tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55834917261418555732024-03-05T00:12:18.933-08:00It's Mel's Place, I Just Live Herekwhitlock84http://www.blogger.com/profile/03776879484107445854noreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5583491726141855573.post-33096911116351718142011-05-22T07:23:00.000-07:002011-05-22T17:16:21.682-07:00Warrior MelYesterday I participated in something called "Warrior Dash" with my friends Mel (erm, that would be my human friend Mel) and Robert. <br />
Upon completion of the 5k ridiculous obstacle course (and by ridiculous I mean everything you ever wanted to do as a kid and were told not to - giant slip and slides, swimming through mud pits, hay bale mountains, cargo nets), you are awarded a "warrior helmet." <br />
<br />
After I got home, Mel took immediate interest in all of the smells on my muddy, disgusting clothes, promptly sprayed them where I had temporarily dropped them on the linoleum in my entry way while I took a shower, and let me know that whatever other animals I had been playing with that day (um, or in? as the case may be - there was a cow pasture right next to the course...I hope that the cow pasture stayed next to the course and not part of it but...) they, and their smells, were most certainly NOT welcome in Her home. <br />
<br />
So this morning, to be supportive of her good sportsmanship yesterday, I tried the warrior helmet on her for size:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirrc_S7FR68J8pgsYEm0h2kOefLKBaPF11sRXC-7A1WNS15hiwBn98EU-tkFD1YbV4RWvMItZvNNztk9F74AhqJBOVNnbisfjYZ_yL3waKVmKQK2LO9HkSECVc765624BHJMkYyrL5L2Ag/s1600/warrior+mel.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirrc_S7FR68J8pgsYEm0h2kOefLKBaPF11sRXC-7A1WNS15hiwBn98EU-tkFD1YbV4RWvMItZvNNztk9F74AhqJBOVNnbisfjYZ_yL3waKVmKQK2LO9HkSECVc765624BHJMkYyrL5L2Ag/s320/warrior+mel.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPaqCVowOzHrJPwsEn1-Dn_wtatliHWkXEogP8WVWaHDxcig86ZC1Go2zy-6gMbDQcmqsimANYGXTquIGDRM4oSqLbGHNzrMXannPh4NIOpkmApE5gw0RQjiONd613CDxEh9QH8Tpno3JM/s1600/mel+warrior+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPaqCVowOzHrJPwsEn1-Dn_wtatliHWkXEogP8WVWaHDxcig86ZC1Go2zy-6gMbDQcmqsimANYGXTquIGDRM4oSqLbGHNzrMXannPh4NIOpkmApE5gw0RQjiONd613CDxEh9QH8Tpno3JM/s320/mel+warrior+2.JPG" width="291" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
I think that pretty much sums up anything else I could possibly say. She will probably kill me in my sleep tonight. If only she knew I posted pictures on the Internet as well....kwhitlock84http://www.blogger.com/profile/03776879484107445854noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5583491726141855573.post-84257950861179201712011-05-19T20:59:00.000-07:002011-05-20T05:28:22.770-07:00Axis of EvilThe other day my friend Amanda posted an article from cracked.com on my Facebook wall, titled "<a href="http://www.cracked.com/article/226_6-adorable-cat-behaviors-with-shockingly-evil-explanations/">6 Adorable Cat Behaviors with Shockingly Evil Explanations</a>." <br />
<br />
Mel, of late, has been particularly unsettled. A couple weeks ago she bit my face rather aggressively and drew blood. Yes, I realize that there are people who would have instantly taken her to the shelter, or worse. <br />
<br />
Call me an idiot, but twenty minutes later we had reconciled and I was gloating about how cute she was. It's moments like this that the fact that she has such an upper hand in our relationship terrifies me, to put it lightly. <br />
<br />
I'm psychologically controlled by an evil furry four legged General, as my friend Sarah calls her. <br />
<br />
It's really bothered me that she's been in such a rotten mood. We sort of feed off of each other symbiotically, and when she's pissy, it makes me pissy because I know I'm about to lose blood. She snapped at my face again last night and I can't figure out where this behavior is coming from. Currently she is curled up in the nook of my arm. My dad asked if she was feeling okay - since she acts rabid all the time, I really have no way to tell. She acts like she wants attention, then chomps off a finger when you go to scratch her chin. She wants up on the bed, but doesn't want me on the bed with her - well that's not so un-normal. <br />
<br />
So I read the article that Amanda had posted on my FB wall, more amused than taking anything to heart. <br />
<br />
Well today I noticed something. Now that I've read the article, I'll never look at my cat the same way again.<br />
<br />
First, please refer to the last picture of #6 (the first item) in the article. This is how I sort of think of Mel. All the time. Which is why I post cute, fuzzy pictures of her on FB - to remind myself that she's a normal cat (an oxymoron if I've ever heard one). It's like, if I post pictures of her looking cute, I'll stop thinking of this image I have that is very similar to the last picture in item #6.<br />
<br />
But it was #5 that got me going. #5 - "Leaving Their Poop Uncovered as an Insult." As I read the article for the first time, I thought, "Mel would never do that. She's far too much of a lady." Mel has always covered her poops and sprayed kitty litter from the laundry room to kitchen in the process. <br />
<br />
But tonight she didn't. Tonight she left it uncovered. <br />
<br />
According to the article this is purposefully evil: an insult and territorial claim.<br />
<br />
Oh my God. My cat. My cat is insulting me! On purpose! I have no idea what to do about this. All I can do is be reduced to her scooping slave and clean her box, removing the insult - AND that forces me to acknowledge it. Her strategery is perfect. (I refuse to give her credible credit).<br />
<br />
After being reduced to a shoveling, gold digging, dust kicking, sifting, depositing maid, I went back and found the article that Amanda had posted to re-read the psychological analysis of The General. <br />
<br />
Luckily it sounds as thought it's just an insult to me, and if anything more, a claim to her territory. Refer to overall main blog title. <br />
<br />
Which brought me to item #4 - "Rubbing Up Against You to Claim Ownership."<br />
<br />
Is it really pathetic and sad that I'm flattered by this? She wants to own me. That means she wants me around. And THAT means she won't kill me in my sleep. Yet. In fact, my reaction was along the lines of, "Aw, Mellie loves me. She wants to own me." Sick.<br />
<br />
And let's not forget #6 - Imitating a Human Baby. Mel imitates a good many things, including evil incarnate. But a human baby? No, that's what I do when I cry because she's hurt my feelings and has flat out rejected me as her mommy AGAIN.<br />
<br />
I continued to the second page of the article, reviewing for Mel's behaviors. #3 - "Imitates Snakes." Yes, Mel does that so often that, thinking of it in these terms, I question her species. Thank goodness she is furry and non-venomous.<br />
<br />
But #2 was upsetting once again - "Obsessively Getting Rid of the Stench of Humans."<br />
I've written previous entries and noted that my cat is obsessively clean. And now I know she's obsessively trying to get rid of my stench. I'm not sure how I feel about that considering I live with two litter boxes in my laundry room and her litter paws in my bed every night - usually on my pillow and up my nose. Well, that explains that. Upper hand. On everything. <br />
<br />
And finally, #1. Yes, I do suck at hunting, mostly because I have a problem killing anything. Mel has rubbed this in. Being an indoor cat, her lethality rating is lower than she'd like it to be, which is probably partly why she plots to kill me in her spare time. But she's managed a gecko and a mouse. Bugs are just something to swat at - not even worth the kill. Plus, she leaves those for me to kill, which I don't appreciate at all. <br />
<br />
She attempted poultry the other day -<br />
<br />
I might have put the bird feeder a bit lower on a side table out on the deck so she could get a better view. (I thought I was being nice and giving her some up close entertainment.) And this might have led to her flying head first (mmmm...perhaps quite hard) into the glass door with a loud SMACK.<br />
<br />
Whoops. Sorry Mel. <br />
<br />
She would have definitely gotten that bird had that door not been in her way. No doubt. (Victory dance.)<br />
<br />
Well, I suppose that all of these things establish that I can legally classify my cat as evil and that is the reason for her streak of even worse-than-usual poor behavior. <br />
<br />
I am - in all serious honestly - rather insulted that she has left her poops uncovered on purpose and that she doesn't want to smell me. Talk about complete animal kingdom rejection. If we were monkeys, she'd probably leave me to pick off my own bugs and eat them myself. That's not the way things are supposed to be. I think I will have to go "Imitate a Human Baby" at this time. :(<br />
<br />
And of course, as I would like to insert something equally insulting and evil back at her, she is still curled up in the crook of my elbow as I struggle to type one handed so as not to disturb the little bitch - and she looks completely cute and innocent and all I can think about is how much I love her and that I could never say anything seriously insulting about her or to her. Curses. <br />
<br />
Mel - 22<br />
Kelsey - 1 (for the glass door)kwhitlock84http://www.blogger.com/profile/03776879484107445854noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5583491726141855573.post-72650342135345426012011-04-16T10:50:00.000-07:002011-04-16T10:53:33.793-07:00Porcelain Litter BoxSometimes I wonder what Mel is thinking when she sees me use the porcelain litter box. <br />
Does she know what I'm doing? Is she jealous that I don't have to get my paws dirty? Does she think I'm doing some alien human ceremony by sitting on this thing? Worshiping some God that makes a flushing noise once enough sacrifices have been made? <br />
I bet she would be jealous if she knew. <br />
I tried to train her to use it. Besides the experiment overtaking my guest bathroom, which was then unavailable to my guests, it didn't work. I still have hope and may try again at some point.<br />
Mel is very picky. If her box isn't cleaned regularly, she drops trough in the middle of the hallway to make her point. Who can blame her? I wouldn't want to use a dirty one either, especially if I had to step in it to use it. <br />
Mel has one box for number one and one box for number two, and she keeps them very separated. If her number two ever has to spill over into number one (there might be a poop left in number 2, God forbid), she gets very cranky. After doing her dirty, she cleans her paws - about five minutes per paw. Mel is the cleanest cat I've ever known. I think she spends 10% of her day sleeping, 40% of her day cleaning herself, and 50% of her time devising ways to kill me in my sleep. <br />
So therefore, I find it amusing, that despite the fact that I don't think she has any idea what I'm doing when I worship the porcelain God, she has to be right there with me and won't give me the privacy that I give to her. (Well, that she demands really. Not that one wants to be in the room when she puts a tootsie roll in the box, but if I happen to be say, using my laundry machine at the same time, I'm made quite aware that I'm invading her privacy and space by the glare and nip on my ankle. She's very modest.)<br />
If I shut my door, she whacks at it with her paw til I lean over and open it for her to come in. And sit. And stare while I make my ceremonial sacrifices. I think she feels left out sometimes. <br />
She'll wind back and forth, rub her head on my ankles, roll over on her back, then usually opens the bathroom cabinet, knocks over everything in her way, and sits (in the cabinet), under the sink until the signal that I'm done (water rushing above her head), at which point she comes flying out of the bathroom cabinet.<br />
Mel's fascination for the porcelain alter doesn't diminish when I'm not using it. She'll sniff around the base. Put her paws up on the seat. Sniff inside. She's been known to shove her head between the lid and the seat. She likes to get her front two paws down in there on the sides to get a good view. And, like a dog, she enjoys drinking out of the big doggie bowl as well. Mel loves fresh water. If her water in her dish isn't changed twice daily, she'll dehydrate herself and jump in the shower with me (that only lasts a few seconds when she realizes she can't drink the water that is pummeling her head, and this leads to a flood out of my bathroom down the hall and usually ends with a sopping wet cat cleaning off that wretched water while laying smack in the middle of my bed, which I then have to take a hair dryer to - thanks Mel). So I don't understand drinking out of the big doggie bowl. But her fascination is the funniest part. She can not figure this thing out. I can only imagine the questions she's asking herself:<br />
"What is she doing?"<br />
"What type of incense is <i>that?</i>"<br />
"I wonder if I can scent that thing too."<br />
"Is that flush noise coming from Mom?"<br />
"Are those other noises coming from Mom?"<br />
"Why would she ruin fresh water by sitting over top of it?"<br />
"Is she blessing the fresh water for me??"<br />
"Awww well maybe I'll let her live to see another day."<br />
<br />
One day my little leipschin perhaps you will make your own sacrifices to the porcelain God. Until then, please don't kiss my nose after you've drank out of the big doggie bowl, and I promise to keep your two litterboxes pristine.kwhitlock84http://www.blogger.com/profile/03776879484107445854noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5583491726141855573.post-92055348555838719702011-04-15T21:00:00.000-07:002011-04-16T10:57:40.922-07:00Mel the Terrible....Mel the VegetarianI'm sure many of you are reading this wondering if I've now imposed my own weirdo practices onto my cat. No, she's imposed them on herself.<br />
A few months ago, I asked my mom to bring out some plant trimmings so that I could start my own offshoots. The cuttings sat on my kitchen counter while they grew nice long healthy roots, then I moved them to a pot, and then one day I went to take them to work and noticed that my plant, really didn't look like a plant. It sort of looked like a piece of abstract, not yet finished, artwork.<br />
