16 posts tagged “animals”
(Sorry for the abundance of Fritz on this blog. It'll calm down eventually. Although really, if you get sick of seeing animals, I'm not sure how we became neighbors in the first place.)
I meant to include this in the last update as an example of Fritz's madness; Deltan's comment reminded me. Fritz is entirely obsessed with this folding planet chair we have. It used to be a lovely, solid black. It now looks like:
Note: This post is super long and picture-heavy. Hope no one in my neighborhood is on dial-up. :/
Two weeks ago, I made a teaser post about finally doing what I've been wanting to for 3 years now: getting my own kitty! Sorry for the delay, but here's an in-depth review of what happened.
This all started because Heather felt compelled to send me a video of an adorable cat at our local PetSmart (a company which adopts out animals from shelters--I'd never buy an animal from a pet store). Of course I was powerless to resist my need to go see this kitty for myself, and while she turned out to be a tiiiny bit too wild for my tastes, I did happen to really like a sweet chunky cat named "Jewel" (um, a name I would've changed). I made myself wait to adopt, and that Friday I decided to take some old newspapers to donate to the shelter--and you know, maybe I would look at the cats a little. Of course, I fell in love with a billion, but one in particular: Mozart, a lovable Siamese whom someone else had had declawed. My mind was made up to get a cat, but I needed to wait for Brian to go with me since it would be his cat too.
The next day my awesome parents came up to help us out. We spent at least 2 hours obtaining various cat supplies, still undecided between Jewel, Mozart, and now a new fiesta of cats that ANOTHER shelter had brought into PetSmart just for Saturday. (Including a cat that looked eerily like Donatello, the cat I'd had for some 17 years. Ultimately, though, I know I wouldn't have been able to deal with that.) But I'd spent all evening thinking about Mozart, and my heart was getting set...
...only to find when we arrived at the shelter an hour and a half after they opened that he'd been adopted! I was happy he'd found a home, but now more decisions had to be made!
After looking and playing and ear-scritching the 30 or so cats, I was becoming very drawn to Fritz, a cat I hadn't even considered the day before. (Actually, just before we left for the shelter I told my mom about him--I knew she'd love his coloring.) He was affectionate, friendly, and quite sad when we left the room. I felt bad for Jewel--and um, still do--but I'd been charmed by Fritz.
Brian and I are both taking Claritin every day in an attempt to thwart allergies, but to make sleeping a more bearable undertaking we've decided that at least for now, we're not letting Fritz into our bedroom when we sleep our on our bed at all. This was an adjustment for Fritz the first night.
When I woke up the next morning, I checked his litter box to scoop it... only to find nothing in there? That seemed odd, because he hadn't pooed since we'd gotten him some 18 hours earlier. I went to my office to check my e-mail and smelled--as you might be able to guess--poopies. Apparently Fritz was not quite as litterbox trained as the shelter thought.
The following Monday morning I took Fritz to the nearest vet for a post-shelter check-up and to get some treatment for what looked like an upper respiratory infection. To make a long story short: my experience was not good. It was very, very bad. I won't bother going into extreme details, but we're talking hour-and-a-half wait and being given improper instructions regarding Fritz's medicine (including a lack of information about a vaccine they gave him). After three days of poor Fritzy having to have antibiotics (and poor me having to give them to him), I woke up the next Thursday morning to find Fritz puke-puke-puking. I was worried sick (as was he, apparently) and decided to take him to the vet recommended to me by a number of my coworkers--and had the absolute best vet experience I could've hoped for. They determined he was probably allergic to the antiobiotic and gave him a one-time shot, which seems to have cured his URI. They also took care of all the other things the other vet couldn't/wouldn't, including trimming claws, getting mats out of his fur, checking his ears thoroughly, testing and treating him properly for any possible worms, etc. I could've bought him 3 more kitty friends for the amount I paid for this particular vet visit, but I'm so glad to know I have a vet I trust now. (You know, one who will tell me that he needs a second shot to complete his feline leukemia vaccination.)
Fritz seemed to feel better almost immediately, and we quickly realized that while he is still a very easy-going cat, Fritz is perhaps not quite as mellow as we had thought he was when he was apparently not feeling well. We began to see the Fritz Monster.
Edited to Add: Although the shelter listed Fritz as simply a domestic shorthair/mix, I did a little research and as far as I can tell, Fritz appears to be a Colorpoint Shorthair, which I happen to think is awesome. I don't even know if that's a Serious Big-Time Important Breed, or if he's even officially considered that breed, but I love his coloring and beautiful blue eyes. He's also incredibly soft!
I'm exhausted and have to get up early, so consider this a teaser trailer for an upcoming blog post:
A few weekends back my dad found, buried away behind the couch, this winter hat I'd bought (and lost) years ago. How the hat became lodged behind the couch is a matter of speculation, although I suspect I know who the responsible party was--the story behind it:
This was one of those ridiculous hats, made of very fake leopard print fur and with cat ears on top, giving the wearer the illusion of having, well... a cat-head. It was absurd and I loved it. One day, not too long after my purchasing this ridiculous monstrosity of headwear, I was wearing it when I walked into the den and encountered my beloved cat Donatello. (Full name: Dontatello Ninja Cat. I was very into Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles at the age of 5, when my cat's not-especially-gender-appropriate name was bestowed upon her.) Imagine my surprise when my own pet, instead of running up to me in greeting, recoiled in fear, arched her back, and inflated her tail to raccoon-like fluffiness. After a pause, I spoke to her, and upon recognizing my voice she calmed and ran up to me as usual (although still a bit wary of my head).
