Who says cats are graceful?

Who says cats are graceful?

They must have some massive PR budget, because my cats, at least, are decidedly not graceful.

Proof lies in the tale I’m about to relate.

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OK, take a look at this picture. This is an old picture; now there is another bookcase along the wall between the light and dark bookcases. It fits snugly – the corners of the book cases meet, creating a square behind them that is blocked off. Nothing is there, can’t get to it. The plastic containers on top of the bookcase aren’t there any more, but the monkey with the banana is.

So.

Lately the cats have been getting up there and knocking the monkey onto the floor. Almost daily we’ll find him sitting on the floor; once, we found him drug halfway down the stairs.

Today, today was their peak performance. I’m minding my own business, poking around on the computer when I hear a cat crying. Now we can usually tell more or less what the cats vocalizations mean. Playful, mad, hungry, needy – whatever, we can usually tell. Also, each cat has its own distinctive sound; Max is loud and tends to be yowly, George has the tiniest meow but can be heard when he wants to be, Fred is quite talkative, Tasha rarely meows, she mostly chirps and mrrrps. Yes, that’s a word. Really.

So there is this pathetic meow that sounded unfamiliar. It was definitely one of ours, but not of a sort I’ve heard them make. I go looking for the source, and end up in the library. George is agitated, and is snuffling the bookshelf. Fred is perched on the cat tree, looking very interested in the proceedings. The monkey is again on the floor. And then I heard the cat cry again.

Out from between the two bookcases where the corners meet, a grey paw waves pathetically. Tasha had managed to get up on the bookcase, shove the monkey off, and then, graceful creature that she is, either decided to see what was down in that corner, or simply fell off. I don’t know how long she was in there – could have been up to four or five hours, but honestly, I don’t think it was that long. The way the cats were acting, I think it had been a recent adventure.

To get her out, we had to empty one bookcase, so we could move it away from the wall. I’m not sure how we’re going to solve this little problem, either.

Cats.

Originally published at Jen’s Corner. You can comment here or there.


I feel more like I do now than I did before.

Today, in short bullet points:

  • Tasha has taken off her collar, again. This time, I think she’s hidden it.
  • The cable bill gave me a massive paper cut.
  • Though mortally wounded (see above point) I got the junk paid and the bills shredded.
  • Wait. Reverse that.
  • I still need to pick classes for Spring term. Eeep.
  • I’m dreading getting our writing assignment for Am Lit.

That is all.

[EDIT: 9:49pm Found it! Tasha’s collar, that is. It was on the bottom shelf of a bookcase in the library. Silly cat. Now I’m going to have some ice cream and watch play Sam & Max. ]


Crap.

I don’t want another cat right now. My 18 year old with cancer is, of course, my top priority. I can’t let her be too stressed. To say nothing of the 12 year old diabetic.

The kitten is adorable, sweet, and judging from the last couple of days would get along fine with Max and Jake, and as well as could be expected with the oldsters.

I don’t want or need another cat.

Yet giving that cat back to the “owners” is killing me, and I don’t know if I did right to do it.

It turns out that it did indeed belong to the neighbors I feared it did.

This was my earlier response to crankycatlady:

They’ve got a pug – has been kept in the garage during the day. Don’t know if it’s everyday or not, but I’ve heard him in the garage.

They’ve got a boxer-ish dog, beautiful animal. Gets out of the backyard frequently – for a while it was Every. Single. Day. I think (not sure) that they (were? are?) leaving him out there.

They have (had?) a pretty yellow kitten, friendly booger. Outside. Came in our yard frequently. I don’t care if it’s in our yard – Jake loves cats. But there’s pit bulls behind us. Now, I happen to like pit bulls, and don’t believe in the hysteria about them; however these pit bulls feed into the stereotype. I wouldn’t give a cat good odds if they found themselves on that side of the fence. I haven’t seen the yellow cat in a while. Don’t know if they actually keep him in, if he’s still outside, or if he’s gone.

Turns out I was right – the yellow cat has “run off”.

Damn it! I shouldn’t have given her back.

They got one hell of a lecture though.

Crap. I don’t know what I should have done.


Edit 10:30 pm: I’ll be damned. Not one hour after I bitched them out and handed over the kitten, guess who shows up at our back door? Guess who sauntered in when I opened it? Guess who rubbed noses with the dog and walked underneath him?

Huh. Whaddaya know.