The Lion in my Living Room

The other day my daughter suggested I see a Netflix video titled "The Lion in Your Living Room."  It was a documentary about cat behavior and how our domesticated fluffy companions have descended  and evolved from their big cat ancestors.

This was an amusing idea to me because sometimes I feel that humans are the ones who evolved and adapted to cats as opposed to the reverse.  Take my husband, for example.  He wasn't always a "cat person" (not all guys are eager to admit they are for some reason even if it's true) but now he is a bonafide cat lover.  Of course he has no choice because I subject him to the rigors of cat ownership and make him watch endless YouTube videos on cats.  My hubby realized it was easier to succumb to the cuteness of cats than insist upon his independence which is intolerable to cats.  The best way to get a cat to love you is to ignore them.  And I think in his case, it has paid off mightily.

We have one particular cat, Pepper, who isn't named that simply because of her looks.  She has a prickly personality and will only tolerate you in small doses.  Pepper would prefer to do a bobcat impression and hiss and spit at you rather than cuddle and adore you as most pets should.  In Pepper's defense, it's probably our fault she is such a little sh*t as we have been her owners since she was three weeks old and was socialized poorly (i.e. we didn't worship her adequately or teach the other cats to succumb to her greatness).  But out of the 7 cats we've owned, I've never had such an ornery and stubborn cat.  She has adopted one member of the household, and other than being fed, she refuses to acknowledge other humans or cats as her equal.  It only takes one moment for her to turn on you when she deigns to present her belly for rubbing, and then hears any noise, seriously, and run away.  A friend of mine has labeled her "one eye Pepper" because you more often see her backside as she runs off that a full cat sighting.  In terms of adapting and evolving, Pepper didn't get the memo on being a human companion or investing herself in the relationships that surround her.  Our other two cats might approach Pepper carefully for a sniff, and she retreats quickly or bats at them with her paw like an insulting face slap as if they were cat perverts.  Our cats just look at me after getting smacked as if to say "was it something I did?"  I can only reassure them that Pepper is so very sensitive, she doesn't need an excuse to work her magical charms at defensive hissing and/or scratching.

Remember I did say she has adopted one of us as her owner, and thank goodness it's my daughter who will eventually move away and take Pepper with her.  For some reason, Pepper feels safe only in her company and will happily submit to any number of indignities at the hands of this human. Whether it be her monthly claw trimming, or just being manhandled and juggled around like a stuffed toy, my daughter can do nothing to offend Pepper.  Yet Pepper appears twice daily for me to feed her and offer her culinary sacrifices such as Liver and Chicken pate or catnip flavored treats. She will then look at me with disgust at my meager offering and run away.  Or she will eat hers and any portion I have left for another cat.  Either way, she is entitled to this rude behavior because I have enabled it.  But how does one nurture a nasty kitty and teach it to be loving and kind?  I give up because I'm not about to call a cat psychic or the cat specialist and be trained on the art of submitting my dignity to this annoying cat.  Like I said, I love cats, but Pepper pushes the envelope in my home and makes the idea of a dog more attractive.

To all of you out there who have adopted and rescued a cat only to be treated with ingratitude and an aloof demeanor, you know how I feel.  The least these cats can do is sit on our lap or beside us once in awhile to make us feel like the generous hosts we are to their inexplicable ungraciousness.  *sigh*

Or we can recognize that not all cats have adapted and still expect to be worshipped as an Egyptian God.  I guess Pepper is waiting for her big debut on a tomb somewhere as the hieroglyph she aspires to be.  Stinker.

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You Smell Like You've Been With Another Cat....

 Have you ever been away from your home and your independent kitty comes to greet you (if you're lucky) does a double-sniff on you and then gets all needy and pushes up on you? It's kind of like a double take -- but it's when your kitty becomes obsessed with the smell of the rim of your shoes, or acts like your fingers smell like butter or something just isn't right...This happens to me when I have innocently TOUCHED an unfamiliar dog, cat, or human baby. It's like my cats zero in on alien aroma like its some kind of cardinal sin and they give me a wounded look like
"You JEZEBEL!" 