Shortly after this event, my hat disappeared, not to be seen again for several years. Donatello passed away at the worthy old age of 17, and the hat was only remembered when the story was recounted about Donatello's strange reaction to the giant two-legged cat that approached her. Until recently, when as I said the hat was discovered--behind the couch. A completely illogical place for a hat. Donatello's favorite hiding place to escape those scary things--vaccuums, rambunctious dogs, etc.--that plague a cat's daily existence.
COINCIDENCE?! I suspect not. I believe Donatello vowed not to give in to headgear terrorism, and took matters into her own hands. With no front claws to dole out enough damage to destroy the hat, she hid away the weapon of cat-confidence destruction where no amused human could find it. I couldn't help but smile imagining it.
So what was the first thing we did upon finding the hat? Why, test it out on Chloe--who had the exact same fluffed-up, frightened, and cruelly hilarious reaction.
I think Donatello would be amused to know the joke's been passed on to the next generation of household pets.
All those years of toting around a bajillion-pound bookbag seem to have come in handy, as apparently I managed to pick up a 37-pound squirming dog and place her in my car.
See here, and scroll down (not very far) to "Carole." (Worst name for a dog ever, btw. ...No offense if you named your dog Carole.)
On April 16th, the day before my recital, I left the parking lot of my apartment with ten minutes to get to class, and went through the intersection of my apartment's street and a bigger highway--on which stood a frightened looking young dog. Seriously, in the middle of the frakking road. With an oncoming 18-wheeler who fortunately, thanks to a red light, was slowing already. In case you don't already know, I am an animal person like whoa. There's a dramatic story involving I-65 and a dog I could tell, but I won't go there right now. Needless to say, I could not handle seeing this and go on to class.
I pulled over, watched the dog wander aimlessly (and senselessly) down the side of the highway, and after startling it, relied on the good old-fashioned squat down, pat your legs, and make high-pitched baby talk at the animal technique--which worked like a charm, and I was quickly bowled over by the very sweet lost dog. After checking with a neighbor, who confirmed the dog didn't belong to anyone nearby and had been wandering around there as of late, I decided it was in the dog's best interest to take her to the local humane shelter. Which, apparently, is freaking 30 minutes away.
After several attempts at convincing the dog it would be awesome to jump through the door of my car, I gave up and picked her up myself. I placed a towel on the back seats (leather interior, people!), so Doggie decided it would be better to climb into the front seat. I placed the towel in the front seat; suddenly the back seat seemed more appealing. I began to drive; now my lap, the tiniest of spaces between steering wheel and gearshift, seemed the most comfortable spot to the moderately-sized dog. After I assured her that no, I would no be able to shift with her sitting there, she settled for the traditional doggie-wanders-all-over-the-car drive.
It broke my heart to drop her off at the shelter, but I asked about their...erm...policies, and was assured that as long as she could get along with the other dogs fairly well (and it was clear she would be), she'd be placed on the adoption floor, where some dogs had been for 5 months or more. (None of this three-day-disposal business you hear rumors of, although who knows at other shelters?) I tried to call and check on her a week later, only to encounter an impossible automated system that prevented any actual human contact. Lovely.
But I checked the website this morning when I couldn't sleep, and BAM! There she was! Definitely not a Carole--I like to think of her as a Bazooka or at the very least, a Blue--but that'll do for now. I hope someone snatches up this sweetie.
It's no secret I desperately want a cat. As you might remember, back in August the universe was sending me cats, even though I feel certain the universe is aware that my apartment does not allow them. The most memorable of these was an adorable little black-and-white kitten who I just so happened to take two pictures of on my cell phone:
So! This past weekend I was forced to get a new phone due to my LG Chocolate's general suckage. (Just after the one year warranty was up, the touch screen starts acting funny--either not working at all or repeatedly pressing buttons that I only pressed once. This is especially annoying if the button is "send" and the phone continually redials after I've hung up.) I also got a micro SD card and adapter in order to save the 150-ish pictures/movies I had on my old phone. I found the two above pictures and wondered about my little kitten--I never saw him again.
Fast forward a week to today, when I pull into my apartment's parking lot and notice near the House of 1,000 Cats that's across the street a small but adult black and white cat. I think, "Man, look at his white paws. And his absurdly large ears. It couldn't be...?" After some persuasion I convince him to come over to me and give him some lovins... And confirm the weird little white-lip marks on both this cat and the pictures of the kitten!
He's still pretty tiny and very playful. Except now he has the sort of nervous-crazy thing happening that the other cats that hang out at House of 1,000 Cats have--always moving and swishing his tail (thus the blurriness of some pictures). It's sooo hard not to take him in, but no! I must resist. At least this time he's not a tiny kitten crying outside my door, I suppose. I'm so glad to see he's okay!!
