Test of Wills.

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The cats rule us in this house. It was never my intention to have a gaggle of cats. I had a geriatric diabetic cat who ruled the roost for years, so I was very much wanting to have some time without constantly medicating/bathing/cleaning up after a crabby cat. I was traveling a lot when I had her and that cat HATED to travel. Each trip, no matter the duration, ended up with projectile diarrhea, urinating, and screaming the entire trip while she sloshed around in her own mess to get as disgusting as possible. One time we hadn’t even moved yet, just sitting in the driveway. I tried letting her out in the truck thinking confinement was the issue. I now have a truck that has a distinct smell I can never get out as it simply allowed her to squish her miasma of grossness everywhere she could get to. I couldn’t afford to kennel her so she’d get her medication, I couldn’t leave her without the insulin, so she had to come along. My truck and my nose will never be the same. So when I say I wanted a break, I was beyond ready for a break from needy cats.

Then Weebles happened. Months of no sleep, bottle feedings, various medications, visits to vets across the state, moves across the country, and the never-ending sound of his songs to his people or his incessant need to scratch the litter box. Now I listen to his antics all night or wear ear plugs, clean up after said antics in the morning, try to toddler proof my house for a cat and fight tooth and nail to medicate twice a day.

He loved pill pockets. It was a perfect harmony, a treat with a hidden gem of meds that I didn’t have to fight to get in him. Unfortunately, since he’s now part of the household and still fascinated by the “big cats”, he has no time for medication. Or people. He wants absolutely nothing to do with us and is much too busy for medication! I switched from salmon to chicken flavor and that seemed to take care of it. And then that nose shot up in the air and he began refusing yet again.

I thought maybe I’d handled the pill too much before putting it into the pill pocket. The first couple refusals I didn’t think much of it, scruffed him, popped it down the gullet, and went on my way muttering. It’s been over a week. He does not want anything to do with his much-beloved pill pockets and he’s slowly learning that when I walk toward him he should run away. Thankfully he can’t figure out which way to run very quickly, but it’s only a matter of time.

They need to come up with a patch I can stick on him that slowly doses meds that way. Or a long lasting med I can give less frequently. It won’t happen, there aren’t enough cats with his condition for the expense and time of clinical trials and all that jazz, but now I’ll be pestering his vet for a compounding liquid option or something similar but not exactly the same as pill pockets to see if I can entice him. His face, when he decides he doesn’t want to take his meds, is possibly the best combo of “NO!” and “WHAT IS HAPPENING!?”  He’s also got this nifty move of ducking his head down and back between his shoulder blades so finding his scruff when he’s running away is pretty difficult. Like an odd little beaver, he flattens himself out and scrooches those eyes to slits and talks uuuuuuugly. In the good column, he can’t think fast enough to actually swipe at me so I just have to keep his mouth from closing whilst my fingers are inside of it.

My diabetic kid was food motivated, so shots of insulin were no big deal. Just give her treats and she didn’t even notice. Weebs doesn’t care about food at all. He’s still in wonder of his new siblings and wants to follow them or go look for them. That’s it. He was so worn out from following them around last night that I found him sleeping in a weird position in the middle of the upstairs landing and didn’t even stir when my dog licked his face (her breath is enough to raise zombies). She narrowly missed stepping on him when she turned around and her tail smacked into him. He didn’t even move. I had to check to make sure he was breathing; it gave me a mild panic for a second. He was just snoozing.

I’m irritated with the entire situation, but that’s what you get with special needs kits. So much frustration. His obsession with his litter box is a discussion for another day, but it’s going to happen.

However, one thing I do NOT find irritating is the amount of fancy footwork we’ve gotten video of. And bizarre play spazzing oddness. Watching him try to be a normal cat is one of my favorite activities. If you haven’t seen it, the Instagram link for this blog is on the left side bar. Videos and pics are uploaded there. Feel free to check them out (ignore the fact my house is not super clean and fancy, I’d make an excuse but I just don’t care enough to put that much effort into it).

