, she bit my book. Really! Now my cat is a book-ivore. Eating and sampling paper from the shred pile isn’t enough? Nope, apparently a book is her new delight, leaving her little sharp teeth marks on my book like a toddler teething. I’m just glad it’s not a library book, now that’s hard to explain.

                My morning routine began as the news ended and the soap operas began. Making the bed, which for the moment was cat-free and shuffling around aimlessly, as we humans are prone to do. Pixie tried out the chair, but apparently it was no fun to be there if the human was off doing two-legger stuff, so she crawled back into bed, on the man’s side of the bed, trying to get under the comforter. And yup, last I checked she was contentedly purring and snoring on his pillow. Sorry dear, you’ll want to change your pillow case for tonight. The cat has won.