eRamblings

MOM boxes = morning of moving boxes

This is where my mother tells me every day, twice a day, to make sure I pack my morning of box so that I know where to find the coffee machine and all my other necessities.

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Izabel is scared. I can see it. She runs to me about every ten minutes and gives me kisses (where she reaches up and touches her nose to my mouth, smelling my breath) and then stands there not knowing what to do with herself. She eventually retreats back to her one spot on the bed.  But I can tell she doesn’t know what to do or where to go. Tuesday, on the other hand, is psychotically making circles round the apartment. She runs at top speed knocking stuff over and hitting the walls meowing as she goes. Not sure if it’s nerves or just thrilled to have some space to run.

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I am literally shoulder deep in boxes. In the past two days I have packed up my kitchen, living room, office and dining room. Just finished the bathroom, minus the shower curtain and towels. Tonight I will be breaking down the closet and drawers while washing the sheets. And tomorrow I have the morning to finish it all.

Holy crap I don’t know how I’ll be ready.

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I’ve reached the point where I am ready to just start throwing crap in boxes. There is all this random stuff left and I am not sure how to organize it. The annoyed what the hell do I do with non-organized stuff usually throws it out, but I think tossing it in a box and writing misc on it should be good enough for now.

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It’s the morning of and I was driving home this morning to make coffee and realized that though I remembered to not pack the coffee machine, I packed every single one of my coffee mugs. (refer back to beginning of this post - mom boxes). I pulled into the nearest gas station and grabbed some coffee and donuts. As I was pouring in cream and sugar I noticed they have flavors, so I treated myself to raspberry flavor shots in my coffee. I gotta say I may be investing in flavor bottles just to spice up my decaf coffee. I can’t seem to find the Ghiradelli chocolate coffee I love so much. I have settled on Dunkin Donuts, but it isn’t flavored with chocolate or anything. I didn’t like the idea of buying flavors to pour in my coffee simply because I am spending more money, but it is nice to have the taste.

So here I am sitting in front of my desk, crunching the box underneath me, drinking my coffee and eating my donuts. Outside of the music I am playing it is very peaceful. I am relishing this because I know in about four hours my dad will be coming over to oversee the process.  When he wants something done he is a commander. That’s why I like it. Things get done, but once he gets here there will be no silence until the move is over. Again, why I like it. But for just a little while I am going to breathe. Sitting here drinking my coffee - the donuts are gone.

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Song of the day - here. (#4)

Last night I was walking by Izabel (my lovely Maine Coon cat) who was lounging luxuriously on the edge of the kitchen table (sadly the only place cats aren’t allowed is on the kitchen counter - and no, I don’t really believe they stay off when I am gone, but whatever). As I stopped to nuzzle my forehead on hers, she jumps up to play.

She rubs her chin on the chair, then bats at my hand. I take the red, thin ribbon loosely tied to the back of the table chair (everything is a toy) and throw it over her head. She immediately bucks and looks at me like T-Rex. Her eyes bulged from her head at the same time her pupils dilate enormously. I immediately back away.Whoops! Bad move. Kitty follows when prey runs.

I yell, NO! BACK OFF! She deflects the attempt at my control.

IZABEL!! I SAID NO! BACK OFF!  She keeps pursuing me as she looks around with how best to attack me. I run around the couch, then peer around.

See she doesn’t wear a collar with a bell. That is Tuesday (my British Shorthair) because Tues likes to run out the front door. Now I am very aware of how much I wish I had a big ass bell attached to my little menace. She sees me peering around the pillow and leans down to pounce. I pick up the cat toy laying nearest to me. It’s a long velvet thick string that is attached to a plastic pole. I throw it over the back of the couch to distract then hide amongst the pillows hoping for protection. She aggressively attacks the fishing pole and pulls it from my hands. I hear the savage growling and hissing as she takes it down. Poor cat toy. Lost another one.

I peek up over the pillow. Damn. She spots me. I am toast. I back away from the back of the couch and hide in front of it. I wait for what seems like an eternity. She makes no noise. I lay down on the floor and try to look under the couch for her whereabouts. But all along, she is smarter. She peers under the couch at me as she inches closer.

Finally I get my wits about me and realize she is no longer playing. She is in full on attack mode. So I stand up and in my best, I am the boss interpretation (because with Izabel there is no other boss, but her) I say “Izabel NO! Go lay down! No more!” I am immediately stunned because she does in fact walk leisurely around the couch and sits down in front of me in a demur like pose. It is then that I realize the fishing pole is hanging over her incredibly adorable face.

I lose it. I start laughing a full on belly laugh. Damn it. She thinks the game is amok again. And the dangling fishing pole only pisses her off more because she can’t seem to maneuver it off her head. It falls over her right eye, curves back over her left ear and down her back. She takes a step towards me.

