Look who’s taken up residence near Mom’s desktop computer. Mom’s favorite Computer Guru, the MacDaddy of Seattle, says cat hair won’t bother the desktop. Thank goodness!
Creampuff likes to sleep there. So we figure Ophelia just had to take over and establish dominance. Besides, it’s nice and warm.
We can’t figure out how she got up there. Ophelia’s not a jumper. She prefers hiding out in her cave.
This morning the weather was awful. My mom dropped me off in the Dog Lounge with instructions to, “Make sure she gets LOTS of exercise.” I did and I’m wiped.
So who’s daring to enter my turf on Cathy’s bed? This is where I get to take naps. Since when do cats share my space? 
Ophelia doesn’t get it. She’s the Queen Mother and I’m just the Princess.
Cathy caught me in this awkward pose. She tried to get a more dignified picture but she was so happy to see Ophelia looking directly into the camera.
Notice how my mom’s priorities have shifted. My blog gets the photo where Ophelia looks best.
Ophelia was saying, “I’m being polite and dignified. I don’t know what’s going on over there.”
Nothing’s going on. I’m just scratching an ear, for heaven’s sake.
Yesterday my mom decided we should go for a long walk. The weather was beautiful, she said, and she wanted more exercise. Have you ever noticed that when Mom wants exercise, I have to walk too?
We took a bus to the top of Queen Anne hill (thank goodness – it’s very steep). We walked to the pet store. So many wonderful dog treats! I couldn’t wait to see what Mom would buy me.
Bad news.
“Gracie, you have enough treats,” my mom said. “This time we are getting something for Ophelia. She’s been playing with pieces of paper and I want her to have something she can’t swallow.”
Have you noticed that Ophelia’s taking over? My mom feels a special bond with that cat because she nursed Ophelia to health last fall. You’d think Ophelia would hate the person who shoved food down her throad twice a day. But no: there’s a mutual adoration society in our home.
The people at the pet store were very helpful. “Here’ s a catnip toy,” they suggested. “She couldn’t swallow this one.”
“But Gracie could,” my mom said, giving me the eye. “And Gracie will play with everything. She loves catnip.” Right, mom. Tell the world.
We walked away with a catnip log that’s not even interesting. What a wasted trip. And when I say “walked,” I mean that literally. We walked all the way down the hill to our home.
“Every time we pass a bus stop,” Cathy says, “Gracie wants to stop and wait for a bus!” Well, why not? My mom let a perfectly good Number 2 Bus – our favorite – get away.
“Walking is good for us,” she said firmly.
Ophelia loves her new cat toy. She has no dignity for a cat of her age and size. I’m too tired to care. And I need to save my energy for my trip to the park with Aunt Sara. We CUPPIEs need our beauty sleep.
After the cat food fiasco, my mom has been feeding me small amounts of crunchies mixed with rice. I’m eating. I’m happy and healthy. See, mom? No bit deal. I haven’t dragged you out at 2 AM for the last two nights.
The cats are another story. Cathy doesn’t want me eating their food so she put their dishes on the kitchen counter. Creampuff enjoys jumping up. Ophelia, who’s not exactly skinny, says that waddling is more her style. So Cathy lifts he up a few times a day, hoping she’ll get the message.
Ophelia’s not into messages. I think she was spoiled rotten in her first home. But give her credit: she’s adjusted well, all things considered. Some cats hide in a closet for a whole year. Or a lifetime.
Ophelia just hides in her kitty condo.
Good grief! Friday evening I started to get sick. My tummy was pounding. So I dragged my mom out half a dozen times. She didn’t get much sleep.
“The vet gave me some miracle pills to nip this in the bud,” she grumbled. “But I ran out.”
So Saturday morning, we were off to the vet first thing. Well, almost. Mom had to do some work on her computer and I seemed to be better.
We saw that nice Dr. Kira. I always enjoy coming when she’s the vet on duty.
But not today. Dr. Kira said, “Gracie is too fat! She should eat 2/3 cup of food, twice a day. And cut back on the treats.”
There goes the neighborhood.
I also have to get my teeth cleaned. And my mom keeps shoving pills down my throat. She refused to feed me last night.
“Your tummy needs a rest,” she said firmly. “And so do I.”
Well, I took matters into my own four paws. Mom was feeling relaxed and happy after hearing the Jupiter Symphony at a concert downtown. We went to bed early. I curled up on my cushion at the foot of Mom’s bed, like I’m supposed to. But I was hungry.
Mom was so exhausted she didn’t hear me jump off the bed and head for the kitchen, where I polished off all the cat food. Usually she wakes up when I move an inch.
When Mom woke up this morning, I was lying next to her, in Ophelia’s spot, on Ophelia’s cat cushion. Ophelia was pacing around looking disgruntled.
Mom leaped out of bed. “Gracie, you are not a cat! What are you doing here? Oh no…” She ran to the kitchen.