Now if this sounds extreme to you, I ask you to test your cat right now, go outside and rub someone you don't know (haha) or even better, squeeze a squirrel if you can catch one, and then offer your hands to your cat to see their reaction.  It's priceless.  They seldom recoil in disgust, most often the cat will wrap itself around you and lick you relentlessly with its scratchy tongue until it has absorbed the stench of your offending sin from your body.  Now, if your cat doesn't react that way, it just doesn't love you as much as my cats love me. LOL😀

I think I know why my cats do this.  My husband has offered the theory that they are incredibly possessive of me, my older daughter thinks they are waiting for an excuse to consume me and are just checking to see if I'm still alive by my reaction, and my younger daughter thinks the cats believe I am another cat and they are cleaning me so I can smell just like them.

But I agree with my husband and think it's because they just can't seem to get close enough to me and are incredibly jealous.  The best way to get a cat's attention is to totally ignore it.  I have the perfect example.  You've seen those pets interrupting yoga videos?

I know this behavior is not unique to cats.  Dogs (and most pets in general) hate to be ignored.  And who can blame them?  Until they can speak and tell us to fetch them a beer or teach us tricks, they are at our mercy and they have to be either heartwarming and cute or annoy the bejeezus out of us.

Anyway, back to the double-sniff.  I think once your cat has imprinted upon you like a baby bird, if it smells any eau-de-wtf or if you dare to touch another pet without its express consent, they need to investigate your infidelity.  They mark you with their cheeks, butts and paws which all contain scent glands. So when that friendly neighborhood cat comes up to say "hi" doing figure-eights around your legs--that's its way of saying "I know you! Mine!"  They may drool on you when they get a nice massage and come at you face first, and then arch their backs and use their paws on the nearest scratching post (your couch perhaps?) or "make biscuits" on you--massaging you with those paws--again pushing those pheromones ALL OVER YOU.  This is all feline for MINE MINE MINE MINE MINE!

I wish I could say that cats confuse me, but after owning so many cats, I completely get it. Cats are the only animals who can get away with this subtle rubbing and make it seem like they are just saying hello.  But it's the equivalent of a dog lifting it's leg and saluting a fire hydrant.  But take it as a compliment. When you get all this attention and a cat wants to smell where you've been, just remember, you don't own a cat, it owns you. 

The Cuteness Factor

Our "kitten" is no longer a kitten.  He's more like a puppy. Anyone who has ever had a Ragdoll breed mix will tell you they're…well, different.  We renamed him Simon because Snickers just didn't work for me.  It sounded too much like Tigger and just saying it made me well up with tears and I just can't go there... still.

You can see for yourself he's grown since his original blog photo:

He thinks he's a pillow

Anyway, back to my wittle kitty.  First, he's not so little anymore. He is a typical kitty in most ways.  He eats.  He sleeps.  He plays.  He sleeps again.  But this cat has sleeping down to an art form.  I have never had a cat who can mold himself to any piece of furniture or person he is laying on and almost morph into it like a lizard taking on some kind of camouflage.

????

Where does the blanket end and the cat begin?

Ahhh, if only I could get that comfortable.  We have tried many times to allow him to sleep with us, but for some reason he insists on prancing around with his dagger paws on our organs while we sleep, therefore he has been banished from the bedroom.  He is finally settling down to the routine of most cats and sleeping 22 of the 24 hours in the day.  The other two hours are spent snorting down kibble or hunting the other cats so that he can practice his predatory tactics.  Why it's necessary for him to wait for the other kitties to be doing their business in the litter boxes to play "sneak attack" is beyond me.  Evidence of this skirmish is the litter sprayed everywhere and the sound of the thundering chase. When we catch him in the act, we would love to say he is scolded, but the problem is he has a cuteness factor of "+10".  Where our other cats have had at least "+8", Simon has this gift of looking precious even when we catch him in the act of doing something that you know HE KNOWS is a NO NO.

For example, the other day I was bending over some files in my office and as I stood up I noticed him perched on the edge of the chair preparing to leap onto my back.  ONTO MY BACK. Yes, he was going to ambush ME.

This was the photo I took when I peeked up and saw him about to jump >>>

I was just sitting here, really….

You can see from his demon stare that nothing good was going to happen in the next 10 seconds.  But the cuteness factor required that I go over and scoop him up and squeeze and kiss him instead of scold him…He is a spoiled rotten baby.

He also doesn't get along well with one of our other cats, Pepper.  Not only does he provoke her at every opportunity, he tries to look innocent while doing so.  Before Simon came along, Pepper was the sassy kitty who walked around, tail in the air, determining who was worthy of her cuteness.  Now we are lucky if we see her.  In fact, if she makes an appearance, Simon will blatantly "cat block" her so that she can't get to me.  Of course he did it all while looking cute.