An Ode to My Front Door

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I was at the front door when I realized we had library books that needed to go back today. A lot of them. I’d taken out my usual tower, and Mancandy had borrowed several for the mini candy’s recent visit. Children’s books are oddly shaped and one was massively wide. I refuse to do the multiple trips to the car thing. Instead I threw my purse on my arm, got my keys ready in one hand, grabbed all 30 books (not that many but it felt like that many and like they were multiplying) in an awkward hug with giant kid book kicked into my ribs (they should be padded enough not to notice that but alas).

Our front door does not have the normal knob turny thing. It only closes securely when you flip the deadbolt. So if you are trying to say, lock the house with an armload of books, you have to try to pull on the key hard enough to keep the door flush with the frame yet not hard enough for the key to come out. You must also maintain constant pressure while convincing the key to turn.

I live in the south. It’s beyond hot and muggy right now, and our front porch is in the full sun with the heat reflecting off of all nearby surfaces. As soon as I stepped out with my huge load and turn back the dog is trying to come with me. A stern “NofortheloveofgodIdonothavetimetodealwithyourightnowit’ssounbelieveablyhotrightnowjesusdrippingchristIammelting!!!!!” made her tilt her head and start singing the song of her people. I was already sweating. Ergo, I was already angry. I ignored the screech-yowls, pulled the door and then had to throw my knee up to stop the dog from a new rush toward freedom when the rug that Mancandy has at the front door wadded up and blocked the door.  It does this every time I’m carrying something. And every time I swear I’m setting it on fire when I get back, but by then I’ve forgotten. After readjusting the stack of books so they’d stab a new place and stop slipping in my sweaty grip, I shoved the dog back and re-entered the house. Strange dance moves got the rug flattened back down. The dog had moved back, laid down, and instead of screeching was now making a very quiet yet astonishingly annoying high pitch whine. One foot on the rug, I balanced solely on that foot to take a step like a normal flipping human, and the rug started shooting out from under me at an unnatural velocity. I spent what felt like 10 minutes fighting to stay upright. Books went everywhere. The dog was dancing around me barking. The normal cat screeched as it ran away expressing its displeasure loudly. The not at all normal cat puffed up and started spinning in circles. I said all the bad words I knew and then made up some new ones.

 

Derp cat

This was derp cats expression.

 

I gathered books up again, made sure the rug was flat and spun around the door as I pulled it behind me so the dog and I didn’t have to fight again. Unfortunately, with the momentum I had going and the fact the outside of the door was approximately 89 billion degrees when my hand came into contact with it means I slammed into the storm door which slammed into the entryway and the books went flying again and the dog came bouncing out anyway. I would not have handled this gracefully on a cool day. I had negative patience for this type of shenanigan foolishness while sweating bullets.

I was so angry I don’t really know what I screamed at the dog. Something about sucking her soul out through her eyes before drinking it down if she did not get back into the house immediately. And there was a LOT more inappropriate language in that but I’ll spare your delicate eyeballs.

I was watching my fuzzy potato in cat form spin closer to me and make trilling noises. The dog bounded over as best able with her old self and scrambled inside to avoid my wrath. The spinning derp hadn’t gotten to me yet so I pulled the door closed. The rug tried to stop me but I screamed in primal rage and shoved it back into the spinning derp and the derp thinking this was a hilaaaaarious game and I might let her out again. There was the sound of scrambling but I don’t know what happened because the door was finally shut. And yet the first 20 times I tried to lock the bolt, the key would start to come out of the lock before it turned. I had sweat running down my back, down my face, and into my eyes. My side is permanently indented from the billion books that, at this point, weighed 3 metric tons shoved into my ribcage. Eventually, I got the stupid lock turned in the stupid door and got the stupid books into the stupid truck. I was drenched in sweat and hadn’t even gotten out to the public part of being out in public.

My first stop was the liquor store. It hadn’t originally been my mission, Mancandy had requested something, but it became my goal as I knew the house had no rum and after that adventure it NEEDED rum. I stomped into the store and asked the man to direct me to the rum. Keep in mind, the liquor store is at most a 5-minute drive. I was still sweaty and obviously furious. He saw the raging Italian and stammered directions before disappearing. I gathered up my booze and stomped to the register. A man popped up from behind it and asked if I’d be interested in champagne on sale. I glared at him until he took my money and went away.