The ends of the leaves were nawed off leaving brown, flat ends, not graciously flowing green tips and long leaves that the type of plant is supposed to have. <br />
"MEL!!" I yelled from the kitchen. She came into the dining area and sat, with a simple look on her face, looking at me, like "Yeah, whaddaya want?"<br />
Did you eat this??? I said, with my best stern look (eyebrows raised, eyes wide, over the rim of the glasses, pursed lips) while putting what was left of my potted plant at eye level for her to see. <br />
She's not only a vegetarian, but she understands English because she did a Mel tornado right out of the room as soon as I got the plant to eye level.<br />
Well that explained that. And how do you punish a cat? Everything is on their terms.<br />
I took my wounded plant into my office the next day, and it's now sitting lamely on top of my mini fridge trying to regain it's strength. First she's at war with me, and now my houseplants. I wonder if she feels threatened by another living thing. Something that takes a little bit of my attention away from her each week. <br />
Because the saga continues. <br />
I bought a blackberry bush for out on my balcony. I'm so proud. It's pretty much an amazing plant. AND it hasn't died yet. It's growing. In fact, it looked like it may be getting some flowers on it!!<br />
Until Mel chewed them off. <br />
I tried to enjoy the sunrise with a cup of coffee out on my balcony the other day. Me, Mel and the sun. You would have thought it was peaceful. No. Every 6-8 seconds in a loud whisper: "Sssssstop it!!" <br />
Swat. A little louder:<br />
"Quit eating my plantssss!"<br />
Whack. In a yelling whisper:<br />
"MEL GET OUT OF THERE!!!!"<br />
It took me thwacking her with the garden knee pad to get her to back off. She then jumped in my largest pot where my hollyhocks were showing some signs of sprouting this year and proceeded to use it as a litter box.<br />
It took everything I had not to see if cats really have the amazing sense of balance that they are said to, by throwing her over the balcony. But I didn't.<br />
The following weekend I purchased a bunch of daffodils from Trader Joes. Imported from Ireland, at only $1.50, daffodils are pretty much my favorite, have Welsh significance, and therefore are pretty much my favorite even more. And they're yellow. And they're springy. AND though I've checked in Lowe's since December, they've had no bulbs. So here they were waiting for me. So I bought myself flowers. <br />
I enjoyed them all day Sunday and then set the vase on my kitchen counter to keep them out of sight/out of mind of the beast. Several times I caught her trying to get a taste. Once she came into the bedroom with a daffodil petal stuck to the side of her mouth.<br />
Monday morning I awoke to a trail of daffodil petals down the hall, in my sofa cushions, on my stove, under the fridge, and...in the litter box. It looked like a bird had died and been shredded. <br />
All the evidence I needed. <br />
I was not happy. <br />
I surveyed the damage the little beast had done to my daffodils. <br />
They looked alien. <br />
Missing all of the petals, and just left with their trumpets, they looked like the were out of a moonscape and completely creepy. <br />
I took them to work anyway and set them next to my recooperating spider plant. <br />
And once again, this is the cat who will not eat anything other than her same old brand of dry cat food. <br />
Tonight I found a petal under my pillow. <br />
I've tried growing cat grass for her. She downs it and then pukes up and down my hallway at an abnormally fast rate while make the plunger sound. "Retch retch retchh heaaaaaaavvvvvvvvvve" And thirty seconds later "retch retch retch heeeeeeeeeeeeeeave."<br />
So for now, my cat is trying to become a vegetarian. It would sure make things cheaper if she'd just eat my leftovers. She wouldn't like not being in charge, but it would make life easier. Unfortunately for her, I don't eat daffodils.kwhitlock84http://www.blogger.com/profile/03776879484107445854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5583491726141855573.post-2248810670359837492011-03-11T19:37:00.000-08:002011-03-11T19:46:46.182-08:00Travel Time, Part 2 - The Sherpa and the Mel, The Sherpa and the Mel, Hi Ho the Derrio the Sherpa and the Mel (I have no idea what that means)I proceeded with cat in the bag, and the rest of my stuff (I must have looked homeless with all the stuff I still had even after checking one bag) to go find the gate. Naturally it was the one that was the farthest away. Down two moving sidewalks, past the newsstands, and alllll.the.way.to.the.end.of.the.terminal.<br />
<br />
I took the, erm, opportunity to bump my way through the Newstand and grab a bottle of water and some snacks so that I wouldn't starve to death on the flight to LA, which by the way takes longer than flying from DC to <i>IRELAND</i>. It was at this time that I decided if and when I ever hopefully have children, I will be a horribly overly protective, bitch of a mother bear. I kept Mel in her bag draped across the front of me messenger style, trying desperately to shield her from being bumped, poked, prodded, smashed, pushed, shoved and the like - much to my chagrin. I felt like a football player with the ball. (Not that I know what that feels like because I don't think I ever actually got to have the ball in any sport that I ever played. But it's my perception of what that is like that made me purposely avoid the ball in 7 years of softball and 3 years of basketball.) Not only were the aisles nonexistent, but no one cared that I had a live cat in the bag that could eat them alive should I decide to set her loose to perform her own act of wrath on everyone in the surrounding area. They should have.<br />
<br />
Armed with water (okay, yes, for both of us - here was the perfect opportunity to shrivel her up and give her payback and I couldn't bring myself to do it) and snacks (not for both of us - Mel likes to lick the salt off of Goldfish crackers, but, like Chinese food, she's not particularly fond of actually consuming them), we made our way to the gate. And made our way to the gate. And made our way to the gate some more. And finally got to the gate.<br />
<br />
I snatched up the first grouping of (middle) seats that I came to in the waiting area, placing Mel on one, and myself on the other, my airplane pillow, laptop, purse, and bag piled up into a fortress around us. Hopefully we'd be left alone. If anyone decided to object, I figured I would let Mel speak up for herself and they would quickly shut the eff up. :)<br />
<br />
Naturally not more than two minutes after we sat down, the traveler who had to be the most obnoxious person in the entirety of the airport and surrounding vicinity thumped down on the seat next to Mel. <br />
<br />
And continued to readjust and thump on the seat next to Mel. And finally THREW HER COAT ON TOP OF MEL'S CARRIER.<br />
<br />
Now I admit, my little princess has a Sherpa bag and I am her Sherpa. <br />
<br />
She does not have a plastic box to travel inside of. She travels in style. So MAYBE the woman didn't realize that she had just THROWN HER COAT on top of my cat, but she was probably one of those people who wouldn't have cared anyway. <br />
<br />
Being in the pissy mood I already was in, and having had two hours of bonding time sherpa-ing Mel at this point, I reached over and flung the COAT THAT SHE HAD THROWN on my cat back on her. <br />
<br />
I did it somewhat subtley, but there is only so much subtlety when you are throwing someone's coat off of your cat and back onto them.<br />
<br />
I proceeded to inform the woman, "My <i>cat</i> is in that bag, if you don't mind."<br />
<br />
Mel punctuated my statement with a loud and rather resounding hiss which made the woman squirm, as well she should have.<br />
<br />
She also wrinkled her nose at which point I wanted to throw a lifetime collection of cat hair on her and her coat, which had it been a fur one, would have been pointless and I would have started a lecture instead. <br />
<br />
Finally it was time to board the plane and Mel and I boarded priority. <br />
<br />
What? They do it for children. <br />
<br />
The flight attendant eyed me as I approached. Now here is where you have to understand something about my life. People constantly think I'm the bratty teenage kid trying to break the rules. I'm not, I just am usually the exception to the rule and I look ten years younger than I am. I find that I fight this lack of respect from a good portion of the adult population on a fairly regular basis with adults saying things to me that I know they wouldn't dare have the audacity to say if I looked 26 and they saw me with makeup, in a business suit or if they heard me talk national security issues. People constantly make me feel like I'm doing something wrong because of this. Does it bother me? Yes. Do I go around in my life prepared for it? Most of the time. <br />
<br />
I handed my ticket to the attendant and said, "I have a cat and I'd like to get her settled in so that I don't have to clunk her around with everyone else, if that's alright with you please?" <br />
<br />
Phew. She agreed and let me board the plane with other parents and their unhappy children. <br />
<br />
One of which we had the pleasure of sitting next to. As mom came on I saw the top of a blond head periodically rising above the seats all the way down the aisle. An unhappy, <i>hyper</i> child. Fabulous.<br />
<br />
Immediately he launched himself into the seat next to me and began jumping up and down as I sat glaring at and punching my Sudoku with the pencil. After mom told him to sit, he began wildly swinging his legs in Mel's vicinity. <br />
<br />
I snapped. "Excuse me sweetie," (though sweetie was what I said, it came out sounding more like 'hey asshole'), "I have a kitty cat in that bag down there. See? And if you kick her, I'm going to have to kick you." <br />
<br />
Mom looked at me appalled. "Well he's just excited."<br />
"Me too, but not about my cat being kicked."<br />
<br />
And this was the beginning of an almost seven hour flight.<br />
<br />
Mom assigned Dad (almost just as useless) to sit with Monster Child. <br />
<br />
It took Dad six and a half hours, but shortly after the announcement that we would be landing shortly (and my elevated dramatic hand flourishes and checking on Mel and repeatedly asking his son to stop wildly swinging his legs, in addition to prolonged glares), I finally kicked the child's foot back and Dad spoke up. To his son, not to me. And yes, I really did. The child was lucky I didn't strangle him silly by hour three. At the end of the flight to make up for it, I gushed about how well behaved he had been for most of the flight. Gag me.<br />
<br />
I kept wondering what Mel was thinking with all the noise as we took off from D.C. I wondered if she got that weird feeling where one feels as though they are being pulled apart as you hit certain points in take off and then suddenly feel light again. Did the pressure changes confuse her? <br />
<br />
And then I started to feel really guilty. <br />
<br />
Here was my baby, pushing herself up against my feet so that she knew I was there. Confined to her Sherpa bag all morning and now when it sounded like monsters were coming to get her and probably felt like it too with the occasional toddler foot hitting her bag. Being jostled around, run into, clunked, having a COAT THROWN ON HER by a MORON, and now it sounded like the Red Dragon and the White Dragon were fighting and she was caught in the middle. What had I done? This was a horrible idea. <br />
<br />
I took the next fifteen minutes convincing myself that I was a horrible pet owner, that I didn't deserve to have Mel in my life, that she was going to hate me forever, or worse - <i>ignore me forever.</i> Oh no, no, no, this wasn't good. <br />
<br />
Having been explicitly reminded that pets must stay in their carriers under the seat and that carriers must stay closed at all times, I unzipped the top and reached it to pet her. <br />
<br />
Perhaps she had been vibrated to oblivion, but she didn't move except to lightly sniff my hand (probably because she reads my mind, and she knew that when I petted her and didn't get a reaction at first, I wondered if my cat was still alive in my rather dramatic moment of regret and contemplation of how a cat's body handles air pressure changes). <br />
<br />
Overall, it's a great thing that I took Mel with me. She did great on the way back too and TSA again let me know that I needed to "hold onto her tight. We had one escape the other day." Thank you. You can let my cat be in charge of homeland security now methinks.kwhitlock84http://www.blogger.com/profile/03776879484107445854noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5583491726141855573.post-62403143521164293912011-02-04T20:46:00.000-08:002011-02-04T21:10:44.039-08:00Travel Time, Part 1It was 4:45 am when the cab pulled up in front of the condo.<br />
Positive that all the stuff I was taking with me for two weeks outweighed myself, I was frantically shoving things into bags at the last minute - including Mel.<br />
Much thought had gone into this process. The night before I set up her soft carrier with towels and sprayed it with "Kitty Calm" - an overly priced supposed mixture of "calming" herbal water. I was skeptical that I had spent $24.99 on a bottle of <i>plain</i> water, but I was desperate.<br />
There were no tranquilizers in sight - Kitty Calm was my only weapon.<br />
Now I have to admit too, I bought her a pheromone collar - also touted to calm her down. <br />
In between frantically trying to pack (last minute of course) and realizing that I needed to take twice as much stuff (I normally travel with one backpack and everything fits in that backpack), I attempted to "collar" Mel with the pheromones.<br />
<br />
I have news for the manufacturer, 'Happy Cat:' Your calming collar doesn't work and my cat wasn't happy. <br />
<br />