No! I say loudly, but can’t keep from giggling when she glances up at me with her innocent eyes. The minute I laugh her eyes narrow and she starts the game again.

No! Izabel. I’m serious! No! Back off! But again, I laugh the minute she stops and looks at me. I can’t help it. She is just too cute. And I am stuck. Cornered between the couch and lazy boy. I can’t go around her and get out of the way of danger without walking right towards the lions mouth. So instead I sit on the floor. As far away from her as I can get. I bite my tongue to keep from laughing and take deep breaths to calm my heart (in hopes of calming Izabel). I am trying to get relaxed. Almost meditative.

Ten minutes later. I am safe. She is calm and has worked the fishing pole off her head. She has meandered back to the kitchen table.

As I walk by her, she takes a final swap at my arm with her paw. I can live with her feeling like she won.At least I walked away with all my limbs. And a bonus, no teeth wounds. I am not usually so lucky.

***my blog header pic is my Izabel’s eyes***

The other night I came home from a bit of fun with a nice little alcohol buzz and a headache quickly zeroing in on my fun and relaxing evening. I was able to sleep really well, til the headache woke me up a little after 4am. I forced my tired and achy body out of bed to get aspirin and some water. I dragged myself back to bed, pulled the covers up, got all warm and cozy.

Sigh

Okay now I can go back to sleep.

Scratch Scrat-scratch

What the -?

Scratch Scrat-scrat-scratch

Oh crap! I know that sound.

“Izabel! Use your litter box! Please don’t pee on the carpet! Go! Go use your litter box!”

Scratch Scrat-scrat-scratch

I kick my feet in the air throwing back the covers and heft myself out of bed, again. Only to get up and see her running into the closet where her litter box rests.

What the -?

Did she really just use the litter box?

When I told her to?

When she had to go?

For the first time, ever, my cat actually did something I asked her to, when I asked her to. OMG!

I need to figure out how to bottle this little miracle.

I am getting ready for bed. I grab a glass and fill it with water then proceed to turn lights off in my apartment. As I get to the bedroom I realize that in my walk through the apartment I didn’t see Tuesday. Since I wasn’t really looking I figure I just missed her.

I walk back into the living room peer around the curtain and look at her cat window seat. No cat.

I look on the couch. No cat.

I look under the table. No cat.

I look in the bathroom. No cat.

I look on the bed and in front of the patio doors. No cat.

Crap. She isn’t in any of her usual places.

I retrace my steps and start looking in some of the less obvious spaces. In the cat bed (they don’t really use the bed. big surprise there); behind the couch; under my desk; on the dining room chairs. No cat. I pull out my pillows from the bed (no I don’t always make my bed - let’s not get critical here) and pat down the comforter (she can be found hidden underneath with the smallest of indentations). No cat. I pilfer through the clothes in the closet (she loves to lay in between, behind and under all the clothes). No cat.

Now I get a little worried. Did I let her in the last time she went out the patio? Could she have gotten out? Nope I am pretty sure I let her back in and she hasn’t been out for awhile. She has to be in here somewhere.

I go back and start looking in all the confined places I would not think a cat could fit in. (I once found her hidden under a night stand with only a 2″ gap to crawl in - how she got under there is beyond me.) I look in the kitten condo (which is made for a little tiny kitten, but I have seen them both crawl in there even though it is usually used for a step stool). I look under the couch (2″ gap). I look in the kitchen cabinets (this cat is really good at opening doors). No cat.

And at this point I am thinking I should start a Vegas show so she can amaze the crowd with her cat bending and manuevering. The way she can manipulate her body into the smallest places would sell out in a minute.

When I get back in the bedroom I think the only place she can be is under the bed. I grab my flashlight and take a peek. I have a papazan chair cushion, a guitar bag and a gazillion shoes under there. Little to no crawl space. Perfect for a cat. Trying not to move anything (because that would take work) I move the flashlight around. No cat.

Damn it. Where is she. I am calling her. Which does no good because she never comes anyway. Once when I lived with my parents I came home from work after 10pm and found my mom out on the patio calling Tuesday’s name. Apparently she hadn’t come home that night and she was like clockwork. She would always walk in the dog door around 9:15pm. We spent over 30 minutes calling her name and rattling the treat container (lot of good that does she won’t even get up to get one course I usually walk over and give it to her anyway). After awhile I gave up and figured she would come home soon. We walk in the door and she is sitting about 6′ from the door looking out the window. I don’t k now how long she was there, but I am sure she was laughing the whole time.

I finally start pulling the cushion out from under the bed and her little head pops up. I guess I ruined the hidding spot because she promptly sauntered out and sat by the patio door.