I stomped outside clutching my bottles and saw someone parked beside my truck. We were the only vehicles in the lot. The problem with that is the fact there were people in the vehicle, windows down, and if he’d stuck his face even with his window he could have kissed my truck. I moved their way slowly, giving them time to realize they were in my trucks touch bubble.

A man got out of the car and made much too much eye contact from so far away. He was going to ask me for money or one of my bottles or something. I usually try to be quick and pleasant while telling those sorts of folks no. Today I had no fear. No stress. No social anxiety. I was full of sweat and rage. I started stomping. He began walking to me and the spiel started. I didn’t let him get past “Hey lady, can you…” before I drowned him out with my “It has been a pretty crap start to this day so I’m going to need you to not ask me for anything and move that car because I’m about to get in that truck and if I have to open the door into your car and climb in through your window I will do so. Do not test me today!”

His mouth hung open and as I got close enough for him to see the sweat fueled insanity in my eyes he backpedaled. He vaulted into his car, slammed it into reverse, and left the lot with hustle. It made me no less sweaty, but it did bring me much satisfaction.

It’s Opposite World

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My dog and I have never really been around children. We find them to be loud and sticky and they do not respect touch bubbles. Any time a child puts a sticky hand anywhere near me I immediately respond as most folks do when a wasp tries to sting them: jelly legs and gasping half screams. Plus when they learn to talk they start being difficult vocally as well as physically. I just don’t see the appeal. My dog has an even worse reaction to kids than I do, she is obviously terrified but her way of showing it is to growl and try to eat them. Parents tend to get uppity when your dog wants to eat their little bambino.

This is my fault, of course. I never socialized Bell with children (I didn’t socialize with anyone who had any). So moving in with a man who has a small army of clones that are often here for extended periods of time terrified me. He, however, couldn’t have been less concerned. He loves him some Bell, she’s in love with him, and love will conquer all. Except for kids. I told him I didn’t like kids. He laughed as if I was joking. I wasn’t. Yet here we are. And there are so so so many children.

The eldest of the Mancandy offspring is now 14. He’s caught in that awkward not really a kid but not yet an adult age and is the calmest of the little ones. Bella likes him. He pets her, talk’s sweet to her, and doesn’t jet around everywhere like a hummingbird on crack.

The twins are now 12, and they are still in the child stage of a druggie bird. Everything they do is in fast forward. They run into and out of rooms, instead of walking around they jump over, they throw things instead of handing them, and the noise is always at an insane decibel. There’s confusion about how sound travels because they can be 4 inches apart and they will scream everything they say to each other rather than talk in a normal tone.

Bella hated them. She wanted to like them, but as soon as they went from sleeping children to awake children she wanted no part of it. She would wait until my attention was elsewhere and she’d show them teeth if they came too close. She began guarding furniture. Then she guarded entire rooms. They finally came clean about her behavior and she was banished from the room if she acted like a donkey. She was never left with them unsupervised. She figured out that if she wanted to be where everyone else was (and like most dogs she very much wants to be in the middle of it) she had to mind her manners. I do not trust her with them alone, but she’s gotten much easier with them.

This past visit from Mancandy’s family was a big one. One of the mini-candies lives across the country so her visits are few and far between. She flew in, we scooped up her brothers, and Mancandy Parental Units came down. There were Candies of various ages everywhere. The youngest slept in our room on an air mattress. The boys kept their usual room. The parental unit inhabited the guest room. The house that seems pretty big most of the time became much too small. There were people everywhere. And children have a need to move things to places that make no sense. The house looked like a gaggle of raccoons had spent a couple hours gleefully tearing the house apart and had eaten everything in the house while deconstructing it. I took to locking myself in the water closet of the master bathroom with the outer door locked as well so I could pretend I didn’t hear anyone knocking. Two doors are sound proof you know. Often Bell came in to hang out with me.

I had no idea how my dog would handle this, and I was even more concerned about Weebles. His reactions are rarely predictable, and he doesn’t really know how to run away or defend himself. A gaggle of loud children plus my anti-kid dog and my confused potato cat seemed like a recipe for disaster. I was, fortunately, mistaken.

Bella figured out quickly the kids dropped food constantly. Especially the 9-year-old. Bell’s love of food (she’s definitely my dog) overrode her fear of the kids. She didn’t necessarily want to cuddle with them, but she was MUCH more at ease.  I could relax and not be on high alert for a launch to maul a child’s face.