In fact, my cat nearly hung herself by jumping up on the dining room chair and somehow getting the collar stuck on a wayward heavy duty staple holding my table together (yes my table is from Walmart, will I own anything nice as long as I live in Mel's house? That's correct). <br />
Slow motion unfolded as I saw Mel fitfully dangling, squirming and finally sliding through the collar to the floor, only to give an indignent shake, glare at the piece of metal and collar that had held her captive and begin a immediate process of sterilizing herself from head to toe for the next hour.<br />
I was now convinced that the "Kitty Calm" spray was pure water. I'd been hosed.<br />
But enough, I had to get in some sleep. <br />
My suitcase lay half packed on the floor. Mel worked at unpacking it all night, one pair of socks at a time. Which she would then delightfully chase around the room at maximum volume. One of her favorite past times, though I don't think attacking socks has been covered yet in the blog. It's especially fun when she attacks them while they're on your feet.<br />
By the time 4:45 am came, I was (still) wide awake and couldn't wait to shove her in that carrier for the next 12 hours to get her back.<br />
Now you have to take a minute to think about this process. <br />
My suitcase was 49.7 pounds - I barely made it under the weight limit.<br />
Then I had my laptop.<br />
Then I had my purse.<br />
Then I had Mel's delightful self. <br />
I'm less than twice my suitcase's weight. <br />
So first was the suitcase, down the stairs, then the laptop, then Mel and my purse.<br />
The cab driver came to the door and generously helped me load my luggage (at two dollars a piece). <br />
I held onto Mel and put her in the backseat next to me, hissing and growling and being her usual self. <br />
The cab driver got in the car, "You haff dog wit you fo holeedays?"<br />
"RRRRROOOWWWWWW hIISISISSSSSSSSSSSS SPITTTTTTTT"<br />
"Oh cat. Charming cat."<br />
She never stopped the whole way to the airport.<br />
Well in all of this, there was no way to bypass checking in at the desk.<br />
Health Certificate in hand, I waited in line behind the overly-made-up-at-5-am college chick, the couple who looked like they were not just going on a holiday trip but moving to wherever their (temporary) destination was, that couple's four children who were running around and rolling on the dirty tile floor like hoodlums (I didn't even want to put Mel on the floor - oh the loss of dignity), and the old man behind me who, when I finally gave up and did put Mel on the floor, was nice enough to tell me "Your bag is moving."<br />
Aye aye, thank you very much Captain.<br />
Finally I, Mel, the suitcase, the purse, the laptop, the photo ID, and the health certificate made it to the counter. <br />
"Please check in on the computer," said the desk attendant in monotone.<br />
"Hi, I'm traveling with a cat. I've already checked into the computer from home and it directed me to come to the desk since I'm traveling with a pet."<br />
"Please check in on the computer," the monotone responded. <br />
So I did, "you are already confirmed on this flight."<br />
"Fabulous, would someone like to see the health certificate for my cat?"<br />
"Please take your bag down this long hallway, the length of three football fields to check it in."<br />
"Right, but would you like to see the health certificate for my cat?"<br />
"Next."<br />
<br />
Purse and laptop went back over one shoulder, Mel went over the other shoulder and somehow I managed to pull my suitcase along behind me (though I'm half convinced it pulled itself because I still can't figure out how I made it through the airport with that much stuff).<br />
<br />
Next challenge: TSA.<br />
<br />
As I approached agent number one I declared (as though declaring a gun in my glove compartment to a cop who just pulled me over) - "I am traveling with a cat!"<br />
<br />
The agent didn't blink. <br />
<br />
"What would you like me to do? Would you like to see her health certificate?"<br />
"Get in line."<br />
Right.<br />
Into the line we went. <br />
Agent number two: "I am traveling with a cat. Would you like to see her health certificate?"<br />
"You have a cat?"<br />
"Yes sir."<br />
"You are going to have to take her out of the bag."<br />
Tempted to make a bad pun about letting my cat out of the bag, I refrained and explained that I wasn't entirely sure that was possible.<br />
"Just let them know up there."<br />
"Would you like to see her health certificate?"<br />
"No, that's okay."<br />
I wanted to say, "Yes you do. Somebody better ask me to see the gosh darned health certificate!"<br />
In line. Sans suitcase, but still with laptop, purse and Mel.<br />
Out come liquids first in bin one.<br />
Then shoes in bin two.<br />
(No one is going to steal my shampoo or shoes, at least I hoped not, so they went first and yes, I think about these things, and yes I'm particular about which order my stuff goes through the machine.)<br />
Bin number three was my laptop case.<br />
Bin number four was the laptop.<br />
Bin number five was my purse.<br />
That left Mel and myself.<br />
Again I declared my cat, the health certificate in my pocket.<br />
"You gonna have to take her out and walk through with her."<br />
"Uhhhh I don't want to hold up the line, but is there another way to conduct this? I'm not sure she's going to go for that."<br />
"Just hold her tight."<br />
"Uhhhh...... yeahhhhh???? Uhhhh she doesn't um......."<br />
"Are You Telling Meeee, that You Can't Hold That Cat?!"<br />
"Uhhh.l... okay. Well, can we at least make sure her carrier gets through quickly so she doesn't remove my arm while it's being scanned?"<br />
Crap. I was stuck. All I could do was hope that she wasn't going to flip.<br />
A moment of calm descended upon me.<br />
In fluid movements, I unzipped the carrier. <br />
I grabbed the cat.<br />
I shoved her head into my armpit.<br />
I ran as fast as I could on my tip toes (no shoes = gross) through the metal detector.<br />
TSA Agent #5 met me with the carrier, which Mel gladly jumped into.<br />
Still in fighter mode, I got my liquids back in my bag, my shoes back on my feet, the laptop back in the case, Mel was back in her carrier - and then I swore there were angels singing somewhere and a bright white light descending upon Reagan National Airport. <br />
Mel, I, and all the TSA agents had survived Mel going through security in my arms.<br />
Cue overture.<br />
Now I just needed someone to look at the coveted health certificate that I, the tech, and the vet had nearly spilled blood for.kwhitlock84http://www.blogger.com/profile/03776879484107445854noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5583491726141855573.post-53640162182238138792010-12-26T12:24:00.000-08:002010-12-26T12:35:36.542-08:00"We're going to muzzle her"Famous last words. <br />
<br />
On the Saturday, a week before Christmas. Mel and I journeyed across the street to the kitty doctor so that her health certificate could be issued for the flight (which by the way, not a soul asked me for during our travels).<br />
<br />
Mel, not surprisingly, is a wee bit un-normal in the sense that she generally likes her cat carrier - it's soft and cozy and dark, she can get away from humans and it feels safe to her I think. Sometimes I wish I could crawl into one to get away from her. <br />
<br />
So without incident, she crept into her carrier and out the door, down the stairs and into the car we went. <br />
<br />
The cat hospital is literally across the street so after a short hip hop and a bump over, we arrived.<br />
<br />
I carried her in and sat her down on the floor so that she could see my feet. She was utterly silent, which caused me to say to the receptionist - "You know, she's being so quiet that I'm actually concerned." <br />
<br />
I filled out the forms and we sat on the bench with homemade bench cushions in cartoon kitty print. It didn't take long for the growling and hissing to begin. <br />
<br />
I looked into her carrier and saw her glaring at the wall. I looked to my right and saw the reason.<br />
<br />
There were three hand-painted, very realistic kitties on the wall and Mel had taken an instant dislike to the 2D felines which were clearly a threat to her territory. <br />
<br />
We were the only ones in the waiting area (praise be) and so I let her do her thing. Her carrier began violently moving as the tech came in and cheerily said, "Well hhhelllllooooooo!!! Is this Miss Melody?"<br />
<br />
We carried the cat in the bag back to the exam room. As the bag bounced up and down and rolled on the table, nearly falling off, the tech took down basic information. <br />
<br />
The bag was now spitting and he looked at me, I smiled pleasantly like a mother with a child who won't stop screaming in the middle of a store.<br />
"So, how does this normally go then?"<br />
"Well, she's only been to the vet once since I've had her and this is the normal."<br />
"Is she better with a towel? You holding her?"<br />
I pointed out my big bulky sweater and let him know that it was no accident that I had worn it. <br />
"I'll hold her," I volunteered. <br />
He tried to flick the top zipper open and nearly lost a finger, sputtered a bit, and said he would go get the doc and be back. <br />
<br />
Meanwhile, while waiting for the vet and the tech to come back, Mel decided she was going to take on the world and leapt out of the carrier onto the exam counter and into my arms. <br />
<br />
With her head buried in my arm she continued hissing, spitting, growling and making a general fool of herself. <br />
<br />
Shortly after, the doc came in the room along with the tech. <br />
"HIIIII kitty," she cheerily said, "Merry Christmas!!"<br />
Hiss. Spit. Growl. Spit. <br />
"Oookay. Happy Kwanzaa then!" I liked this veterinarian. Alot. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJGj87qMXdwm2gBmbXHJGt3vGkf28D6w6CNvlRdSG_IQ2SU-zVGf8MsSjjbT8y69teM8q-cibkKhyphenhyphenBOPtNL2j0Gz9nLzZGiqehHRrypJoxxEXV6IP0Ecekrf7Zx2vev9yi1yCSuOkjL-OJ/s1600/angry+mel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJGj87qMXdwm2gBmbXHJGt3vGkf28D6w6CNvlRdSG_IQ2SU-zVGf8MsSjjbT8y69teM8q-cibkKhyphenhyphenBOPtNL2j0Gz9nLzZGiqehHRrypJoxxEXV6IP0Ecekrf7Zx2vev9yi1yCSuOkjL-OJ/s200/angry+mel.jpg" width="150" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
^ what Mel looked like.<br />
<br />
After 20 minutes of getting absolutely no where with this and a scene much like this one, with <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a5_ZXCeyJ0s&feature=related">Mel reigning victorious</a>, the tech left the room. <br />
<br />
By now Mel had crawled under the chair where she was still sounding like a dying, sputtering car with all the spitting she was doing. <br />
<br />
The tech reemerged from the back...<br />
<br />
"Do you think you can get her out of there? Or do you want one of us to do it?"<br />
I chuckled, "I'm used to this abuse. This is her normal. Really, it's okay. It's an abusive relationship to the truest extent."<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>I reached down and pulled her out by the scruff. "Look at momma go!!" said the vet. <br />
<br />
Mel sounded something like this:<br />
<a href="http://soundbible.com/1363-Angry-Cat.html">http://soundbible.com/1363-Angry-Cat.html</a><br />
<br />
(I just played this over 30 times to get her back for Saturday - she is now a hot mess trying to figure out where the heck the other cat in the room is). = )<br />
<br />
Anyway, as soon as she was on the counter, they threw a towel over her and after about 15 seconds of realizing that wasn't going to work, the tech pulled out a muzzle and said, "we're going to muzzle her."<br />
<br />
A piece of me died. <br />
<br />
Muzzle. A dreaded word to any pet owner. Especially a CAT owner. <br />
<br />
My little baby...sniff (cue violin music)...my little baby girl was going to have to have a muzzle. But muzzles were for dogs and other vicious creatures. <br />
<br />
They put the muzzle over her head. She looked like this:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJZ3MfEReY2aB-t5AIkzF4H2sWzQvYxS3mtWYh9kBFbfuATUhLsrAE4ippeYOjyXFuUifLV7RdRvIrHYtTqtrsKF4l9r6y5hP3tL4Aq0YdrePtq9ByuFP0XxHkR61OMHLqaEsLMpU2drOW/s1600/hannibal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJZ3MfEReY2aB-t5AIkzF4H2sWzQvYxS3mtWYh9kBFbfuATUhLsrAE4ippeYOjyXFuUifLV7RdRvIrHYtTqtrsKF4l9r6y5hP3tL4Aq0YdrePtq9ByuFP0XxHkR61OMHLqaEsLMpU2drOW/s320/hannibal.jpg" width="214" /></a></div><br />
My little darling was now akin to Hannibal Lecter. Sigh. <br />
<br />
I must have had a thoroughly defeated look on my face because at this point the vet told me not to feel bad - this happens all the time. <br />
<br />
At this point I asked about sedatives. And I learned that cats have a fight or flight instinct that is so strong that the sedatives can often have the opposite affect. Was I willing to risk that? Absolutely not. The vet recommended throwing a towel over her carrier and including a favorite toy that smelled like home. Mel generally seems to think my appendages are her toys and I wasn't about to include a finger or a toe in her carrier, so I bought her an extra strong catnip toy hoping I could legally drug her.<br />
<br />
We made it through the exam with the vet doing the best she could. <br />
<br />
"She seems to be in great health. The look I got at her teeth when she hissed in my face seems like she's in good shape there too." <br />
<br />
Back out in the waiting room we were the spectacle. <br />
<br />
"Oh my!" said an innocent bystander, "your cat is not very happy."<br />
<br />
I love during tense moments when strangers state the obvious to you about something which you can do nothing about. IE- Your cat is not happy, your child is crying, your dog just pooped on my lawn, etc. Yes, thank you very much. I'm well aware. I have little to no control over the situation. I am doing the best I can. You can have my cat/child/dog.<br />
<br />
"Yes, she's a real peach," I replied. Peach was close to the other five letter word that ended in ch. <br />
<br />
The bag spit and hissed at this point and the woman took a step in the opposite direction. I smiled on the inside. Even when I think she's not on my side, she comes through for me.<br />
<br />