Meow!

And after all that I could not remember for the life of me where I set my glass of water down.

above is a pic I took of Tues the other day when I think she was just plain bored; she proceeded to piss off Izabel enough to make her go chase her - quite comical.

Every single time I walked by my cat, Izabel last night she would leap up and jump on my leg, wrapping her body around my ankle and tried to bite me ferociously like some rabies induced dog. That is what happens when she doesn’t eat for three days. She would also sit by her bowl and cry. Being the tough love momma that I am, I would stir the food and then try to spoon feed her. Nope. I would waif the food smell in her direction hoping the scent would make her hungrier. Nope. I would call to her and baby talk her sitting right next to her bowl. No go.

This morning I put the food bowls down and Tuesday dived into her bowl and Izabel laid there looking at me from a distance. And after a few seconds of stubbornness, leaped up and ran for her bowl like she was in the Boston Marathon.

VICTORIOUS!!!!

SUPERSTAR!!!!

Oh yeah, I am the queen babe. I won!!! Sucker!!!

After three of the longest days of my life (and I am guessing hers) my cat will now be eating soft canned food with pumpkin in it. She will thank me for this one day. (probably not, but who cares?)

Do the jig with me. Uh huh, uh huh! Oh yeah!!

She not only ate every bite in her bowl, she finished off what was left in Tuesday’s bowl. She was hungry.

And will probably throw up every bite because of her immense hunger and eating way too fast.

Regardless, I won and she will eat what I feed her.

Every have one of those hairballs that just wouldn’t come up no matter what you do? kidding

Upon watching Martha Stewart she had a pet expert on talking about cats and their endless amounts of hairballs and what to do to help. Now this isn’t the first time I have heard of this remedy, nor is it the first time I have tried it either. But because Izabel tends to have a hairball every couple of days and when she does she runs to find me, while projectile vomiting, I have to find a cure. I can’t imagine it is any nicer for her than it is for me. I spend hours cleaning and she has to deal with more than a few issues herself.

The expert recommended spooning a teaspoon of organic canned pumpkin into a cat’s food at every feeding. I feed my cats a can of food in the morning and then 1/3 cup of hard food at night. Since Izabel will not under any circumstances eat canned pumpkin, I will have to mix it in her canned food in the morning and not give it to her at night since I can no cover it up in hard food.

I purchased a can of organic canned pumpkin, separated it in to three different containers. Two went in the freezer and one in the fridge. Early this morning I set the container of pumpkin on the counter to let it come to room temperature (hoping this would help disguise the smell and taste). Then I took the tiniest of spoons and mixed it with the food.

And the food strike begin.

I set the pre-mixed food down: Tuesday dove into the food with extra excitement; Izabel took one wiff and walked away. Honestly, I didn’t expect anything less. Tuesday doesn’t have many hairballs, in essence doesn’t really need the pumpkin. She will eat the pumpkin right off the spoon no hiding needed. Izabel who could really use any help with hairballs, will not eat it.

No matter how much I talked to her sweetly or re-mixed her canned food up in the bowl, she would not eat. And now realizing that she will go on a hunger strike I can not give her hard food at night until she eats the canned food with pumpkin because she will eat at night and go hungry in the morning and she will be fine with this. I need her to eat the pumpkin. So I have decided that I will have to feed them canned food until she decides to eat. And then I can go back to their regular feeding routine. I wonder how long she will be willing to go without eating in order to not eat the pumpkin.

Already I feel sorry for Tuesday and myself because I know how Izabel can turn well, not so nice. It doesn’t take much for her to stalk Tuesday and beat her up. It doesn’t take much for her to nudge up against me and then take a big bite out of my arm to let me know she is deeply unhappy.

I would love for Martha Stewart to have my Izabel on her show. I would love to see that “expert” give my cat pills. That would be a show to see.

There are a few pictures I wish I could get in life. One being when I am laying in bed reading or watching tv and Izabel jumps on the bed and comes over for her neck scratching which turns into her crawling up on me to lay diagonal across my chest. One foot perched on my shoulder, the other my collarbone; her head just above my stomach and her tail wrapped around my head. As she lays there I can feel her heart beating and if I move she makes this noise, “prfft.” I don’t know if she is telling me to hold still or what. And ever so slowly she will try to move closer to me, her side pushing into my jaw. If she could only move me over just a bit. She couldn’t possible get closer without laying on my face directly. And if she could, I sure she would. I find this particular habit of hers endearing. It is incredibly comforting. Especially when I know she has done this ever since she was a kitten. Only she was smaller, much smaller. Her entire body used to fit in curve of my neck. I think she still thinks she is two pounds.