Christmas Trees and Cats

I have had an indoor cat or two for most of my adult life.  I am a cat person.  I like dogs fine in small doses outside.  I have had wonderful cats and heinous cats.  I had the best cat in the world go guano crazy after my daughter died.  Now, I have Sookie.   

She's a beauty, isn't she?  She looks so innocent.  I've talked about her before here.  She's been mostly great.  She was a rescue who came to live with us just after the first of this year...after Christmas.  She's been de-clawed in front.  I really didn't foresee problems with Christmas decorations.  I was wrong or stupid.  Hey, it could be both.

It took me a long time to get the damn tree decorated yesterday, starting with putting lights on backwards.  I had to take them off and restring.  My seemingly ginormous belly gets in the way a lot.  Anyway, I finished it up around midnight last night, thanks to the hubs, and I was so pleased with myself.  I didn't leave the bottom empty of ornaments.  It didn't occur to me to do that.

Then, I came home from working 10 hours today.  My first indication something was wrong came from a shiny glint in the tree-lit carpet.  I turned on the overhead light.  A beautiful red ball lay crushed on the opposite wall from the tree.  I cleaned it up and went to admire the tree as well as try to get a decent photo.  Then, I noticed two other balls out of place.  Not just nudged on a branch were they.  One was on the tree skirt and the other was off to the side.  

How did she get them off?  She has NO claws!  Well, technically she does, but not in front.  My sweet little Sookie is now a demon cat.  My first indoor cat was too lazy to do anything but drink the tree water.  Then there was Whiskey.  He had to be outdoors after two weeks of absolutely refusing to use the litter box.  Next were Albert and Snookums.  They were the best cats in the whole world...until Olivia died.  Then, they nearly grieved themselves to death.  BUT, they never attacked a Christmas tree.  If Sookie continues to terrorize the Christmas tree, she'll surpass Whiskey the impossible-to-train-to-use-the-litter box cat as the cat who's angered me the most.  Banjo might even move up on the favorite pet list...

I am absolutely terrible at photographing  a lit tree.

Fat Cat

I put my cat on a diet.  Sookie was a rescue from a local animal shelter.  She had lots of treatment before she came to me.  Still, at that time, she had a runny eye, scratch on her nose, and was mostly fur.  I think she's the equivalent of the poor man who wins the lottery.  She came here and found abundant food, no need to forage or hide in nature and love.  That poor man finds himself not living on Hamburger Helper, but instead filets and creme brulee.

She's so fat now that she has a belly that sways when she walks and a double chin.  A while back, I bought the auto feeder because I was tired of her waking me up early because she only had a crumb of food left. She became a snob and would only eat when there were whole pieces filling the bowl.  God help us if there were broken pieces or the 'dust' like that's left at the bottom of a cereal box.  That auto feeder was my mistake.  I had no idea exactly how much she was eating.

I know this may seem hypocritical coming from a woman of substantial girth.  I have to say, I've lost and gained about 150 lbs in my lifetime.  I think I'm the perfect person to put a cat on a diet.

I went all out and bought the Royal Canin Lite formula.  It's pricey.  I'm measuring out amounts to feed twice daily.  I'm hoping it works.  Else, she'll be bigger than I am at full term.

Static

This is probably the longest lapse since I started this blog.  I have so many thoughts racing through my nog on any given day.  It's like a pinball machine in there!

My cat is a regular landing spot for the thought ball bouncing around.  The fact that she mews loudly and regularly could have something to do with that.  When I got her from my friend Jill, she said, "I think she's going to have a lot to tell you."  Well, it's been nine months and the damn cat talks more than ever.  If an animal can be spoiled, then she is.  She quietens right down when one of us picks her up and cuddles her.  Maybe, just maybe, she was a warm up to the baby I'm growing.

The baby is probably the most frequent hit for the ball o' thought.  I think about the baby constantly.  I rub my growing belly consciously and unconsciously.  I look at my ultrasound photos so often, if I were an artist, then I could draw them from memory.

There are other, darker thoughts in there.  Those are ones I keep to myself mostly.  I have fears and worries.  Some of those are completely out of my control.  Others are ones I could change if I worked at it.  Regardless, I struggle to keep those at bay because I don't want that negativity surrounding my baby.  See, he's still tops on the list.

Food is the final thought.  I think about it when I wake up and as I go to sleep.  In those 18 or so hours in between, I'm fighting nausea, still, to the point that actually eating is a challenge.  I long for the good days of pregnancy when food is a treat again.

I'm heading to those thoughts of medium rare filet mignon now.  The cat is stretched across both my feet and will loudly object to my movement.  Goodnight, my friends.

The Price of Cats and Dogs

One would think I am a dog hater.  Send me a picture of a little pug puppy and  you might hear, "Oh, cute.  It'll grow up to be a dog."  I actually hurt a friend's feelings when her old dog died.  He was like 14 or something.  She was really upset and I was tired of hearing about it.  I said a couple of times, "It's just a dog."  That was a pivotal point in our former friendship. 

This is Banjo.  That's my cat Sookie right after she overtook his blankets on the floor.

My husband has a dog.  His name is Banjo.  I sometimes encourage him to go play in traffic when I walk him.  It's a whisper.  Once, he tried.  I hesitated for about 3 seconds before I went after him.  That part of me that loves my husband overcame the part of me that loves cats more than dogs and I chased the little hairy fucker down the street in flip flops, a t-shirt sans bra, sweat pants...you get the picture. 

I am, in fact, a cat person.  I am, in fact, not a dog hater.  I had the best dog in the world.  His  name was Bo.  He was a beautiful blond lab and chow mix.  He came to us when he was 4 weeks old and I was a senior in high school.  He lived for thirteen years and died of cancer.  When you have the best dog in the world, it's hard to ever have one that measures up.  As for a dog dying, losing Bo was very sad.  After losing a child, I'd let him die every day and not think twice about it.

On to cats...they are fantastic creatures.  I've hardly been without one for seventeen years.  The one I had from 1995-2003 was one of the best cats ever.  She was so great, Olivia's dad and I shared custody of her as well.  That's what happened to her.  On one of her visits with him, he let her outside and she never came back.  Then, I had two phenomenally beautiful pedigreed cats.  One was a Bombay and the other a Burmese.  I shouldn't even call them mine.  They were Olivia's and they grieved themselves nearly to death after she died.  Now, I have this rescue, Sookie.  She's funny and loving and she warms my heart.

We want to have a baby, but it's not happened yet.  I had two miscarriages last year.  During all of that, the animals have been the consistent soothers.  Even that damned Banjo.  He seems to know when I'm sad or hurting.


I'm sentimental tonight as Sookie snuggles me while I lie here a little melancholy.  Those pedigrees are pricey, but there really isn't anything I can afford when it comes to the sweet purr or warmth the paws and little head on my leg bring.