We paid and left - glorified with a health certificate and the super strong scented special cat nip toy. "I hope she doesn't think I'm rewarding her horrific behavior," I said to the receptionist as she handed over the drugged pillow.kwhitlock84http://www.blogger.com/profile/03776879484107445854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5583491726141855573.post-15778799195055614312010-12-01T20:53:00.000-08:002010-12-01T20:53:47.351-08:00Friends, it has been awhile. <br />
<br />
I think it is the prospect of the amazing blog entry that I'm going to get while traveling with Mel over the holidays that has kept my creativity at bay. The mere thought of the adventure this will be (that I'm already regretting) is phenomenal. <br />
<br />
Other than Mel trying to set my house on fire by knocking over a lit candle on top of a bookcase, the antics have been about normal. Luckily my belongings are not burned, simply covered with gooey "Evergreen" wax. As is my carpet. I might replace that section of carpet with her hide.<br />
<br />
Even decorating for Christmas has gone (mostly) without incident - besides some chewing on the tree branches. She was very "helpful" and loudly expressed her opinions for decorations as they came out of the box. <br />
<br />
Here she is in her Christmas tutu:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFhSO6NDaDVhA-VsbVYWWujFeh5q26ip5cqYSd44RgQIHCIeSJKLSPHgHJnVLzBlNq8yb2yxkutfCx_3_MPg9RfRULahLH91Gt2NH2HhvCGWc_tyKEIRJuET4e9M8Li82IrRlTrlD9g4iW/s1600/DSCN1687.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFhSO6NDaDVhA-VsbVYWWujFeh5q26ip5cqYSd44RgQIHCIeSJKLSPHgHJnVLzBlNq8yb2yxkutfCx_3_MPg9RfRULahLH91Gt2NH2HhvCGWc_tyKEIRJuET4e9M8Li82IrRlTrlD9g4iW/s320/DSCN1687.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
And here in her Christmas sweater:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmR3DJcIzU2bG2naIGPbc-eOWrvZBwKl3BCUIudJLWJR0dKjO8pX3Ur9VYC_gnMPX51kGTpoGg-bmBIssNkm8KqGFgNhbQ4jV2N6xn6fqkAxh6asGPSgkVBXW5TG93EyS0D6GB5M3nd652/s1600/DSCN1717.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmR3DJcIzU2bG2naIGPbc-eOWrvZBwKl3BCUIudJLWJR0dKjO8pX3Ur9VYC_gnMPX51kGTpoGg-bmBIssNkm8KqGFgNhbQ4jV2N6xn6fqkAxh6asGPSgkVBXW5TG93EyS0D6GB5M3nd652/s320/DSCN1717.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But yes, my excitement is in the blog entry I will get to write after traveling through security with her for Christmas. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">You see, with all the TSA controversy, I began wondering how I was going to get my cat through security and onto the plane. No way I would put her through the xray machine. So I visited TSA's website which instructed me that they don't put pets through the xray machine, and that I could carry my pet through the metal detector. uhh... without anything as a restraint? Nooooo thanks. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I can see the conversation now: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Excuse me ma'am, could you please remove your cat from her carrier and hold her as you walk through the metal detector." </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"No sir, YOU can remove her from the carrier and hold her as I walk through the metal detector..."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So I continued to read about my "options."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">From the TSA website: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;">"If this is not possible, your animal will have to undergo a secondary screening, including a visual and physical inspection by our Security Officers."</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">A physical inspection of my cat? </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">BAAAAAHAHAHAHAHHAHA OHHHHH HOW I PITY THAT POOR SOUL.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">Dear TSA - Is that simultaneous with your physical pat down of myself? How kinky can we be here? Of course numerous extremely inappropriate jokes have run through my mind, none of which I should probably put on here. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">But really I can see this happening - </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">"Excuse me officer- if you touch my cat's junk, she'll have you shredded." </span></span></div>kwhitlock84http://www.blogger.com/profile/03776879484107445854noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5583491726141855573.post-14671835842177953262010-11-03T07:58:00.000-07:002010-11-03T08:17:53.941-07:00I'm really at a loss...<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Lately, Mel has developed a new routine. One in which she likes to "sleep" under the covers with me. (By "sleep" I mean that I don't really fall asleep under these circumstances - it involves me staying awake to try not to disturb - i.e. lose an arm or other appendage - the cat).</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I'm not really a fan of being tickled by whiskers in places that whiskers shouldn't be. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I'm less of a fan of getting prodded by a cold nose under my warm covers. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And most of the time I feel like there is a shark under the covers with me. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">But it is the ultimate form of approval and love that Mel wants my attention and she wants to cuddle!! And how can I possibly say no!? And how often does Mel want to cuddle - never. So I just can't resist when she shows affection. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">When I sleep, I cocoon myself with the blankets, so Mel jumps up and nudges all around my face with her cold nose and whiskers trying to find a way under the sheets. Yes, much like a dog.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Finally I give in and lift up the covers so that she can crawl under. Generally she will either curl up next to me spoon style (yes my cat and I spoon when she doesn't have a headache) or she will lay with her paws towards me at the same "level" against me, and proceed to knead. Whatever is there. Ahem. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">It's quite awkward. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I admit that I am attention starved to receive such approval and loving gestures from my cat. They don't come that often. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">But....I wish that she would find a place to knead that isn't so....off limits? It's certainly the most action I've seen in a while. Yikes. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Sometimes I reach over and scoot her up the bed a little bit but that ends with my face being mercilessly kneaded. She's not a gentle little thing. It feels like she is punching my face. At least there's some padding in other places...?</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Not really. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">You know those people that stand waiting for the elevator and keep jabbing their finger into the call button as if it is going to make the elevator get there faster? And as more and more time goes by, they hit the button harder and more violently? That is what Mel feels like during this routine. It's not cool. Thank God she doesn't have claws. That would be the equivalent of brass knuckles.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">She uses me as an emotional punching bag and now as a physical punching bag. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I'm just not sure what to do about this. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I try to get her to stop. I put my hand on her paws and move them away, but she just keeps going. I've tried putting a pillow between us and she tries to nudge under the pillow. Rolling over sometimes works in the way of I get stabbed in the back, but generally she will walk over top of me to get to my front side. She's like a dude. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">If you've ever seen a female cat knead, you know that they can get really into it. Our cat that we had for years, Pretty (I named her when I was 3, give me a break), used to chew on a blanket, drool all over and purr at the same time. There was no stopping her. She looked rabid. Mel is just about the same way.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">There are mixed theories on kneading. Some say it's because the kitten was weaned too late. Some say it's because the kitten was weaned too early. Some say it's a nesting thing. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Whatever it is, I'd love to know what she is thinking. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Is she looking at me as her mother figure? If so, I think we are in the teenage phase when the teenager knows everything but still needs mom and just doesn't really know it. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">It creeps me out. I definitely think of Mel on an equal plane. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">**Correction: I wouldn't dare assume that Mel is anything other than my intellectual and emotionally developed equal.**</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">But when she exhibits this behavior I just see her as a vulnerable little cuddlebug who just wants to be loved. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And that right there ladies and gentlemen, is precisely why my cat runs my household. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi15VhT6qopM4ToQelzpA9NRSD-Dy48kiwSc7bCozqgUu4nbegVxgYVXweM4g35WanXhxQIfKLDGvuMkMfCApKwhiBMVmWFcjcfYDnKeyuNEjSpGX46o-S25_SraWzquIvOGZQv3iYibEtw/s1600/mel+after+bath+cropped.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi15VhT6qopM4ToQelzpA9NRSD-Dy48kiwSc7bCozqgUu4nbegVxgYVXweM4g35WanXhxQIfKLDGvuMkMfCApKwhiBMVmWFcjcfYDnKeyuNEjSpGX46o-S25_SraWzquIvOGZQv3iYibEtw/s320/mel+after+bath+cropped.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> Mel at a bad time in her life.... after a bath.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div>kwhitlock84http://www.blogger.com/profile/03776879484107445854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5583491726141855573.post-32982109778387540322010-11-03T07:39:00.000-07:002010-11-03T07:39:28.003-07:00Suitcases and Coffee BreathAnother week of shenanigans gone by. <br />
My dad - of the "one toke over the line" fame from a previous entry was visiting again. <br />
Well previously, long ago and far away, Mel at one time (before she had accepted him) had peed in his suitcase during a visit. <br />
My father has never recovered. <br />
So now when he visits, he not only places his suitcase up off the floor, but he usually closes it and then shuts it into my spare room (which does not contain a bed) just for good measure. Just so that there is NO POSSIBLE WAY for Mel to pee in his suitcase ever again.<br />
I've tried to explain to him that she's over it now. That was a long time ago and they've since bonded and that shouldn't happen again unless her litter boxes are dirty, then a suitcase is the next best place. Who can blame her? And yes, I feel that I should notate here that my cat has two litter boxes. She's very picky. One is for number one and one is for number two, and don't you dare try to pull a switch on her, she's got it all figured out. I tried toilet training her at one point. I think it's a crock of crap (no pun intended), but I may try again shortly. <br />
Anyway, dad is totally nuts about Mel ruining his suitcase and everything in it, for good reason. <br />
So on our way out of the house on Sunday to go to church at 10:30am, dad shuts the door to the spare room. <br />
At 8 pm when we return from a full day of activity, Mel doesn't greet us at the door. <br />
Nor was she sitting at the top of the stairs after sneaking out underfoot.<br />
Nor was she locked out on the balcony.<br />
Shrieks, growls and yowls were coming from.... the spare room. <br />
Dad said something on the order of "crap!" and went to go open the door. Out pops Mel, happy as ever that we were home. <br />
Dad couldn't even bring himself to go in the room. <br />
He came straight back out to the living room visibly upset that the cat had spent all day with another suitcase that had no doubt become a victim too. <br />
So I went into the room. I found, that while Mel had made a nice little bed out of his dress shirts, in fact there were no "accidents" - I'm not sure if accident is a proper word to use with Mel - everything was in order and perfectly fine except for his wrinkled and furry shirts. <br />
Pleasant surprise. <br />
My baby girl is growing up!! :)<br />
Dad couldn't believe it - there was simply no way THAT cat had spent the day locked in a room with his suitcase and not ruined it. But it happened. <br />
Now why the change in heart? Well one, I think Mel has matured. Two, I think she finally realizes that this is her permanent home and she doesn't have to be a little b*tch all the time. Three, Dad and Mel have this bonding routine. <br />
And Dad insists on going through it everytime he visits. <br />
Before I get into this weirdness, you must know that my father is truly an animal lover and animals love him. Growing up I remember Dad getting chipmunks to jump in his hand, deer would come right up on our back deck in Colorado while he stood there and talked to them, there were rescued opossums, raccoons, bunnies, ducks, grackles, tarantulas, shrews, and other wildlife of every manner. He's a special guy and animals know that. <br />
Except Mel. <br />
So Dad has attempted to "bond" with Mel through feeding her, playing with her, talking to her, paying attention to her, ignoring her, pestering her, etc. <br />
The only thing that has worked is something so strange I almost hesitate to make it public knowledge, but it's also hysterical and I can't pass up an opportunity to provide a smile. <br />
The routine consists of Dad getting down on his hands and knees to get closer to Mel's level. <br />
When anyone gets down on Mel's level she will sit, curious, but just out of reach so that you can't grab her. <br />
So she sits and stares at my father who proceeds to baby talk her and then.... breathes in her face. <br />