Weebs, however, was the star of the show. He is the perfect cat for children. He’s fascinated by movement, so he would play with feet, toys, fingers, etc., for hours. He will grab but doesn’t scratch or bite. He’s too confused to object to being hauled around (the 9-year-old loved to carry him around). He doesn’t care if there are loud noises or fast movements. He’s not overwhelmed by 4 children crowded around him. He was absolute perfection. He got so much attention he’s been sleeping hardcore for 3 days straight and I don’t blame him a bit. Between trying to keep up with the other cats, be nosy and follow adults around, and trying to catch quick little fingers, toes, and dangled toys Weebs has never worked this hard in his life. His days were packed to the brim! He even got in on game night.

He’s the perfect cat for a huge family, which is exceedingly bizarre to me as I never wanted any children and somehow found myself in this big collection of people that make up a modern family (including the ex’s and their current relationships and all the insanity that brings) without any preparation. The dog and I (generally considered of normal intelligence if not considered normal in personality) may stumble, but my sweet little spud kitty sails through with ease. He’s a champ. The rest of us just live in his world.

 

Turkey toes

Plus he does stuff like this. We call this particular position turkey toes. He will sit sniffing his toes for a while, and then spend a little longer sitting in the same position while blinking slowly.

 

 

Children = Crack Heads

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My proof (in no particular order until the last bit):

  1. A large crash and what sounded like paper ripping echoed through the house from the upstairs landing. I asked the child what was going on. No response. I asked with a little more heat. I got back “I’m not doing anything nothing happened I’m petting the cat that’s all no”. No punctuation was used when vocalizing it so I left it in its original format. The child was insulted when I physically checked on the very loud nothing no that happened. I couldn’t find anything broken or torn. I assume she opened a portal to another realm.
  2. A small barrel shaped puzzle (pictured in the main image for this post) is dismantled into many pieces and an effort was made to put it back together. There was great intensity and focus. There were discussions with herself about what piece went next. Midway through the very next sentence pieces were calmly placed pieces on the floor, a blanket was pulled around the shoulders like a cape, and the child paraded out of the room on tiptoes. “I think this might go…” and she marched off. Very much like a hummingbird switching flowers. She manages a regal march for one so young.
  3. When the father of the child said good morning before dawn what came back was (as close as I can recall…it happened quickly and it was not even 6 am) “The eye! The eye was big and did you I don’t know did you see the eye my eye what who I don’t know last night!” All of that was said in a gasping mildly angry voice. Father of the child (somehow less baffled than I) responded: “But it’s okay now, right?”. She gave a disgruntled sounding “yes” and rolled over. He wandered into the bathroom as if that was a normal encounter.
  4. We own a whistle type of squeaker thing loud enough to wake the dead. Neither of us knew that. We don’t know where it came from. We found out we owned it because at roughly 6 am the child cornered one of the cats and when the cat didn’t follow a red dot it couldn’t follow because the child blocked its ability to move the squeaker whistles shrill hideous noise was unleashed upon us at a staggering decibel. Aware that she was probably going to be scolded she looked at her father belligerently and yelled: “NOTHING HAPPENED”. The cat and I haven’t fully recovered.

 

Cat contemplates alcohol

Cat contemplates alcohol while recovering from insanely loud ear blast

 