You shall not pass!

Poor Pepper.  All I can say is that his cuteness isn't wasted.  My iPhone has never had so many photos of felines before.  If I happen to scroll through to show someone my latest vacation photos, they realize quickly that I am certainly the "cat lady" from the quantity of Simon "selfies" contained in those albums.  Now that fall is approaching, I may as well start searching for my cat lady sweaters and crazy catalogs of whatever knickknacks you find in a hoarders home.  That's where I'm headed I suppose.  Hoarding cute cats.

Saved by Cuteness

Welcome to the Alphacat family....SNICKERS!!

Our newest addition

It's been a long month for me.  Grieving my Tigger has been awful.  Then two weeks later the vet calls and says come pick up his ashes.  (Big boo boo face)


I have to say the imprint of his paw is what sent me over the edge.  So I relentlessly hit the internet on all adoptable pet search engines and came up with...nothing.  Kittens don't really arrive in abundance until at least April. And in my grief-addled frenzy I even offered to foster any nursing mommy or pregnant cat.  Of course this raised my husband's eyebrows, but loving me the way he does he wisely told me to do "what I feel capable of..."  This is code for saying he knows I won't overwhelm the house with cats but REALLY wants me to do what makes me happy.  Which is just adopt one single cat.

Tigger now rests on my dresser

I may be the CAT LADY but he merely tolerates this as an endearing quirk.  (I use the word "endearing" knowing full well that in my current frame of mind, hoarding cats is just one adoption event away) 

But, the gods smiled down on my husband and I received a response to a local rescue that received my adoption request for the little booger you see at the top of this page.  His name was "Bloo"...for his amazing blue eyes.  He is 12 weeks old and comes from a family of Ragdoll mixes who were rescued from a cattery.  His mom died after giving birth because she was barely old enough to have a litter.  Not one to dwell on sad details, I am grateful he survived and is now in my possession. 

We went to pick him up in a Petco parking lot where his foster mom had him and his littermates.  He was buried in the bottom of the pile...shaking with anxiety and perhaps the cold.  We have been suffering week after week of record cold and snow here in the Mid-Atlantic states and I can't express more heartily my attitude of "Suck it Winter!!"

He had a long ride home and now the necessary sequester period has begun while the other cats nervously pace around knowing something underhanded is going on.  What's more frustrating...having to isolate this little poopsie or neglect the kitties on the other side of the door???  I'm literally torn.  Which is where my daughter comes in.   She has strict instructions to overcompensate with the existing cats, Toonsis and Pepper, so that they know they aren't losers just because they aren't tiny irresistible attention-hogs.

I've been rewarded with an amazingly affectionate kitten who wants to massage everything that has a pulse.  He was given the name "Snickers" because he's as sweet as chocolate, the color of blended caramel, and still has his nuts.  Temporarily.  (snicker snicker--ha ha works as mocking laughter too!)

So, there you have it.  I'm cured of depression by the arrival of a little fluffball.  I will always miss my dearest Tigger.  But I know somewhere up there he's looking down on us adoringly and thinking, "Hey!  Get out of my spot, you little pretender!!"

sleepy little angel

Moving on...

My last post was a tribute to my special best friend, Tigger, who crossed the "Rainbow Bridge" on January 23.  This blog post is about my recovery and now my obsession to move on with my cat lady life.

Tigger, RIP

Since Tigger's passing my other cats have been grieving.  No, they aren't wailing into tissues and endlessly surfing the Pet Channel for stories that will inspire and stimulate them.  They are pretty cold mourners, actually.  My Toonsis has been a little more vocal than usual and has spent time sniffing under furniture and pulling back drapes to find her hidden companion.  She stares at me as if to say, "what did you do with my buddy?"  I need to clarify these cats were hardly sleep companions.  In fact, Tigger often pounced on Toonsis whenever she got too close to him or sniffed him too enthusiastically.  When they were younger and Toonsis was first introduced, Tigger merely tolerated her and shrugged her off, knowing he was my favorite and she was just my daughter's plaything.  Over time, they grew more compatible and would lay beside each other on the floor and definitely spent time together scouting out sunny places to relax.