I have no idea where this notion came from except that Mel is mouthy when she's pissed off and has a general affinity for coffee breath and mint toothpaste, and I think it started from Dad pretending to hiss back at her and being the sadist that she is, she enjoyed it and stuck her nose in his face. SO now Dad "bonds" with the cat by breathing in her face. She sits there and sniffs at him to check him out and tolerates him being just outside of her space, which is about as close as anyone gets.<br />
During the course of my father's visit we had a discussion in which I said I was convinced I'm adopted. After all, I like Halloween and my parents don't. I like hazelnut coffee and my parents don't. I like pumpkin bread and pumpkin pancakes and my parents don't. Of course if you've ever met one of my parents and me at the same time, it's not like the obvious resemblance is very clear. Well in the course of watching my dad breathe in my cats face, the thought again crossed my mind that maybe, just maybe, I'm adopted. <br />
<br />
Last night I came home from work and planted myself on my couch. Mel has been learning to retrieve, and while the retrieving part hasn't been going so well, she will bring me her toy mouse to get things going. So last night I threw the mouse which ended up next to the laundry room door frame. Mel went after the mouse full throttle (we are talking flying leap off of the couch), flipped it back up in the air, still going at full speed, and somersaulted right into the door frame. At the point of impact she was actually upside down. <br />
I felt like I was watching a cartoon. She sort of slid down the frame, landing on her head and rolled back end over front end back to a horizontal position. She sort of wobbled, picked herself up and shook the stars out of her eyes and then just sat there and looked at me like - "that was your fault." <br />
It's these vulnerable moments where I feel comfortable enough to let my cat know that I love her, and I don't feel like I'll get burned. <br />
I scooped her up and she totally played up her injuries (I don't think she had a concussion because I think she's been in a permanent state of being concussed since I adopted her....ahem). Once her brain function had recharged to its normal level she bit me, hissed out of no where, and jumped down onto the floor to go do whatever it is that Mel does when I'm not watching (lately I think this is organizing my purse collection in my closet - or at least laying on them and squishing them into an un-useful shape).kwhitlock84http://www.blogger.com/profile/03776879484107445854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5583491726141855573.post-63219260710815740422010-10-19T15:43:00.000-07:002010-10-20T11:14:05.774-07:00"Pet" PeevesThe longer Mel and I live together the more, unfortunately or fortunately depending on whose side we are referring to, I think we become like the other. For example, the downstairs neighbor drives both of us crazy. Mel pretty much doesn't like anybody. Well okay, I pretty much don't like anybody either. I like lots of people, just not most of them. This neighbor always has something to say about everyone and everything and always has plenty of complaints to heap upon this poor soul of an HOA board volunteer. (Oh the stories - and yes one day I most certainly will write a book called "True Stories of Fake People." My copyright is already in place, my book deal signed.)<br />
<br />
One of Mel and I's pet peeves is being interrupted in the sleeping process, or near-to-sleeping process. <br />
<br />
I argue that she should be less incensed since she is a cat and sleep comes absolutely naturally to her, but I digress. <br />
<br />
Other than a violent chainsaw accident, you may never find a faster way to lose an arm or hand then to wake Mel up from a deep sleep. If you have ever seen the Disney animated version of Aladdin, in one of the first scenes the "Cave of Wonders" awakens and the spirit of the cave has a deep booming voice which threatens to swallow whoever is in the cave if they touch any of the treasure in the cave. <br />
<br />
I imagine Mel's voice sounding the same and threatening to swallow whoever touches her in her sleep.<br />
<br />
Last night, Mel and I went to bed early. By early, I mean we were grandmas and were tucked in circa 8 pm. Well actually my grandmothers both stay up late - my Grams is regularly up past midnight. So more like being the working girls that we are, we were tucked in by 8 pm. <br />
<br />
Around 9:00, just as we both hit that twilight of barely reachable, so-close-you-can-taste-it sleep -<br />
<i>Knock Knock. </i><br />
....<br />
....<br />
Mel lifted her head and I looked back at her. She put her head down and I closed my eyes. <br />
<i>Knock Knock Knock. </i><br />
<i>.....</i><br />
<i>Knock Knock-Knock Knock.</i><br />
<i>..</i><br />
<i>Knock Knock Knock Knock.</i><br />
<i>........</i><br />
<i>Knock-Knock-Knock</i><br />
<i>....</i><br />
<i>Knock?</i><br />
<i>....</i><br />
<i>Knock Knock Knock Knock Knock Knock Knock Knock Knock Knock Knock Knock Knock Knock Knock Knock Knock Knock Knock Knock Knock Knock Knock Knock Knock Knock Knock Knock</i><br />
<i>....</i><br />
<i>KNOCK KNOCK.</i><br />
<i>.......</i><br />
<i>KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
Dear Lord,<br />
Please make her go away. <br />
I know she sees my car in the parking lot. <br />
I know she knows I'm home because she is the neighborhood gossip and spy who always knows not only when everyone is home, but when they got home, what they wore to work, what they're having for dinner and whether or not they have chewing gum on the bottom of their shoe. <br />
Please, please have mercy upon us. <br />
Love, Kelsey and Mel<br />
<br />
It took 15 minutes to simmer back down from being extremely irritated that it took her 8 rounds of knocking to figure out that I wasn't going to answer the door (a previous time the count was 19 and I was in the bathroom - when I finally was able to open the door I immediately said, "HI. I was going to the bathroom. What can I do for you?" I thought then that that situation had solved any future problems of not having 50 acres in the middle of no where to myself, but I was wrong. At least the count is down to 8 which is probably "normal" in her mind). <br />
<br />
So tomorrow morning, I may set my alarm for 4am. I will then run back and forth through my second floor condo which is situated immediately above said neighbor. In cowboy boots. Doing gymnastics. I may just then go down to my car and turn on the brights since I park right outside her bedroom. Perhaps I will learn how to use my fancy stereo system and turn the bass up to 10000 gazillion +. I may open my trunk and blare Snoop Dogg from my subs (yo). But not before I lay on the horn and throw pebbles at her window to make extra sure she can hear everything that is going on - after I pound on her door 8 times on my way out to my car. With a sledgehammer.<br />
<br />
Needless to say, Mel and I have both been rather crotchety today. And we are attempting to go to bed early. Again. In fact, I am in bed now. It is 6:46pm.kwhitlock84http://www.blogger.com/profile/03776879484107445854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5583491726141855573.post-52108866658349914062010-10-14T20:15:00.000-07:002010-10-14T20:18:46.109-07:00Devil Went Down to....well, downstairs.The beasty is currently sitting on my lap imploring me to write about her antics. <br />
To start:<br />
1. Devil costume has been conquered.<br />
2. We are still praying together - and tonight my camera was within reach. It sort of interrupted the thought process to stop and take a picture, but I feel that the prayer was still complete.<br />
3. Fall decorations have been destroyed.<br />
4. A story.<br />
<br />
1. I think Mel actually <i>enjoyed</i> her devil costume. She seemed right at home in it as she slithered about the living room. I'm not sure she appreciated the horns as much as the cape (perhaps she felt like supercat?), but I didn't lose any arms, legs, fingers, toes, or eyeballs in the process of dressing her up. Or my face. =D<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKzDY_NhxXbzaSkcuBHkHbsfc3SOg29SRUAydeojgqm1WBEVnQNRBKRadPyDwVCc9XtLVEl1qC7ePQ5MBKbm7bFwg8nVyiZYuduipVYx2VZn8t5axCKBzkdVq3fJ5-JzjQcI574Tbw-JBo/s1600/DSCN1552.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKzDY_NhxXbzaSkcuBHkHbsfc3SOg29SRUAydeojgqm1WBEVnQNRBKRadPyDwVCc9XtLVEl1qC7ePQ5MBKbm7bFwg8nVyiZYuduipVYx2VZn8t5axCKBzkdVq3fJ5-JzjQcI574Tbw-JBo/s320/DSCN1552.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
2. In a previous post I wrote how when I sit down, light a candle, and start to pray out loud for my friend Will who is fighting cancer, Mel will come up and sit with me long enough for the prayer and will hop back down once I'm finished. Well tonight I caught her in the act! You can see the lit candle between her ears. :)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitUQbHREUSEiCFJuXfOda5aDU-jkeZ4JHbs4lDOgAmPlk-OBPJ2NQn2eF2xOEdpDMYaxsJu7w3L_l1_T15ltGUQ3DbPsclKd4NY-SqxFGhyDydm6KdBwB43NUw3XBnul1aV-pSd9zFrRUs/s1600/DSCN1571.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitUQbHREUSEiCFJuXfOda5aDU-jkeZ4JHbs4lDOgAmPlk-OBPJ2NQn2eF2xOEdpDMYaxsJu7w3L_l1_T15ltGUQ3DbPsclKd4NY-SqxFGhyDydm6KdBwB43NUw3XBnul1aV-pSd9zFrRUs/s320/DSCN1571.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
3. Once the devil costume was on the beasty, she proceeded to eat my hay bale, silk flowers and chew on my candy corn lights. Once the devil costume was off the beasty, she proceeded to eat my hay bale, silk flowers and chew on my candy corn lights. Here she has pulled apart my silk flower arrangement that I made by hand, myself. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwp0arda-MeRiPb0H7L5QTf9N4M6ulbahNqshigb2QhJmf1oanQErOx-yg2bXXG0k5x3f0bG7MEwKCsuOQTMEAK7rNikLihYEKBptExEcYEqhsji_KzDa0lIYkYirvS_YO5baRjYAQ72St/s1600/DSCN1554.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwp0arda-MeRiPb0H7L5QTf9N4M6ulbahNqshigb2QhJmf1oanQErOx-yg2bXXG0k5x3f0bG7MEwKCsuOQTMEAK7rNikLihYEKBptExEcYEqhsji_KzDa0lIYkYirvS_YO5baRjYAQ72St/s320/DSCN1554.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
And 4....A story.<br />
<br />
So the other day I came home with several bags of stuff in my arms. I kicked open my door, put everything down and shut the door behind me. Normally Mel greets me and if I jangle my keys, I hear her squawking. Well my hands were full so there was no key jangling and therefore no squawking. And there was no cat. Highly unusual. <br />
I started to call for her. She generally comes to her name especially if she has been alone all day. <br />
No Mel.<br />
I went into my room. Not on the bed.<br />
I opened up my closet and checked my pile of handbags. No Mel.<br />
Pile of jeans. No Mel.<br />
Suitcase. No Mel.<br />
Linen closet. No Mel.<br />
Laundry room. No Mel.<br />
Dining area. No Mel.<br />
Living room. No Mel.<br />
Under the bed. No Mel.<br />
Under the couch. No Mel.<br />
Guest bathroom. No Mel.<br />
My bathroom. No Mel.<br />
Balcony to see if she locked herself out again. No Mel.<br />
Guest bedroom. No Mel.<br />
Guest bedroom closet. No Mel.<br />
Bathroom cupboards. No Mel.<br />
Kitchen cupboards. No Mel.<br />
Dryer. No Mel.<br />
Underwear drawer. No Mel.<br />
I was beginning to get frantic as I had covered my square footage + some at this point. <br />
No Mel.<br />
Well something I've been learning over the past few months is that in staying calm, I usually get what I want sooner and easier than freaking out. Sort of like the old story about the princess who searches high and low for her prized pearl and diamond necklace and can't find it anywhere, but when she sits down to think it through, she finds it already around her own neck. <br />
At this point I'm talking to myself. <br />
Mel is generally not the Houdini type cat. She's generally just a crank pot. <br />
I'm racking my brain. Did someone come in my house and steal my cat?! <br />
I noticed that my sofa pillows had the tell tale cat indentation in them. I touched it. Still warm. <br />
Cat must be close by. I relaxed a little bit. <br />
About 10 minutes had passed. <br />
I retrace my steps....<br />
Just then there was a knock on the door.<br />
I ran over and opened it and in comes Mel.<br />
Mel was not the one who knocked. But she may as well have been.<br />
My neighbor stood there looking at me, and said, "Oh I guess that IS your cat."<br />
"Oh my gosh!!" I gushed. "Where did you find her? I've been looking everywhere for her!!"<br />
Verbatim: "She was sitting at the top of the stairs staring at your door like she wanted in."<br />
<br />
Sigh. It's a good thing she does not have opposable thumbs - nothing would be safe. <br />
<br />
One final picture for tonight that I'm sure will help me get a date in the future:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV1Xi9TCvuOlGV2wCpCUZKHsA3NljKZYFQKlIaeF21taz7y3iaGKAEDN9GUHmI_bss3ddvTuarxPQAcuYF6UFFumnjk2Zp12ut4M-jRDqLLrvQujRLhXrmgSuPQHOyVfuEMkeGjc4SZOhC/s1600/DSCN1603.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV1Xi9TCvuOlGV2wCpCUZKHsA3NljKZYFQKlIaeF21taz7y3iaGKAEDN9GUHmI_bss3ddvTuarxPQAcuYF6UFFumnjk2Zp12ut4M-jRDqLLrvQujRLhXrmgSuPQHOyVfuEMkeGjc4SZOhC/s320/DSCN1603.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
She does have her moments....kwhitlock84http://www.blogger.com/profile/03776879484107445854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5583491726141855573.post-79641041425847379702010-10-07T08:39:00.000-07:002010-10-07T14:07:58.390-07:00It's a Lion, It's a Bear....It's Just MelIn an effort to not spend a gazillion dollars getting home this holiday season, I started my airfare search early. At one point Mom (Gammy) and I had discussed driving cross country again like we did last year (circumstances being that I was too sick, unable, and not allowed to travel by plane). In an effort to get home for my grandfather's funeral service and have Christmas together in addition to allowing me some ample supervised recooperating time from surgery, Mom plopped me in the back seat of my Toyota Echo (at 106,000 miles) and set off ahead of a snow storm (go Momma Bear!). Our car ride was fun until Day Four when we were both going stir crazy in the teeny tiny, itty bitty Toyota Echo...and we hit snow in Flagstaff, AZ. Mom even made me wear a pink birthday ribbon and tiara on our drive through Tennessee last December 4th. <br />