Sure enough. I couldn’t hide the evidence: two empty plates on Mom’s kitchen floor.
“Gracie, either you start sleeping in your crate again or the cats will learn to eat on the counter,” Mom said.
Good luck, Mom. Ophelia refuses to jump. I think that cat is afraid of heights.
Luckily, I seemed fine. Mom took me for a walk. I showed no ill effects of scarfing down two helpings of cat food. Mom is going to take me to the dog lounge, following our usual Sunday routine.
My mom Cathy was watching a video at Petzume, “10 Dumbest Dog Breeds.” She kept looking over at me, with a critical eye. Luckily I don’t look like any of those breeds.
Anyway, Cathy gave up on the list when she came to “Dumb Breed Number 7 (or was it 9?): the Chow Chow. Cathy’s first dog, the sainted Keesha, was part chow. True, Mom says, she had all the qualities listed. Fiercely loyal to her owner. Jealous. Likes to be the center of attention.
“But Keesha was so smart,” Cathy says. “When I said, ‘Want to go for a ride?’ she would go right to the car. When I said, ‘Walk?’ she would jump up and wag her tail, ignoring the car completely.”
Then Cathy looked up the 10 smartest breeds, defined as “easiest to train.” The smartest (according to this video) is…a Border Collie?
“Come on,” Mom said. “Border collies train their owners. One border collie in New Mexico taught its owner to throw frisbees for hours.”
Whew. What a relief. For awhile there I thought mom was going to administer an IQ test, although she thinks all those tests are hogwash.
Then she got distracted by a cool video on that site: How cats wake up their owners. “Just like Creampuff,” she nodded approvingly.
I went back to sleep, dreaming of my own video. How Owners Wake Up Their Dogs (and why they shouldn’t).
See this terrific piece of feline furniture? My mom grabbed it when someone was moving out and left it behind. 
She washed the cushions in our washing machine (thank goodness – who needs fleas?).
Creampuff likes to sit on the top. But our newest housemate, Ophelia, has claimed the lower opening for her very own. She spends hours there, watching the rest of us.
“Better than under the bed,” my mom says. “And better than the laundry room, too.”
You have to look closely but do you see that black and white blur? Yes…that’s Ophelia, fully recovered from liver disease and her traumatic time in the Animal Shelter.
And (in my opinion) winner of the Most Useless Household Animal award.
My mom Cathy is still celebrating Ophelia’s recovery from liver disease. If you are just joining us on this blog, Ophelia’s the cat on the right – the fuzzball approximately the size and shape of an aircraft carrier, seen from above.
“After force feeding that wretched cat for 5 long weeks,” Cathy says, “at least Ophelia turned out to be really special. She’s loyal and loving.”
The cats are getting along with each other. Every so often we hear screams and cries, but Cathy says that’s a good sign. “At least they’re showing some interest in each other,” she says. “Nothing worse than a bored cat.”
Except a dog who’s getting bored with all the cat talk. Time for a walk, Mom.
My mom Cathy never gets sick. She’s tough! But Saturday evening she started feeling wretched. We all went to bed and slept…and slept.
She woke up Sunday morning and thought, “Time for exercise class.” Then she took me out for a walk (thank goodness!) and staggered home.
“Not today,” she told me, shaking out a few crunchies so I wouldn’t starve.
Here’s where I earned a year’s supply of crunchies and treats. I snuggled up next to my mom and didn’t budge. She felt safe and cozy with me there, stretched out, solid as a rock.
Of course our new housemate, Ophelia, stayed close by. She has her cushion and I have mine. We have an
unspoken agreement and we joined forces to support our ailing owner.
Creampuff disappeared. She probably took advantage of the opportunity to snuggle up to her best friend, Cathy’s desktop computer. The modem is nice and warm.
By Monday Mom was back to normal. By noon she was drinking her coffee. At 2 PM she took me on a 40-minute walk. By evening she was off to exercise class.
And tomorrow I go to the park with Aunt Sara. Life is good.
Or whatever passes for normal in a cat these days.
My mom is so happy. Ophelia has been eating…and eating. Mom put a big dish of food in the laundry room, so Ophelia would have some privacy. Ophelia dug right in with gusto. You’d think she hadn’t eaten for a month. Well, she hadn’t. She’s been eating via “assisted feeding.”
Cathy feels she has gained an hour a day. No more fluid. No more force feeding.
She also gained a new cat. Ophelia’s whole personality has changed, too. She’s become a strong, confient, dominant feline. She joins us on the sofa. She sleeps on Cathy’s bed.
Now we’re waiting for the cats to start getting along. Ophelia has a magnificent purr and a horrible, ugly hiss. I’m afraid Creampuff gets hisses, boos and growls. I get ignored. My mom gets the purrs. Welll, she pays the big vet bills.