Toonsis as a baby

Tigger (center) surrounded by Toonsis (left) and Pepper (right)

Pepper, my youngest cat, has been pretty cavalier about her friend's disappearance. The only time I think she notices he is missing is when it's mealtime and she seeks my big boy to annoy him until I get fed up and feed them both.  Now she eats twice daily like a NORMAL PET.  She has gotten pretty porky lately because I had to feed Tigger constantly--whenever he would eat.  And so whatever he left, those scraps were her specialty.  So her grief has taken the form of a cat who needs to join Overeaters Anonymous.

I have spent time volunteering at the local animal shelter, offering to foster cats now that I am down one.  I always enjoyed fostering as it gave me the impression I was socializing unworthy cats (haha) with my attention and love.  It was always difficult to turn them back over to the shelter, and that may be a problem for me now as well.  I don't know.  After all, that is how Pepper came into the family.  Ungrateful kitty.

But without my constant companion I feel a little lost and think I need to find a way to transfer my affection onto cat(s) who need humans as much as I need them.  Today I am off to an adoption event to discuss this with existing foster families and we will see what I come home with.  Probably an application and a promise of a home visit.

I say I am "obsessed" because I can't seem to shake this loneliness I feel without my best kitty friend.  I've spent time on Petfinder.com thinking I will see that perfect companion waiting for my rescue.  I receive emails from friends telling me to run out and adopt a kitten NOW.  Perhaps waiting until "kitten season" would be best when I can be as choosy as I like.  Getting a new pet in a desperate state is not a good way to ensure a good fit.  Sure, I have two other cats to pour my love on--but frankly, they are so independent and non-cuddly that it just isn't enough.  I want to fuss.  Tigger was such a high maintenance cat that I'm used to the fuss and now have too much free time to mourn him.  I want to pet a cat that doesn't run away when she sees me coming (unless it's dinnertime). 

So off I go...on a mission.  I wonder what the day will bring.  With any luck I will not cry today.  And I will not bring home a puppy.  LOL--that's the threat I use on my husband when he tells me to wait.  I am impatient, like a cat myself, and will restlessly prowl until I find a new litter mate.

When Your Best Friend Dies...

This blog post is dedicated to the "alpha cat" in my household.  Tigger, my amazing dog-like cat, has gone on to heaven to play with the butterflies and ladybugs. I knew that saying goodbye to him would be awful, but it feels like a part of my heart has been shredded as I wander around my home, looking to find remnants of his presence so I can feel close to him in spirit.

He always maintained the cat balance in the home

His habit was to reach out to me and touch me with his sweet paws

He always gave me his honest opinion

Accepting of strangers--our greeter.

Poor Tigger was diagnosed with Chronic Renal Failure in October.  For three long months he's been tolerating sub-cutaneous IV fluids, choking down hypertension pills, and foaming at the mouth with his Pepcid AC pills.  If he saw me coming he would run under the kitchen table--knowing I would eventually grab him and get that sucker in his mouth.  God--he hated pills!!!

As I sit here with my heart in my throat I am missing his constant presence and human-like sensitivity to my emotions.  I may have two remaining cats, but neither of them console my weeping like Tigger did.  He was there for me after the devastating loss of a dear father-in-law where I literally cried into his furry body for days.   He was there for me during numerous surgeries and applied himself to my body with his rhythmic purrs and healing touch.  When we sat together, he would often make eye contact and give me that loving cat squint-blink to let me know all was well and he loved me.  No matter what.

I thought, in the end, that his death would be a relief for him and for me.  He was clearly suffering in his final week with a decreasing appetite and he started looking for places to hide and be alone.  He preferred not to be touched in any way and began to howl at night and prowl around restlessly as if he was confused or just didn't feel good.  His numbers were bad--the veterinarian confirmed that it was a short matter of time before he might "crash" and have a heart attack, multiple organ failure, or slip into a coma.  As his precious body grew weaker and thinner I could hardly bear to see him eagerly greet me and attempt to jump on my lap.  I knew our time together was coming to a close and now had the humane imperative to put an end to his suffering.  I didn't want to contemplate the potential for a cat that had died alone and afraid or in pain.  I opted to have the vet come to my home on January 23 and he climbed into my arms where he was sedated.  The last noise I ever heard him make was his endearing snore as he drifted off for the last time.  By the time it was over, I was sobbing hysterically and full of remorse--had I done something wrong to lose this sweet companion?  No.  I know that my life was blessed because of his presence and by his unrelenting love and loyalty.  I pray that now he rests in a place where the sun shines warmly on him and he is with those others who have gone before him--my angels whom I pray will greet me when it's my time to pass.