(Anecdotal side story: We crawled into an Ihop after a long day of driving, Mom relentless about me wearing my tiara and ribbon to announce to the world that it was my birthday (mind you I could barely walk at this point) and the server (who also told my mom that he had no idea what the soup of the day was, but that it smelled) asked, "Is it really your birthday?"<br />
"No," I replied, "I wear pink ribbons and tiaras that say 'Birthday Girl' every day."<br />
...<br />
...<br />
...<br />
...<br />
"Really? Where are you from?"<br />
"Not East Tennessee."<br />
But I digress. And I actually love East Tennessee.)<br />
<br />
And Mel actually LOVED the car ride. She sat on my lap almost the entire drive from coast to coast. The snow we hit in Flagstaff was of particular curiosity to her. She kept batting the fluffy monster flakes of snow as they splattered on the window and windshield. When not keeping my lap warm, she was perched behind the seats in the back of the car, keeping a lookout for us. <br />
<br />
So this year I thought, both Mom and I are feeling better and we can make better time. I want to take Mel with me because I refuse to pay $40-$50 per day for someone to spend 15 minutes throwing down some food for her and probably running out as fast as possible so as not to be eaten alive by the Lion Hybrid Diabolical Beasty. And I think I've tortured my friends enough with asking them to "take care" of her (IE risking their lives to make sure my house is in one piece).<br />
<br />
Well all in all, I worked out the cost and with hotels thrown in, it was still $700 plus whatever mom would have to spend flying both ways anyway to help me drive. When I found a nonstop fare for the same cost I booked it and booked Mel. <br />
<br />
Then I thought, "Oh shit. What have I done?" <br />
<br />
I'm going to have to take Mel on an airplane. With other people.<br />
<br />
I called the airline desk to see what the stipulations were. $100 each way for Mel. Will have to check my bag because Mel is my baggage. Mel is my baggage. Har har. Har har har. HAHAHAHAHAHAA. Never was there a truer statement. 30 day health certificate in advance. Oh, and they reserve the right to refuse aggressive animals.<br />
<br />
Shit.<br />
<br />
"What's considered an aggresive animal?" I asked, trying to feign stupidity and make it sound like I was only curious, not that I was asking because I own one.<br />
<br />
"I mean... she's going to probably be hissing because she'll be scared." <br />
<br />
Nice recovery - Mel as a scared little petunia in an onion patch.... right.<br />
<br />
"I would recommend a tranquilizer," said the representative.<br />
<br />
I simply ended the conversation at that point (tranquilizer? yeah right. Can I get a tranquilizer to tranquilize her please?).<br />
<br />
<br />
So I'm a wee bit concerned about getting Mel on the plane. On the other hand, they accept people who pay for one seat and take up two, and screaming ill-behaved children. My little dumpling will be just fine. <br />
<br />
But just to be safe, I think I'll call the animal control shelter and see if they have any leftover bear tranquilizer darts that they'd be willing to sell me.<br />
<br />
Oh and the whole thing about not spending a gazillion dollars was such a joke.<br />
<br />
<br />
Mel riding in the car on the drive home last March. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRsO3DN8nsT9YJbwDU_zW8rficnsx4pZLOLB8yNK4nSUlZMV8CeeBIPGM8XVqX4D59xxsVR51CWXZ944IHDF2Qdx8qbZI3kTjn380AxPY75MRUcTjP8Pkj0zduDPlrHxrGkUbyPyxqLhP1/s1600/18636_528521367333_55201045_31300623_6057386_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRsO3DN8nsT9YJbwDU_zW8rficnsx4pZLOLB8yNK4nSUlZMV8CeeBIPGM8XVqX4D59xxsVR51CWXZ944IHDF2Qdx8qbZI3kTjn380AxPY75MRUcTjP8Pkj0zduDPlrHxrGkUbyPyxqLhP1/s320/18636_528521367333_55201045_31300623_6057386_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>kwhitlock84http://www.blogger.com/profile/03776879484107445854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5583491726141855573.post-53289369969464805102010-10-04T07:38:00.000-07:002010-10-04T08:13:07.716-07:00She's a witch...she's a devil...she's a...pumpkin?This past weekend Mel and I decorated her house. <br />
Mel LOVES decorations. Decorations involve boxes. New smells. Things to chew on. Ladders. Climbing up on the ladders so that I can't get down.<br />
The first year I had Mel I bought her an angel costume for Halloween. It was only a dollar and she ate the pipe cleaner halo. <br />
This year my mom sent a much more appropriate devil costume for Mel. I'm procrastinating on putting it on her. I may wait until closer to Halloween so that in the event I lose an arm I'll fit right in without costume. <br />
As I unpacked the box of fall decorations I pulled out Mel hopped in and out of the boxes, chewing on most of my decorations. Melody got her name because when she is excited she seems to dance around in her own way. Appropriately:<br />
<br />
<u>Mel's Favorite Things (to tune)-</u><br />
Dried autumn leaves in baskets a plenty<br />
Pumpkins and ghosts that number of twenty<br />
Boxes to jump in and hide til attack<br />
Kelsey's foot that I'll never give back<br />
<br />
Fall colored leaves on a long string of garland<br />
To understand garland you must be a MacFarland<br />
Draped everywhere for the cat to chew on<br />
The devil at work, or at least his spawn!<br />
<br />
Then comes the wretching brought on by fake leaves<br />
It's the best thing when<i> that</i> sound's achieved<br />
Sounds like a plumber who just cleared a pipe<br />
Don't take away my leaves or you'll get a big swipe<br />
<br />
When it's autumn<br />
With the beasty<br />
And you're feeling scared<br />
Just simply remember to fight her right back<br />
With vinegar spraaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyy... and a glaaaaarrrrre<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Bravo, bravo. <br />
<br />
So this weekend was filled with trouble making. My leaf garland (my love of which is inherited from the MacFarlane/MacFarland side of the family who always seem to have garlands draped around at holiday time, my dislike of which comes from the cat treat they become) half survived the cat. I place my pumpkin decorations out along with some autumnal candles. <br />
<br />
And then I went a little to far and bought a can of pumpkin at the grocery store. What on earth could Kelsey possible be doing with a can of pumpkin besides making something nasty for a haunted house? Surely, SURELY, she is not going to try to actually <i>make</i> something <i>edible</i> with pumpkin. From scratch!? <br />
<br />
Ahhh yes. I did. <br />
<br />
Pumpkin bread, pumpkin pancakes, and pumpkin cookies. Not ONCE did I set off my fire alarm - huzzah!!<br />
<br />
AND I learned something about Mel. <br />
<br />
Mel loves pumpkin. <br />
<br />
The cat who won't eat wet cat food, tuna from a can, cat treats, expensive cat treats, gourmet cat treats, luxury cat treats, things that are cat treats bordering on human food - she ate pumpkin. Just when I thought things couldn't get any more weird.<br />
<br />
I have to say, walking into my kitchen and seeing Mel with her head down in the (nearly) empty can of pumpkin guts caused me to stop, turn around, and walk back into the kitchen a second time just to make sure I was really, actually seeing this happen. <br />
<br />
Sure enough she brought her head up out of the can, covered with pumpkin and cleaning and preening the morsels off of her face with her paw, quite enthusiastically. <br />
<br />
Last night she had her face in my pumpkin cookies. This morning she had her nose in my pumpkin bread. Relentlessly. I finally put some bread crumbs in her dish and she neatly ate around her regular food, sucking up the bread crumbs. <br />
<br />
Now interestingly, I attended church yesterday and the sermon was on the bread of life. Our minister brought in a basket of all types of different breads for communion - tortillas, naan, pita, gluten-free... and blah blah I'll spare you a spiritual lecture, but it was quite an interesting message. In my previous post I mentioned how Mel has been "praying" with me for our friend Will. All of a sudden my cat is eating bread. Has she been enlightened? Has she come over from the dark side? Has she taken a break from reigning over Hell? Had she not eaten her pipe cleaner halo, I could try it on her and see if she were to spaz or spontaneously combust or sit peacefully. <br />
<br />
Nah. I'm looking forward to seeing the devil costume that "Gammy" sent on her, but not getting it on her. Maybe if I leave it sitting out for her she'll put it on herself just like she helped herself to eating pumpkin.kwhitlock84http://www.blogger.com/profile/03776879484107445854noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5583491726141855573.post-1342256448274430022010-10-02T13:09:00.000-07:002010-10-02T13:45:10.472-07:00Prayers and HairsIt's been awhile since there have been some serious Mel antics. I feel like I am waiting in the calm before the storm.<br />
<br />
Other than attempting to ingest my blooming violets and laying on my freshly dried, clean clothes in the dryer (her favorite naughty thing to do), things have been pretty mild. <br />
<br />
Although we are back to the 4am Mel tornadoes around the condo during which she enjoys jumping up on the bed, running around the room, flying back up onto the bed, and chewing on my hair. This is by far the strangest Mel behavior I have ever encountered (thus far anyway, I hesitate to make any definitive statement about Melody). <br />
<br />
Mel and I have actually been praying together. There's a saying about cats and their recognition of positive vs. negative energy and "filling the void" when too much negative energy is present or "boosting" the positive energy. When I was sick last year, Mel seemed to always know where my pain is and then position herself on that place. She even learned that she couldn't lay on my right side where my ostomy bag was and where they had made the incision to perform surgery. She remains intuitive about my moods or if I'm not feeling well. Besides friends, cats are the best medicine. <br />
<br />
This past week has been tough - in fact typing out the word "week" seems so disconnected because the past week has felt like months. A good friend of mine was diagnosed with cancer. In fact it is our buddy Buddy's Dad, Will. Strangely one of the only people Mel ever liked, I swear she knew exactly who I was talking about the other night when I started praying for him out loud while sitting in bed. <br />
<br />
She hopped up on the bed and curled up on my lap, shifting her weight and looking up at me with her green eyes as if to say "I want to pray for him too." I put my hand down next to her paw and she put her paw on my hand. It was really an amazing thing. Once we were done, it was also like she knew. She got up, stretched out and jumped off the bed and didn't return until the lights were out. She has continued to sit with me when I pray for my friend at 11pm each night. I think it is her way of putting that boost of positive energy into the prayer for Will. <br />
<br />
Nightly, Mel and I "share" the (my) pillow. This involves me using the far right corner (approx. 2 inches of the pillow) and her laying on the rest of it. <br />
<br />
While very cute and charming, there are several things that happen in this scene. Either I end up with Mel's whiskers tickling my face or ear, I end up with her butt in my face, or she chews my hair - in a fashion similar to a cow chewing its cud. Nosh nosh nosh. Smack smack smack. <br />
<br />
I've never been able to figure out why she does this. Does my hair taste good? Is there something in my shampoo that makes it tasty? Does it feel good between her teeth? Is she actually trying to eat my hair like she eats my violets? ... <br />
...<br />
...<br />
...<br />
My cat is possibly trying to eat me alive. I knew it.kwhitlock84http://www.blogger.com/profile/03776879484107445854noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5583491726141855573.post-14349910732816798462010-09-20T16:08:00.000-07:002010-09-20T16:08:40.373-07:00Mel in the MorningFirst thing I saw when I woke up this morning with her tongue sticking out in my face:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmv2JEovjvdzt6elqxcGrK5Gtg0zNaxgP3JjMkaiKZ6c0s9R1TjCwLLZAmL7gYNLlLQh4dP-oUe_nozHNO2ceLA8lW2FQUTs_n1220tSb39nwVNYIM9pywagdbygiEyiLh9xXl6xP5uWr-/s1600/mel+in+the+morning.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmv2JEovjvdzt6elqxcGrK5Gtg0zNaxgP3JjMkaiKZ6c0s9R1TjCwLLZAmL7gYNLlLQh4dP-oUe_nozHNO2ceLA8lW2FQUTs_n1220tSb39nwVNYIM9pywagdbygiEyiLh9xXl6xP5uWr-/s320/mel+in+the+morning.jpg" /></a></div>kwhitlock84http://www.blogger.com/profile/03776879484107445854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5583491726141855573.post-44116462395447964832010-09-19T16:46:00.000-07:002010-09-19T16:49:47.817-07:00Schedule IV: CatnipThe other day my father arrived to visit Mel and I (well mostly me), and in an attempt to warm up to his "grandkitty" brought with him presents from "Gammy and Gampy." Yes we're a weird family. If only you knew.<br />
<br />
Among the treasures of gold, frankincense, myrrh, fuzzy mice and jingle balls, lay a true treasure: two dimebags of catnip. Yes, truly, that is what they were. <br />
<br />
The plan somewhat worked, instead of attacking his suitcase per normal, Mel was distracted by her new found street cred, tearing into the plastic with her teeth and consuming it raw. This lead to running around in vicious circles. Attacking my couch. Doing Mel tornadoes up and down the hallway. Causing general frenzy. Reminding me of the cartoon in which the train goes: "AH-OOOO-WA" and lets out a giant puff of steam. <br />
<br />
After approximately two minutes, her eyes glazed over and she strettttcccchhhhheeddd out across the floor, head on her paws gazing at my dad like he was her hero.<br />
<br />
And speaking of frankincense and myrrh, my father proceeded into a resounding rendition of Brewer and Shipley's 1970s hit "one toke over the line, sweet Jesus, one toke over the line" as she lay prostrate on my living room carpet in a pile of dried herb, delirious. <br />