  1. (This should be 5 but formatting is being a brat) The air conditioner controller thing decided to poop out of juice last night. I walked downstairs and found the temperature to be Arctic-esque. I am hot natured and it was absolutely freezing even to my internal thermostat. The batteries dying in the control apparently gave the air conditioner permission to never ever turn off. Ever. So I immediately got the unit shut down and started coffee while shivering. Tiny human walks in wearing her blanket cape and talks to herself about how cold it is. I ask if she wants cereal for breakfast and she nods yes and walks off. I get cereal assembled and wander out to find her sitting in the back room talking to herself quietly. I put the cereal down and ask if she wants a blanket. She mutters a reply too quiet for me to make out. I ask her to repeat herself. It sounds vaguely like “jacket”. I tell her I can go get a sweatshirt or jacket for her, or maybe some socks. She mutters what sounds like jacket again. I tell her I still can’t hear her. I get back “I HAVE A JACKET”. I blink. I ask her if she wants her jacket. “NO! I HAVE ALL I NEED!”  She has a really deep voice for such a small female thing. Kind of like that lord of the rings scene where Galadriel is tempted but refuses the ring.
  2. (Formatting is still bratty) Tiny human is playing a sonic the hedgehog video game out in the back room. I know exactly where she is because she is talking to herself and the game at the same time in various tones and with various mood swings. There are a lot of “WHAT THE HECK….WHAT…..WOW…..WHA….NO….YES….WHAT THE HECK”. This sort of stream of consciousness has been going on for at least 30 minutes straight. And now there are long, deep hooting noises punctuated by growls. She may be summoning a demon. I’m not going to go look. I need a ghost hunter. Or a priest.
  3. Update (formatting is the least of my worries): After a crash out in the back room she magically appeared behind the desk to my left (I can hear her but not see her). She’s whispering something quietly and creepily, like an incantation. If I’m never seen again make sure they put a decent picture up at my funeral (don’t let my mom use my graduation picture, I have 14 chins in that one). Good luck to us all.

Weebles learning the meaning of consent…

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Having been involved in animal rescue for most of my adult life there are a ridiculous number of animals in my life. I currently live with a dog, two cats, and a sorta cat. Everyone who knows me knows of the Weebster, but for those who don’t, I have a mentally handicapped cat. He has congenital hypothyroidism which is extremely rare in cats and we didn’t get the diagnosis in time to prevent significant mental impairment. Physically he has bounced back significantly, but he’s a bit “slow” mentally. Weebs has a good quality of life and is not in pain, so we get to muddle through life trying to figure out how to cope with an extremely unique cat.

 

Tiny baby weebles

Weebs gotcha day!

 

 

 

Bottle Fed Weebles

Learning how bottles work.

 

 

 

Hungry Weebs

Transitioning to solid foods with grace and style.

 

 

Blogging weebs

Starting to be mobile and look more like a cat and less like an Ewok.

Weebs was stuck in bottle-fed kitten status much longer than he should have been, so he didn’t become mobile and independent until I’d moved cross country for work.  Once mobile he only had my older dog for company. He never saw other animals and rarely saw other people for just over a year.

Chicklets

That is his normal expression. Not a result of catnip.

Now that we’ve come back to the east coast I have moved in with my friend boy. Friend boy was given many nicknames but the one that stuck was Mancandy. He already had two rescue cats who were unsure about my dog and absolutely hated my poor cat who doesn’t know how to cat.

Most cats communicate with their body language, vocalizations, and will use aggression tactics in many situations if boundaries are not respected. WBS (Wee Baby Seamus, Weebles, Weebs, etc) had never seen another cat much less interacted with one. He responds to stimuli in an extremely delayed fashion and is OCD. He doesn’t hear well so vocal cues are often completely ignored and if he does hear something he will respond several minutes later and often with the wrong response.

Amazed

We’ve only recently been able to let him mingle with the other cats. He took one look at Tsuki and fell in love. She took one look and wanted nothing to do with him. Weebs was not the least bit put off by her lack of affection. He follows her constantly. He gazes at her with a devotion bordering on obsession. Tsuki is his moon and the stars in his sky and he must be near her. He has been hissed at, growled at, smacked, rolled, and none of it has had any impact on his devotion. She was distracted by treats yesterday and he got to actually stand next to her without getting smacked down. He leaned over, sniffed like a total creep, and fluttered his eyes. Think silence of the lambs level disturbing. She finished her treats, noticed the lack of respect for her touch bubble, and let him have it.

 

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He so loves her. She’s so over it.

 

 

She figured out a while back that if she gets up on furniture it takes a while for him to find her. The above picture was him finding her after about 30 minutes of looking. His idea of searching for his beloved is wandering around talking to himself (cute little trilling noises), yelling for her (typical annoying loud cat ME-FREAKING-OW noises), spinning (it’s weird and he does it a lot), and making the same loop through our house repeatedly.

 

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Can I just touch near you?