Now having survived my first week without Tigger I am still crying daily.  I still long for his fat belly to stroke and his raspy tongue to lick my hand.  Sometimes I even think he is right beyond my reach, perceiving a shadow in the corner of my eye that teases me with its promise of a sweet reunion.  Someday.

I am no expert on cat grief, but this is my third beloved cat to pass from a form of organ failure.  I suppose I should consider myself lucky to have had them all for the years I did and none of them died in a sudden accident.  I also know that these cats have all been lovingly spoiled and lived far better lives than thousands of cats on this earth.  This still does not ease the pain.  It seeps into my fingertips as I reach for tissue after tissue.  Grief is something that takes hold of your heart and turns you into a wounded warrior who battles on every day and commits to go on living and fighting to be strong.

All of this may sound excessive in the wake of the death of what many consider "just a fluffy companion."  But when an animal shares your life, in many cases it becomes such an integral part of your family that it feels like the loss of a part of yourself. 

Everything I read tells me not to go out and adopt again for awhile.  Allow my remaining cats to grieve and adapt.  My first impulse is to offer to foster kittens but none are available currently and so my wait begins for my heart to mend and to accept my loss.  Until then, each day I wake to the quiet of a house where Tigger no longer dwells and my other cats look at me mutely, as if to tell me they, too, wonder what's next.

There's No Place Like Home

We are finally home from our two week vacation to England, and after trekking all over the UK and living out of suitcases and feeling like nomads, I am very happy to be home again.  I can tell you who else is happy for us to be home--our cats!!  Not that they weren't in good hands.   As is typical for their summer vacation from us, they got a visitor to stay with them to dote on their every need and get acquainted with their perpetual desire for FOOD, sleep, FOOD, play, FOOD, and a place to puke or leave an "impression."  When I was away, my first week was like cat detox.  I didn't miss them too badly.  I wondered how they were adapting, but, for the most part, not having to wake up to the wailing call of a mighty feline who hasn't eaten in 8 hours (GASP!) was quite refreshing.  It was also kind of nice not to have to run tape over my pants because they didn't have fur stuck to them from the cat's decision to walk all over them when I laid them out in the morning.  Or having to check litter boxes three times per day.  Or have a cat digging its dagger paws into my lap when I just wanted to sit quietly. 

But somewhere around the week two mark, cats became like exotic animals to me.  Both my daughter and I would see a stray cat in a garden or someone's private yard and we would fuss as if it were one of the historic sites we paid to see.  Naturally, these foreign felines would look at us skeptically, knowing we were American, and then dashed off in a British manner.  Not to say they weren't friendly.  They just thought we were odd.  I could tell.  British cats are very proper.  And they all wore top hats. And drove Mini-Coopers.

So when we would collapse at night on our beds in our hotels, I genuinely longed for my absent cats. You get used to those little shadows darting around your legs, especially when you come down the stairs first thing in the morning.  It's amazing they haven't killed me yet with the game of "Let's Trip Mommy!" Why they see dashing between my legs scissoring up or down stairs as a challenge or competition something frisky and fun, I'm not sure.  But one day they might just be chewing on my fingers as I lay at the bottom...little tricksters!!  What a great game!


And I missed the conjured slow blink of love that I get as a result of their ancestry as witches "familiars."  You know when a cat is contentedly laying where it probably shouldn't and you approach to scold and they turn to you and give you the slit-eyes and stare--penetrating your soul and glamouring you like a vampire.  "You will let me lay here...I love you...You love me...This is MY spot.  This is NOT forbidden..."  Try THAT next time you're at work and need some time off...not so easy to pull off, is it? More than likely you will end up with a new nickname or a lawsuit.

Ahh, to be loved by a cat is to be accepted for who you are.  They don't notice your bedhead in the morning.  They don't comment on your weight gain after a holiday or tell you that chocolate is going to give you a headache.  They don't judge you for how many naps you take despite your list of things that needs to get done when you see them stretched out...it's just so inviting to lay there beside them, stroking their fur and having a staring contest.  I wouldn't mind a little more privacy in the bathroom, but it's a small price to pay for having that little spirit nearby always massaging your ankles and bonking you with its head as if to say, "You're my person.  Welcome home."