<br />
"One toke over the line sweet Jesus, one toke over the line..."kwhitlock84http://www.blogger.com/profile/03776879484107445854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5583491726141855573.post-86077852490098968432010-09-10T16:21:00.000-07:002010-09-10T16:31:26.592-07:00Buddy's Letter HomeDear Dad,<br />
<br />
You've been replaced by an awesome human!! Not that you're not awesome, just there's another awesome person now for me to protect and play with!! And she is the SAME SIZE as ME!!!! <br />
<br />
I'm a little confused as to what happened to you, but she keeps telling me that you'll be back soon. I hope so because even though she's really great (and smells like plants and cat), I really miss you.<br />
<br />
When she first brought me to this new place I was a little scared because there was this HUGE gray spiky thing that sounded like a constipated rhinoceros blocking the ENTIRE doorway. It was also spitting at us and hissing and it had really sharp things coming out of its mouth and feet. I think this is another c-a-t. But I've always thought cats were something to play with, not evil. Oh well. She sort of comes out and acts like she wants to be nice and then she swats at my nose. She won't let me walk past her in the hallway and she keeps blocking the doorway to the rooms I go into and then won't move to let me out. I don't think she likes me that much and I get a little jealous when she gets attention from the human. I'd really like to get the chance to sniff her butt at some point though. <br />
<br />
This new person doesn't seem to like when I try to get on her couch and when I tried to sit in her lap she made an oof sound, but I think she liked it. I wanted to let you know that I've been doing a VERY good job at protecting her and barking at EVERYONE to make them go away. She yells "no!" but I think she's thanking me for doing such a great job. Tonight she said, "You're going to make me tear my brains out," and I barked even louder. I'm pretty proud of myself. <br />
<br />
Oooh and she has the BEST sticks!! They smell like all kinds of wonderful good-ness. Dead things and poop and mold and there are a bunch of them down in the sewer drain. For some reason she will only throw clean sticks for me, which is ok I guess...they just don't taste nearly as good. You won't believe this but today she actually told me that she couldn't throw the stick if I kept eating it. I thought that was the point!?<br />
<br />
She makes me sit and stay before we go on a walk and then she gives me treats when I walk next to her. I like her enough...does she think she is bribing me to like her? I never let her go anywhere without me in the house!! I just want to go smell everything so badly!! I'm not sure if I like getting treats or following my nose the best, so I kind of walk in a big circle doing both. She's getting more stingy on the treats, but she keeps calling me a "good boy." If I'm a good boy, where are my treats!?<br />
<br />
Yesterday I thought she made something delicious for me. It turns out it was her dinner, not mine. Oops. I tried to be very good after that last night to say I was sorry. She called it a veggie burger and it was ddeeeeee-licious!! Dad, I want to eat veggie burgers alllll the time now!! Can I? Can I please? <br />
<br />
She says I'm off on another adventure tomorrow and that she'll miss me. I'll sure miss her - and veggie burgers and sewer sticks!! But probably not the c-a-t. <br />
<br />
Miss you Dad.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
Buddykwhitlock84http://www.blogger.com/profile/03776879484107445854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5583491726141855573.post-23914311156507703792010-09-09T18:42:00.000-07:002010-09-09T18:42:05.859-07:00All's Quiet on the Western Front...Sort Of<div class="MsoNormal">Since we’ve had Buddy staying with us, there has been a lack of privacy for myself…mainly in that the dog insists on being within 3 inches of my person at all time or else barks, whines, or otherwise freaks out. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And yes, this includes taking a shower and using the bathroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">At first I fought it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But like the joke about the dog sleeping on the bed (he hasn’t won that battle yet by the way), I soon gave in so that I could pee in peace. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So now the routine is for me to leave the door open while I do my business (I guess if the dog has to do it in the open, so do I).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Tonight, Mel was particularly wicked - beyond the usual growls that are comparable to rolling thunder.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As I sat reading my magazine (I know it’s TMI, but I’m setting the scene for you), Buddy sprawled out on the tile floor, pretty much filling up the rest of the space in my bathroom, but very happy that he hadn’t lost sight of me for even a brief moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shortly after, the dog looked from me to right around the corner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He inched himself up and stretched himself out to extend his body length as much as he could to get the best of both worlds and strained to see out of the bathroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly he jolted back, but continued to stare.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Next to the entrance to my bathroom is my dresser, upon which the Diabolical Beasty had perched herself, just around the corner of the bathroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Torn between venturing more than body warmth’s distance from me and the glaring cat, Buddy wriggled back and forth on my bathroom floor and began to whimper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After washing my hands, I peeked around the corner of the door to find Mel in a staring contest with the dog and a look upon her face that was absolute delicious enjoyment of her own evil and torment that she was causing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">If I ever lacked the conviction that my cat is an evil beast, I do not anymore after seeing the Cheshire cat grin upon her muzzle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I chuckled, saying “you’re a real bitch Mel” and walked out of the bathroom. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And for one of the first times in the past 3 days, I now had 3 feet of space between me and the dog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Held captive in the bathroom by Mel’s evil glare, the dog refused to emerge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Taking advantage of this, I did a quick switch of laundry and put away some dishes – neither of which I’ve been able to accomplish in the past few days for fear of immediate dog slobber soiling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I came back to the bathroom to brush my teeth, and in an attempt to relieve some of Buddy’s anxiety I partially closed the door to the bathroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The next thing I knew, an 80 pound, shivering, shaking weimereiner had himself pressed into me with all his might.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cabinet knobs are not exceedingly comfortable when they are in places they shouldn’t be while being stuck between a frightened pup and bathroom cabinetry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Cowering behind the door and practically trying to crawl inside of me to get closer, I peered around the edge to see Mel, sitting quietly, thumping her tail, at the entrance of the bathroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She knew very well that she was cornering us in that bathroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a deliberate act of evil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Well, I hate to say it, but I wasn’t about to lose an arm while trying to move her, and she is the 2<sup>nd</sup> in line of the household matriarchy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was no way in all hell that Buddy was going to go past the fang-dangling ball of fluff. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So for about 7 minutes tonight, I, and an 80-pound dog, once again, were held prisoners by my own cat, in my own bathroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>kwhitlock84http://www.blogger.com/profile/03776879484107445854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5583491726141855573.post-79081606559239984762010-09-09T18:37:00.000-07:002010-09-09T18:55:54.109-07:00What's 80 pounds, half as tall as I am, and scared shitless of Mel?Recently, I offered to take in another roommate - a friend's dog.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>I reasoned that the dog is not a cat and perhaps Mel's alpha tendencies would not show towards a species other than feline or human. I told myself that she would adapt to the dog because otherwise, in her mind, the dog would eat her. I thought, "finally! she will be put in her place!"</div><div><br />
</div><div>I brought the dog home on Monday, Labor Day around 9 am. Buddy was rather freaked out when I picked him up and after the (eventful) drive home, I was looking forward to Mel getting a taste of her own medicine. </div><div><br />
</div><div>It was a struggle to get the dog upstairs as he follows his nose and there are many interesting things to smell in my building such as the other dog, the apartment with cats, the incense my neighbors burn, the place where a dead animal carcass was left and the homeless guy under the stairs. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Finally at the top of the stairs (victory!), I put the key in the door and heard her royal diabolicalness on the other side. "Mroww mrow mrow mrrrrrrowwwwwww." </div><div><br />
</div><div>Bwahahahaha. This was it. My chance to recover from three years of abuse!</div><div><br />
</div><div>Now I have to say, I was slightly worried that this dog was going to attack my baby, but at the same time, I could tell he was so excited that he would just be playing and wanting to sniff. I got a firm grip on his leash and gave myself some room to be pulled, backing up halfway across the landing from my door. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I leaned far over and pushed the door open. </div><div><br />
</div><div>The dog rushed in. </div><div><br />
</div><div>The dog rushed out. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Whimpering, yelping, and made a dash down the stairs towards the much safer homeless guy sleeping under the stairs. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Mind you, this occurred in the course of seconds. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Like a cartoon I was left with my arm still outstretched from holding the leash, and standing towards the open door, dumbfounded. </div><div><br />
</div><div>And there sat Mel. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Preening and cleaning her face in the most indignant way, fluffed up to nearly twice her normal size, eyes black like her heart and fangs of steel protruding from her jaw (ok that's for dramatic effect, her fangs only FEEL like steel, but I do think her heart is black). While you couldn't really tell, the noise was definitely coming from her and it sounded what I imagined a beached whale sounds like. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I closed the door as if I had peeked behind the wrong one. Next time, I would open the right door, the dog would go in and the cat would be put in her place. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I went downstairs after the dog and coaxed (yes, coaxed) him back up the stairs. </div><div><br />
</div><div>"Buddddddy, come on pretty boy." </div><div><br />
</div><div>I made him sit while I opened the door. I stood behind him so that there would be no running away. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I cracked it and instantly I had an 80 pound dog between my legs, whimpering and trying with all his might to flee back down the stairs. </div><div><br />
</div><div>The struggle went on for about 3 minutes, which is a long time when you are fighting with such a big dog to get him somewhere he doesn't want to be. Mel stood her ground the whole time, not once backing off or moving. Just staying a fluffy ball of growling teeth and holding her own, hissing and spitting and being generally unagreeable. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Well at this point, Buddy and I were cornered in the entrance - me waiting for him to get her to back off and him waiting for me to get her to back off. Apparently neither of us have any balls. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Eventually I made a move towards her and the hostage situation was dispelled. </div><div><br />
</div><div>In the meantime, the 80 pound weimaraner is terrified of my 10 pound feline who was most certainly NOT put in her place. </div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
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</div>kwhitlock84http://www.blogger.com/profile/03776879484107445854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5583491726141855573.post-23834587009429640032010-08-29T19:27:00.000-07:002010-08-29T19:35:03.332-07:00What's That Smell?There are few things that Mel loves more than a nice long computer cord to wrap herself up in and chew on, or Chinese food. <br />
<br />
About once a week I order takeout and while Mel won't touch any type of canned cat food, cat treats, organic salmon strips, <i>seasoned</i> organic salmon strips, or tuna (I've probably lost $100 experimenting with treats for her), she loves her some Chinese food, especially sauces. Unfortunately Mel's digestive system isn't built to digest whatever they put in Chinese food sauce (then again, are any of us?) and this inevitably ends up with her farting on my pillow all night long. <br />
<br />