 

Once found Tsuki tries to ignore him. But he just can’t stop himself! He must be closer. He annoys her to the point she starts talking trash as soon as he gets near. The Instagram account link on the sidebar has a video of her telling him off. And his completely baffled expression in response.

While the past 8 months have involved saving Weebles from the “big cats”, now my days involve saving the big cats from the cat who couldn’t figure out how to save himself when he got sucked into the couch cushions. No lie. Exhibit A:

 

Couch sucks

It’s cool. I’ll just lay here until I starve to death while you take pictures and laugh.

 

I hate that none of our animals want anything to do with him (the next animal that enters this house will do so under the requirement that they allow Weebs to stick his face in their mouth and smell them in an exceptionally creepy fashion whenever he wants), but in good news, he’s not smart enough to realize he’s the last kid picked for dodgeball. Happy Friday folks!

 

PS. If you are looking for a new best friend please consider rescue. There are so many really amazing animals just waiting for a chance. The rescue closest to my heart is Southern Cross Animal Rescue (SCAR) in Laurel MS. Another organization I’m incredibly fond of is The Humane Society of the White Mountains in Arizona. They do incredible work. Find your next best friend at a shelter instead of buying. You’ll save two lives and you will be part of the solution instead of the problem.

 

He doesn’t find this as funny as I do…

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Sleeping Mancandy is a jerkwad. He knows this, I know this, it is what it is. Yesterday I was pretty darn high on some sort of allergy concoction. After untold time staring into the distance my eyes dried out, my contacts revolted, and I decided sleep was a fine idea. I felt the bed move a bit and knew one of the cats had joined me, but I didn’t pay any attention before passing out. I woke up to notice a few things. Tsuki was my bed buddy, her snortles are really adorable, the dog also snores pretty darn cute, and something stunk like cat pee. Thankfully it wasn’t me. Unfortunately, it was Tsuki.

I would love to know how the cat ends up occasionally reeking of cat piss, but she’s not telling. My theory is that another cat pees on her face in a dominance thing. Mancandy thinks she’s just gross and rolls in it. Either way, it is her head that stinks. Not her backend (in case anyone thinks I’m just too stupid to notice the cat has a urinary tract infection).

I stripped the sheets and my comforter (of course she decided to lay on my blanket) and put them out to wash after I was through washing clothes. I went downstairs to do stuff and promptly forgot about the clothes in the wash much less the stinky bed stuff. When we made our way upstairs to get ready for bed last night, I realized I didn’t have a blanket. I had clean sheets that I had handily not bothered to fold and put away from the last time I did laundry, so I just popped those on and figured I’d share Mancandy’s blanket for one night.

Yes, we have separate blankets. Yes, I’d forgotten why we’d even started that. We started it because he’s a jerkface who accuses me of being a jerkface. He steals all the dang covers and then rolls his happy, covered up burrito self over until I’m barely hanging onto the edge of the bed and breathes in my face while I teeter, shivering, on the edge of death. And while awake Mancandy is generally a pretty sweet guy, sleeping Mancandy is a complete jerkwad. If I tell him to move over he grunts at me. Sometimes he tells me to hush. Sometimes he will try to smother me. It’s a mystery wrapped in murderous intent.

But he swears I’m the one who steals the covers and he’s an innocent victim. I’m just letting him be wrong. But anywho, all of that to say, last night I spent most of the night chilly and angry. And when he yanked those covers back right before dawn I drifted off with a lot of Italian anger bottled up. And I may or may not have dreamed I shot him in his smug blanket stealing face with a shotgun so that I could tell him what a big jerk he was without interruption. And I may or may not have enjoyed yanking the closet door open where he was innocently dressing for work and smugly announcing I dreamed I shot him in the face and woke up in a good mood before slamming the closet door shut in his face around 5:30 am. And I may have been the only one amused. And I regret nothing.

Head Bonks and Kitty Snortles

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Tsuki (pronounced Sue-Kee) is a green-eyed, solid black smallish cat that owns us.

Tsuki Grass Attack

Tsuki pretending she wasn’t just eating grass.

