Tag: cats

Mom calls the shrink…

Not for her. She’s far too cheap.

But Cathy is worried about our new housemate, Ophelia. After making progress, Ophelia has regressed. She staked a claim on a corner of Cathy’s bed and she won’t leave. She sits on a cushion, right next to Cathy’s pillow, and she won’t budge. When she freaks out, she dives under the bed. Not good.

So Mom asked the vet for a referral to a cat behaviorist. When Cathy called for her appointment, they said Ophelia might be suffering from shelter shock. Sort of like post-traumatic stress disorder for cats.

We’ve got a PhD-qualified, trained shrink coming next week. He comes to our home and spends a couple of hours analyzing Ophelia. Mom was aghast at the cost till she realized that’s what she charges for a diagostic website makeover session. And she doesn’t even go to clients’ homes.

Hey Mom, I’ve got a better idea. Let’s find Ophelia a home with a nice little old lady, where Ophelia can be the only cat. She can sit on the old lady’s lap and watch the old lady drink tea.

Except, my mom would say, they don’t make old ladies like they used to. And she adores Ophelia. They’ve bonded.

Why can’t a cat be more like a dog?

Cathy has been getting very frustrated with our new housemate, Ophelia. Ophelia is beautiful and gentle. She has a wonderful loud purr. But she’s terrified of Creampuff.

Yeah, you read that right. You’re probably wondering how anyone can be intimidated by that ditzy calico. But Ophelia hisses and growls – loud! – when she encounters Creampuff. And Creampuff tries to chase Ophelia.

As a result of all the trauma, Ophelia spends a lot of time under Cathy’s bed. She doesn’t even like to venture out to eat.

No dog would ever be so dumb. We won’t let a silly little cat keep us from the most important moments in our life: dinner. We’d never hide.

Ophelia doesn’t know how lucky she is. Cathy is looking up names of cat therapists. She thinks Ophelia needs a shrink.

I’m not saying a word. (Did I tell you dogs are smart?) But I think a certain dog owner needs to have her head examined. Why on earth did she adopt a furry problem child?

Overweight cat contest? Ophelia’s a loser.

Good grief. No sooner did we add a 17-lb. kitty to our household than we heard about a real heavyweight: a 44-lb. cat in New Jersey.

That’s much more than what I weigh. And I am a dog.fat cat

“We’re ignoring that story,” my mom said. “Ophelia is still on a diet. If she’ll ever leave her laundry room hideout, we’ll start her kitty aerobics program.”

No wonder Ophelia wants to hide. My mom’s a terror when she gets fixated on an idea.

Then again, she said, the New Jersey cat, “Princess Chunk,” got all kinds of publicity. Chunk sat in Diane Sawyer’s lap, totally calm. (Diane wore a white skirt that won’t show Chunk’s white hair. Chris Cuomo, wearing a dark suit, edged away).

“Imagine what all this publicity could do for my copywriting business,” Cathy said.

Not much.

Get real, mom. Your cats will always be liabilities. I’m the asset around here.

Adopting our new housemate

Good grief. We can’t have any peace around here.

We just said sad good-bys to Tiger. Well, my mom Cathy was sad. I’m philosophical. Cats come. Cats go.

We went to the Seattle Animal Shelter, just to look. Cathy’s neighbors, Diana and Rachel, offered to give us a ride. Yep…you read that right. Us. I went along too. Cathy wanted to show the Shelter folks what a good pet owner she is.gracie in shelter

Naturally I stole the show. Everyone kept saying, “What a beautiful dog.”

One of the staff volunteers gave me a toy.

Diana, who drove us down, is holding my leash firmly. I’m waiting for Cathy to finish the paperwork. Isn’t this dumb? When she adopted me, my foster mom just drove me down. She could tell Cathy would be a great owner. This Shelter is more complicated.

adaoption sceneAnd here’s Cathy with the Adoption Volunteer who helped her choose Ophelia. And me. Do I look as bored as I feel?

And here’s the adoptee herself. Can you tell she’s overflowing her carrier? Mom is making all kinds of noise about kitty aerobics.cat in carrier

No problem. I get my aerobics in the park, thank you very much.

But there’s at least one silver lining. With a 17-pound cat, nobody’s looking at my waistline. Welcome, Ophelia!

Dog to Mom: “You’ve lost your mind…”

Mom seems to think our calico housemate Creampuff is lonely. “She needs a cat friend,” she says.

I think Creampuff is ditzy. “She needs an IQ boost,” I say.fat fuzzy ca

But who listens to a dog? Mom fell in love with this kitty at the Seattle Animal Shelter.

There’s her mug shot on the right..