Tonight I tried a new Chinese food place. I came home and set up the containers all over my living room coffee table and scooped from each container onto the plate. When I order Chinese food I generally get 3-5 different things and continue to eat them for the next week. Variety is the spice of life. At my normal Chinese place they know me, and my order, and when he makes my delivery, the gentleman always teases me:<br />
"All fow yoo?"<br />
"Yes it is!"<br />
Giggle, giggle - "You ssshould weigh fow hundwed pounds!" <br />
<br />
I briefly went to the kitchen for a moment to get a drink and came back to find Mel's face in my plate of Chinese food. <br />
<br />
What's really annoying is she just licks at it. She doesn't even consume it. <br />
<br />
So I debate. How long has she been licking my egg foo yung? They say a dog's mouth is cleaner than a person's mouth. Is that true for cats? I'd really rather not throw out my entire plate of food because it has a little cat spit in it. She won't actually <i>eat </i>it, so the rest of it just goes to waste. I wonder how long ago she last licked her crotch? <br />
<br />
I decided to cut around the middle section of the egg foo yung where she had licked, making the letter O in my food. <br />
<br />
Her highness had now positioned herself behind me. When this happens, I become very nervous. When this happens, she is usually about to attack my elbow with her teeth, jump on my head or fly from behind me onto the coffee table in front of the couch knocking off everything in her way. Out of sheer terror for what's about to happen, I usually just freeze and hope that it's over soon. Well because I wanted to protect my food, I turned around just enough, and sure enough she went flying past me, onto the coffee table and sent soy sauce-y chopsticks flying across the living room and onto my white carpet. She then proceeded to chase after them, sniff them, and lick them, holding them in between her paws as though they were prey. Afterwards she thoroughly cleaned herself and sat looking at me with an incredulous look of "geez didn't your mother teach you to share?" <br />
<br />
She's now curled up at my feet and her indigestion has apparently already begun. Thank you Mel. You're a real treat.kwhitlock84http://www.blogger.com/profile/03776879484107445854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5583491726141855573.post-5823728822758515172010-08-28T12:27:00.000-07:002010-08-28T13:05:01.103-07:00Bonding with a SadistYes. My cat is a sadist. She takes pleasure in cruelty and pain. <br />
Particularly in causing it to me. <br />
Our relationship is riddled with nighttime ninja attacks. Some with more stealth than others, but all quite cruel and/or painful. I've not yet concluded what her strategic objective may be (rather perhaps I do not wish to face that it might be my own demise). She has no rules of engagement, at least as far as I can tell. This is what I can glean of her operational order. <br />
<i>Know thy enemy. -Sun Tzu</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>OPORD</i><br />
Situation: Invader who walks on two legs. No fur except on head and sometimes legs but this disappears every few days. Controls food supply and exit routes. No friendlies. Solo mission support.<br />
<br />
Mission: Destroy. <br />
<br />
Execution:<br />
1.) Operation Suffocation - Nighttime operation. Jump onto bed. Purr, meow and act content. Invader will allow you to fall asleep next to her once you win her heart and mind. Once Invader is definitely asleep, maneuver to the pillow. Settle down. Make sure Invader is still sleeping. Slowly creep closer and closer to Invader's face. Closer and closer. Resist chewing on hair while doing this, despite tasting yummy and feeling good between the teeth, it will wake invader. Finally plaster self over face of Invader, making sure to wrap yourself around Invader's head in an intent to cut off air supply. Invader will suffocate. <br />
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2.) Operation Fang - Daytime or Nighttime operation. Deceive Invader into thinking you are "friends" with her. Cuddle, purr and use many other deceptive actions (like human males) to "bond" with her. Once you gain her trust - ATTACK FROM NO WHERE!!! Drawing blood is always effective. Risky operation as Invader likely to retaliate. <br />
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3.) Operation Thump - Generally nighttime operation. Jump onto Invader's head while she is lying in bed, from the floor. Shock and surprise will cause Invader to propel herself from the bed, get tangled in the bed covers, often ending up with Invader in a pile on the floor with a loud thumping noise. <br />
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4.) Operation Nightowl - Nighttime operation. Wait until Invader is making a "schnnnnnnnnnnaaaaaaaaa scchoooooooooooo" sound. Once this happens, find everything in the room that you can make noise with. Claw the wicker hamper. Chew on Invader's glasses or lamp shade. Plastic bags are most effective - paw at them, play with them, lay on them, wrap yourself in them and walk around the room. Hit the on button on Invader's "alarm clock" - a boxy looking thing with blue glow in the dark numbers on it. Force Invader to continually get up and get out of bed to remove the source of your noise causing. When all possible avenues of noise have been exhausted, jump onto the bed and paw at Invader. Plaster yourself against her shoulder and slap your paw on her face. Chew her hair. Put your butt in her face and fart on the pillow. Bite her nose. Bite her arm. Knead her shoulder. Knead her head. Meow loudly for attention. Chase your tail in circles while on stepping on Invader. Jump off the bed and go running through the house, making as much noise as possible and crashing into as many things as possible and then fly back onto the bed - the head is always the landing zone. Always remember: A ten pound cat is capable of sounding like a plane taking off. <br />
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5.) Operation Urinate- Pee on everything. Suit jackets. Pianos. Carpets. Clean laundry. Dirty laundry. Newspapers. Magazines. Important papers (particularly something called "taxes"). Bwahahahaha.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz5rbEWZ15iAPy0mbdQ79NlsvxWRTEH1z6Ft30SN-MbN810w17gTqq6y1cx0XyrseYp8zqJcBlK5mxhUZPgt1T4FqixO1z3NWLxIBoeFf7bYu2SrRO2UvfsUi61Jn6fFYlTaaXkskOrPaI/s1600/melrecon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz5rbEWZ15iAPy0mbdQ79NlsvxWRTEH1z6Ft30SN-MbN810w17gTqq6y1cx0XyrseYp8zqJcBlK5mxhUZPgt1T4FqixO1z3NWLxIBoeFf7bYu2SrRO2UvfsUi61Jn6fFYlTaaXkskOrPaI/s320/melrecon.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Mel doing some Recon</div>kwhitlock84http://www.blogger.com/profile/03776879484107445854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5583491726141855573.post-47112127823983476612010-08-28T10:51:00.000-07:002010-08-28T10:51:56.219-07:00I'm watching you...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Nw0iEkCcx_9UVQ8F_svjqP4P7XHGzVVxA1fkipSGeRhU6eCLcJiMM538yhe9xk_e3wHR73BxBpSIenZ7zjXQh3gHR8FhCtxeTXNdzswc-KEfyH3kl1Ucztv1760iyN0ETZZJyFQczm9q/s1600/DSCN0585.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Nw0iEkCcx_9UVQ8F_svjqP4P7XHGzVVxA1fkipSGeRhU6eCLcJiMM538yhe9xk_e3wHR73BxBpSIenZ7zjXQh3gHR8FhCtxeTXNdzswc-KEfyH3kl1Ucztv1760iyN0ETZZJyFQczm9q/s320/DSCN0585.JPG" /></a></div>kwhitlock84http://www.blogger.com/profile/03776879484107445854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5583491726141855573.post-12457967381447622592010-08-28T10:31:00.000-07:002010-08-28T11:34:40.740-07:00She knows....In the three years since Mel and I have (successfully?) "adjusted" to having each other as roommates, I've found that we both have a rather keen sense on reading people and situations. <br />
However, I confess that when it comes to ex-boyfriends I may have no skill whatsoever in reading a person. I am, sadly, easily wooed by someone simply laughing at my jokes, smiling at me, and looking deeply into my eyes. Worse, I may be easily wooed by someone who does not laugh at my jokes, does not smile at me, and does not look deeply into my eyes. <br />
In other words, I'm a total sucker. Anyone familiar with my love life will vouch. <br />
Mel on the other hand, has an knack for letting me know when she doesn't like someone.<br />
Well, Mel doesn't really like ANYONE, but there are particular people she really doesn't like. <br />
Sometimes she's wrong (she hissed at my grandma which was very rude and very much hurt Gram's and I's feelings). <br />
But on some occasions - it's just too damn obvious to misread. <br />
She peed in a recent, ex-boyfriend's suitcase, long long ago. I should have read into that sign then. <br />
Though I couldn't stop laughing at the time, I don't think he thought it was very funny and Mel just sat in perfect Mel fashion - "thwack, thwack" with her tail, glaring at him as if to say, "get the hell out of my house." And looking at me, no doubt, wondering if she had made her point.<br />
She would also refuse to let him walk into the house, get into the bed, sit on the couch, walk into the kitchen, drink anything in the living room without knocking it over onto my floor (causing my anger to be at him, not her of course), pet her, or take a shower without trying to jump in with him and attack. A flurry of yelps and cursing would ensue behind the shower curtain, which was usually moving in such a fashion that one could tell something very violent was happening behind there. There were occasions in which I wondered if the "I cut myself with the razor" line was a macho excuse, that the bleeding was from Mel's talons. She would also give him the look of death from across the room, and if gamma rays could come out of her eyes, he would be a pile of ash. Part of me regrets that gamma rays don't actually come out of her eyes.<br />
Recent ex-boyfriend turned out to be a real douchebag and I wonder now why I didn't end it when she pissed in his suitcase and sat there looking simply at me as if to say, "Do you understand?." <br />
Mel always knows best.kwhitlock84http://www.blogger.com/profile/03776879484107445854noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5583491726141855573.post-40970855961485809582010-08-28T10:15:00.000-07:002010-08-28T17:10:29.122-07:00Thwack. Thump. Mrrrroww.Three years ago I met my match, in a cat who was named Rosie at the time. <br />
I went to Rosie's foster home to meet her after meeting at least 10 other cats and just not clicking with them - of course they were all cute and I wanted them all, but none of them seemed to really be the challenge I was looking for. Just like in life, they needed to work for it. Being cute wasn't enough to come home with me. <br />
When I met Rosie, she came right up to me, sniffed my hand and sat down and glared at me, thumping her tail on the floor in a dog-style fashion. <br />
By glare, I mean she intently stared at me like she already hated my guts and I didn't have a chance with her. <br />
I felt rejected. <br />
Complete and total rejection. <br />
But this was the challenge I was looking for. <br />
I grabbed a feather toy and waved it in front of her face. <br />
She got up, turned her butt to me and went across the room and sat down 10 feet away from me, taking up her glaring contest again and completely and utterly ignoring the cat toy I was trying to invade her space with.<br />
"Come here Rosie," I said, patting the floor in front of me. "Rosie, do you want to be my family? Come here."<br />
With that, she let out a "Mrrrroowwww," got up and came over and sat down about 6 inches away from me, thumping her tail some more. <br />
I made no attempt to pet her but glared back at her intent stare. Here was my challenge.<br />
I knew this was the cat for me. <br />
***<br />
Rosie arrived with the rather insane animal rescue volunteer. I hate to categorize all animal rescue people as being weird, crazy, and full of emotional issues, because I would consider myself one of them, but not falling into that category. <br />
"Put her in the bathroom and let her get used to the space," the volunteer said, "Just let her come out slowly and explore."<br />
My bathroom, about the size of a Port-o-Potty, did not have enough room for both me, the volunteer, and the cat. <br />
The volunteer snatched the cat carrier and insisted on showing me how to "introduce" the cat to my home. Having been a cat owner my whole life, I tried not to be offended and let her stomp into my port-o-potty bathroom to let the cat out herself. <br />
She went in and put the cat carrier down on the 2 square inches of floor and got down on her hands and knees, uttering noises that I can assume she thought "communicated" with the growling cat in the Sherpa bag. <br />
"It's okay Rosie," she chirped.<br />
The view at this point was a half closed door, the volunteer's rump up in the air blocking the door from closing, with her face presumably down near the cat carrier flap - all the while lecturing me on how to introduce a cat into my home.<br />
At some point, I can only assume she unzipped the carrier flap because a highly incensed Rosie, who I would quickly learn was anything BUT the adjective her name alluded to, came flying out of the bathroom, over the top of the volunteer's head and rump, shrieking, hissing and growling all the while. A whirlwind of gray flew past me, circled the room in tornado fashion, and disappeared somewhere into the small apartment. <br />
The flustered volunteer told me just to "give her time" and "let her adjust" and promptly left, presumably slightly embarrassed, and not wanting me to change my mind on the adoption.<br />
Well it really didn't take anytime for Rosie to adjust, I promptly changed her name as it was not only ill-fitting but reminded me of Rosie O'Donnell. I couldn't have something sleeping in my bed at night that reminded me of Rosie O'Donnell. <br />
Melody would be her name. For the sweet cacophony of growling and shrieking that came out of her mouth continuously for our first year together. Mel for short. <br />
And quite promptly, my home became Mel's place - I just live here.kwhitlock84http://www.blogger.com/profile/03776879484107445854noreply@blogger.com0