She came to Mancandy about 6 years ago as a tiny black fluff. It happened to be Halloween and some kids were giving away tiny black kittens. This one ended up in the hood of the pullover Mancandy wore as he gave out candy to trick-or-treaters. Mancandy gets into Halloween. Big time. He decorates and makes even the shiest child explain their costume. I would have been horrified to have to speak to a stranger as a child, but he is serious about every costume and every child and every bit of candy. They will earn their sweets dammit.

This past year I worked but got home in time for the last few gaggles of kids. Since I’ve been an adult (I use that terminology loosely) I’ve not lived anyplace that got much trick or treat traffic. However, some of my best childhood memories are of Halloween and the pure joy of dressing up as whatever I wanted and parading around in a costume all day and an actual parade in my costume and then running around getting all the candy I could possibly stuff in my pumpkin pail. That is kid paradise. When I pulled up to the house there were little superheroes and witches and werewolves everywhere. It was a bit like being a kid again and I was pretty pumped to see the candy giving action.

The candy action was not a disappointment. My dog had worn herself out trying to tell off all the trick or treaters and was snoring loudly. The kids were coming in small waves (it was getting late and it was a school night). Apparently, it was the end of the rush and these were the stragglers. I was tired from a long shift on my feet and sat listening to the craziness and peeking at costumes to match with voices from the living room window. My favorite was a little boy in a lion outfit that was scared to come on the porch. There was a hanging decoration we affectionately refer to as “Death” who was dangling from the porch light.  Mr. Lion was not having it.  I heard a high-pitched but very determined voice say “NO!  No, I’m not going. Nope.”

Mancandy was not letting a kid get away without candy, so he took Death down and put him on the porch.  “Come look! He is just an empty costume. It’s okay!”.  The lion’s mom chimed in, “It’s fake! Go on up there and get your candy, all the other kids are!”

“NO!”

“I promise he won’t hurt you!” Mancandy was crouched down.  He was turning Death over and showing he was mostly black fabric hanging in various layers.

I then hear a small grunt and the distinctive sound of Mancandy laughter.  “Alright then!” in a bemused but amused (that was fun to type) tone of voice.  He came in still laughing as he explained that Mr. Lion had gathered up his courage, run up to the porch, kicked the crap out of Death, grabbed his candy, and ran away.  I like that kid.

All that to say, Tsuki sat in that hood for hours and didn’t try to escape. As a kitten that’s fairly rare behavior. And she found herself with a home. Other pets have been added, but Tsuki remains the boss and is the favored fuzzy of Mancandy. She acts more like a dog than a cat.  She enjoys following us on our walks/jogs, prefers my dog to the other cats, and has zero fear.  She also head bonks.  If Tsuki loves you, there’s no doubt.  She’ll walk up to you and smack her head into yours.  Sometimes it’s a gentle bonk, sometimes you see stars and your eyes water.  She also does goofy stuff like find a window she can watch you from and when she’s ready to come in, hangs on the screen and yells.

Tsuki Somebodys watching me

Sometimes I feel like….somebody’s watching me…..

This morning I went out early and mowed the yard.  I, of course, got too hot (I’m the most ridiculous delicate thing about heat), and had a serious headache by the time I got showered off and changed. I laid down to see if that would help the pain ease up and Tsuki came to help me nap. Her version of help goes as follows:

Circle approximately 20 times with butthole passing very close to humans face each time. Settle down in humans armpit area and pull arm around self. Use claws to ensure arm goes where it is wanted. Purr like a maniac. Decide love has not been shown and rectify by massive head bonk along with extremely loud purring. Repeat circling and arm moving. Try to bathe humans arm and make arm sore. Adjust arm every time human starts to drift off, liberal use of claws to ensure compliance. When human has drifted off, get up, smash face into the human face, purr, and begin the process over again. When human gets angry immediately begin snoring in adorable little snorts, termed kitty snortles. Human will settle back in.

That went on for about 2 hours. I finally gave up and got up. I love snuggling with fuzzy creatures but head bonks while nauseous with a headache is just too much love. As I type this she is being kicked off the other couch for trying to snuggle with Mancandy and using her claws on his leg. It’s a hard life for the queen of the household.

As an aside, I had to rescue her from the front porch where a group of birds decided to corner her and screech her to death. She’s not exactly skilled at catting.

Tsuki Tongue Attack

Further proof the catting is not strong with this one.