Which breed of dog is your favorite? Post a picture of it.
Submitted by Melissa.
Aside from the ever-faithful and lovable mutt (I mean really--why pay hundreds to thousands of dollars for a designer breed guaranteed to get a home if there are tons of free or almost free mutts out there that desperately need good homes... /endvisityourlocalanimalshelterrant), I love love love Afghan Hounds:
...or whatever her name may end up being.
Last weekend I persuaded my mom to take me to the new Petsmart in my hometown. We looked at two adult kitties in particular: a very pretty little calico named Tashi, and a tabby named Nicole (not an excellent cat name imho, but whatever). My mom was particularly taken with Tashi, and even made my dad take her to go visit again the following Monday.
This weekend I of course wanted to go see what new kitties we might find... imagine our surprise to find Tashi and Nicole still there! Okay, truth be told I'm not surprised about Nicole. She was a little older than most people tend to find adorable (2 years), had no crazy markings, and wasn't especially active from what I could tell. (I, of course, loved her for these very reasons.) But Tashi was cute, gorgeously marked, and seemed friendly--especially when they let you into the back to interact with her. I was surprised no one had snatched her up.
Unfortunately, Nicole = not a cat cat. Furthermore, after the month-and-a-half of life-in-a-box that she and Tashi had each spent in Petsmart, she apparently had started to crack; the workers said she had been very sweet until this last week, when she started getting angry and a little claw/bite-happy. She was very affectionate with me, but got agitated and unhappy when other cats were brought out.
After returning home, convincing an oh-so-unwilling father to go see the kitties, and deciding that Tashi was just too lovable to pass up... my mommy got herself her very own kitty. =)
Pardon the craptastical formatting, but I'm too tired to make this post look pretty. Also, all the pictures were taken on my cell phone (geez, if I'd've known my parents were getting a kitty I would've brought my camera home...), so the color looks a bit weird. But she's so pretty!
There's more to this story, specifically involving Nicole... but it could get a little sad, and I'll know more Monday, so perhaps a post then. Until then, there's Tashi! =D
And now it's time for an excellent band: Travis.
I want to sing, to sing my song
I want to live in a world where I belong
I want to live, I will survive
And I believe that it won't be very long
If we turn, turn, turn, turn turn
We might learn.
Okay, those lyrics do the song no justice. Frankly, I think the band writes some gorgeous melodies. The music is pretty mellow (aside from what I think is their first album, Good Feeling), the band is (according to all-knowing Wikipedia) "Scottish indie-rock," and you should listen to something. The big singles that I know of were "Why Does It Always Rain on Me" and "Sing." I think this "Turn" song was featured on a recent episode of Scrubs. I COULD BE WRONG, AND I'VE WRITTEN TOO MUCH.
The reason I'm listening to music, a strange phenomenon I haven't been doing enough of lately, is that I'm packing for--what else?--a trip to California. Normally, I'm nerdtastically enthusiastic about packing; frankly, it's fun to plan outfits, make lists of things to not forget, and strategically place objects in suitcases so that they fit perfectly (a feat that's never as easy to do when you're repacking your stuff to come home). But tonight... meh. In fact, "meh" seems to mostly describe the past week or so. I'm in some sort of summer funk; I like nothing better than to sleep for 12 hours a day, take care of the requisite 3-5 hours of work four days a week, then spend the remainder of my day on the couch. No bueno, I declare. I usually have to work to keep myself from packing days in advance; tonight, it's been a struggle to bust out the suitcases, 12 hours before my flight leaves.
Hopefully, the trip out to California (and some much needed interaction with other people, including of course the boyfriend) will make this mood lift. I'm looking forward to it, even if I'm too tired/lethargic to realize it.
As for cats. It's been rather freaky, actually, but I'll try and make this story short (I'm pretty sure it interests no one but me). The Saturday before last, I had a Most Adorable Kitten show up at my door. Anyone who knows me knows that what I want more than anything is a kitty, so I found this pretty weird; here's this cute and very affectionate cat. I know I can't have a cat, though, so eventually I went inside and left him outside (where he cried). The next morning, he was still hanging around; I left to sing, and he was still there two hours later when I returned. Eventually he left for good, and I spent the week regretting my lack of balls--why didn't I just take him in?
Exactly one week later, as I walk out to my car, a black cat sees me and runs up to me. A second black cat runs up to me from the other side of the parking lot. A third runs up to me from behind me, a small gray kitten in tow. ...Double-you tee eff, I ask. They hang out for awhile; I go inside. I peek back outside a while later, and they have literally left this kitten on my doormat. I remind myself that I CANNOT HAVE A CAT, and go back inside. The next morning, I'm woken up by a kitten crying; it's the same gray kitten, this time outside my apartment's back window.
I was terribly amused when I stumbled across the following children's book at work, which repeated the lines, "Hundreds of cats; Thousands of cats; Millions and billions and trillions of cats." It felt very like my own story. (Except the cats around me didn't end up eating each other, as in the slightly disturbing book.)
