A Friday ritual.
A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week.
A simple, special, extraordinary moment.
In her 13 years with us, Fiona spent most of it exercising the art of camouflage. A tortoiseshell colored cat, she was able to blend into the background, the shadows, and even the blankets with remarkable ease. Shy of new people, visitors often didn’t realize we had a cat. But every night she’d come out to perch (yes, I said perch) on the highest point of John or me in bed. There she would lie, completely unfazed by any amount of wiggling, re-positioning or outright cat eviction. If anything moved her out of her spot she’d just regally reclaim her high point, never deigning to acknowledge us commoners below her.
She stole food off the table, never caught a mouse and put up with a modest amount of harassment from the kids but was generally outperformed by our old Great Dane in almost all cat duties. Except when it came to harassing dogs.
Fiona had perfected the “I’m the queen and you are going to get it if you chase me” saunter. When ever a dog would come to visit our normally shy cat would appear right in the midst of the action, pointedly ignoring everyone- to taunt the dog. She occasionally got chased, never got hurt and twitched her tail in an extra smug fashion every time a dog got yelled at.
Her dog harassment hit it’s high point just a few months ago when Digby was visiting.
Digby being a Great Dane, Saint Bernard, Doberman mix, is rather – large, but he had been cowed by our little seven pound cat since he was a puppy. Digby was no longer fun to taunt and so Fiona was ignoring him, off doing her camo thing in another room as I walked across the living room.
Gyspy, the cat, was not.
I accidentally stepped on Gypsy’s tail and Gypsy let out a giant cat scream which had us both hitting the ceiling. Digby leapt off the couch, like only a giant gangely dog can leap, to see what sort of excitement was going on. By the time he crossed the ten feet to meet us, Gypsy was long gone and Fiona had appeared in her place. Fiona, who had come flying in from another room, assessed the situation and decided that the dog was to blame. She attacked him with her de-clawed front paws as Digby cowered in terror. I, helpfully, dissolved into laughter as I tried to “save” Digby and send him outside for his own protection. He willingly ran through the door as Fiona gave parting swats to his butt. Trip, not wanting to be left out sprang into the fun and got a nose full of swatting before I “saved” him as well. Dogs taken care of, Fiona ignored my laughter and stalked back off toward her sleeping spot.
Now that she’s gone the dogs may not miss her but the nights sure do feel a little colder without my old kitty perched atop me every night.
It’s not very often that the sight of a three year old vigorously shaking an old yogurt container in the front seat of the truck makes me panic.
But sometimes it does.
And sometimes that panic is accompanied with a frantic scream of:
Because, when getting ready to transport a urine sample for one of the cats, that’s exactly what I say.
Thank you for joining me in the latest edition of “Did I Just Say What I Thought I Said?” in which I share things that I never would have guessed,
A) needed to be said in the first place,
B) that I would need to be the one to say them and
C) that I wouldn’t just be saying them, I’d be yelling them.
I’m thinking of adding a new feature, arguments I never thought I’d be on the losing side of.
First up, why when the goal is to see the pee it doesn’t help to shake the container of urine. While I was assured that “next time” she won’t shake it. It’s true, shake a container of cat pee hard enough and you will get to see it.
Not this kitten on the keys…
… but rather this kitten…
…on my laptop keys.
Fiona, amazing cat that she is, can turn off the keyboard just by sitting on it.
Unfortunately, mere mortal human that I am, the same technique did not work for me to turn it back on.
It took many more tries, using fancy things like fingers – applied with a minor knowledge of computers, mixed with creative mouse work and finally the keyboard works again! And so, sadly, after all that, Easter egg hunting photos will have to wait for another day.
“I love cats because I enjoy my home; and little by little, they become its visible soul.”
That seemed like such a nice quote – until I thought about it.
Now, having thought about it, I’m concerned that the soul of our house, while cuddly on the outside, has a dark, blood thirsty, thieving, conniving side. And, to be perfectly honest, I’m totally fine that the cats have those attributes but if that is part of my home’s, soul I’d really rather it not be visible.
So forget Cocteau, let’s go with Wesley Bates, “There’s no need for a piece of sculpture in a home that has a cat.”
Thank goodness for that, the cats would just knock it to the floor anyway…
Our old house had a disease, the remodeling disease.
We set out to fix a stairwell wall and we did.
…and then we had to fix a lot of other walls, and wiring, and insulation, and stairs, and the roof…
The disease hadn’t even finished running it’s course when we moved out and the DOT knocked the whole thing down.
For a very sad picture please refer to: Weekly Photo Challenge: Split Second Story
With that said, no one should be surprised that this book followed us home from the library:
Would I recommend it? If you’ve ever had an old house with a touch (or a full blown case) of the remodeling disease this one’s for you!
Oh, the kids?
They liked it too!
Probably something to do with the great rhyming verse, detailed illustrations and the fact that there are labeled pictures of all the characters in the front.
My girls love any book with pictures of all the people…
…the cat however has no appreciation for a good picture book when she thinks it’s dinner time.