“Meets my specifications,” Cathy says. “Already spayed and declawed. Over 5 years old. Gets along with other animals. Mellow.”

“Read the fine print,” I say. “Overweight. Needs grooming. Spent 30 days in a cage so probably has some issues.”

“Ophelia. A beautiful name,” Cathy’s neighbors said.

“Ophelia? Not for a cat. What about Furball or Fatso?” Cathy said.

For once we are in agreement. But I have a feeling there’s a Fat Furball in our future.

OK, I admit it: we need a new kitty!

Creampuff seems lost without Tiger. She’s running around, jumping and generally getting herself into trouble. Cathy wants time to get used to Tiger’s absence, but she’s also looking through ads on petfinder.com.

I vote for a kitty who’s humbler than Tiger and smarter than Creampuff. Cathy says I get to go help choose our next housemate. Like I really get a vote.

Meanwhile, I will enjoy at least one more day of one less cat.

Good-by to our housemate…

My mom has been hovering over Tiger for the last month. She would get so excited when Tiger ate a few bites of food or jumped up to the couch. Yesterday, Tiger stumbled as she tried to navigate from the living room to her favorite spot in Cathy’s closet. She couldn’t jump anymore.

So Cathy bundled up Tiger in her trusty backpack (“Tiger hates carriers”), grabbed my leash and we caught a cab to the vet. The tech asked if I wanted to say good-by, but I declined. Tiger’s been living on borrowed time. I haven’t teased her in ages.

Tiger has been a part of Cathy’s life for over 14 years and Cathy was feeling really sad. “Worse than losing Keesha,” she said.

I think I’m worth ten cats, but that’s another story.

The good news is I scarfed some leftover canned food that Cathy bought for Tiger’s sensitive palate. Yum!

The bad news is we’re probably getting another cat. The ditzy Creampuff gets lonely. I’d like to show her what lonely really is but my mom is in a fragile state. My job is to help Cathy keep some perspective on what’s really important, like treats and toys.

Pill-popping pets

According to the New York Times, more and more dogs are taking psychoactive drugs. There’s a whole article in the magazine.

My mom Cathy wonders if I can take a pill so I will stop chewing.

You won’t catch me doing drugs though. I chew because I like the taste of socks. Anxiety is not a word in my vocabulary. If I were any calmer I’d be a zombie.

Why don’t those dogs just get more exercise? Friday I went off to Magnuson Park with my Aunt Sara. I ran for over an hour. I was exhausted.

Today Cathy dropped me off in the dog lounge while she ran some errands.  She told the staff, “Gracie will probably be tired. She’ll want to snooze on the couch.”

Hah. As they told Cathy, I barked till they put me in the exercise area with the other dogs. I wanted to play!

Now I’m sprawled out on Cathy’s bed, sound asleep.

Not a neurotic bone in my body.

The cats, however, are another story. Especially that ditzy calico who eats my food. My food? Everybody knows cat food tastes better. Creampuff needs a chill pill.

Dog Tired

My mom Cathy is getting frustrated with her caregiving role. She says, “Tiger bounces around just like old times. She just won’t eat enough. She’s so thin and dehydrated.”

I’m not bouncing anywhere. Yesterday we went to the dog park. I stopped for a chat and a butt scratch from some friendly folks. Cathy was not amused. “You’re here for exercise!” she said.

So I ran around so she could catch up on her conversations with the regulars. And then we walked part way home. I am still tired. My mom is too but she will never admit it.

“I refuse to say I’m getting older,” she says. “Sunday and Monday I had two tough exercises classes in a row…all weights and barbells. Who wouldn’t be a little…um…well, not bouncy?”

Hey mom, I’ll jump right in (but not literally). I’ll be six in October and I’m no puppy any more.

Our big mystery: how does that tough old tabby cat jump on to the kitchen counter? She may be on her last paws, but like Mehitabel, there’s life in the old dame yet.

Cats get too much attention

With our tabby cat Tiger on her last paws, my mom Cathy has been distracted. She was so excited this morning: Tiger ate almost a whole can of Fancy Feast cat food. Then she jumped up on the table and took a few sips of Cathy’s iced coffee.

“Why is it okay to drink iced coffee but not eat food from the refrigerator?” Cathy asked.

Tiger twitched her tail and headed back to her home in the closet. She likes to sleep there during the day. Fine with me. Out of sight, out of mind. More of everything for me.

Alas, our ditzy roommate Creampuff, who’s healthy as a horse, is developing a taste for all this fancy food. Mom will never get her back to crunchies.

I don’t understand finicky. It’s not in my vocabulary or my genes. Garbage or gourmet — who cares?