Cat

All posts tagged Cat

Shhhh.. don’t tell the cats…but I really like the dog.

Published January 4, 2018 by Malia

My dog is scared of popping bubble wrap. She’s also scared of the crinkling sound plastic bottles make. She always looks worried or sad or both. The boy says she gets her anxiety from me. When he’s home she doesn’t seem anxious at all.

Anyway, here’s a bunch of pictures of my precious 11 year old lady puppy; because she’s the best, I love her, and we all need more dog pictures in our lives! (I don’t care that she’s old. I’ll always refer to her as a puppy.)

This is her, “Please, mom, stay home with me and don’t go to work for 9-ish hours.” face.

See, she’s totally at peace when the boy is home. He claims he no longer has a lap.

She looks so precious in her coat, but ahe refuses to leave the hood up.

LOOK AT HER LITTLE PAW PRINTS IN THE SNOW!!!!! She, however, hates the cold and the snow.

She loves sleeping under the covers. This is not an unusual early morning sight.

Puppy-ball and cat-loaf. This is the closest they get to getting along.

I adore her underbite and snaggletooth.

I love her little nerd shirts ❤

My little super hero dog. Her Wonder Woman cape and harness were a bit expensive, but soooooo worth it! She’s so adorable in them!

Bonus: adorable Doctor Mew!

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Year of the Blog

Published January 1, 2016 by Malia

2016 is here! My goal this year is to avoid Facebook as much as possible.. Instead of wasting time there, I’m going to be trying to blog as much as I possibly can.
To help ease ya’ll into the new year, here’s some pictures of my adorable kitty boy…

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Thoughts I’m Having Currently…Part 1

Published December 18, 2015 by Malia

1. If I sit almost completeky still, and only move my fingers, my pain level is only about a four. 

2.  Waiting for the doctor’s office to call with lab results is a sucky nightmare.

3. 

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He’s fast asleep, pinning my legs, which helps a lot with that whole sitting still thing.

4.  Star Wars tomorrow.  if you don’t like Star Wars, I feel sad for you, but won’t stop liking you.  (but I may start practicing Jedi skills in your direction…”You want to watch Star Wars…You will like Star Wars…“)

5.  Typing a post out on my phone isn’t terribly easy, especially since I turned off auto-capitalisation.

6.  Eek…just barely shifted my leg and the demons in my abdomen are trying to decide if they’re going to upgrade the level 4 to a level 5. 

7.  LOOK AT THE PRECIOUS ANGEL BABY!

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8.  Wonder if I can use my Jedi powers to fetch the ibuprofen…

9.  nope…

10.  Crap, this means I have to get up…

11.  I shall return…

Trash Can Down

Published August 9, 2015 by Malia

I’ve always had cats with weird quirks, but this is a new one.  Doctor Mew is absolutely obsessed with this awesome, 12 year old, dolphin emblazoned trash can.

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Mainly, his obsession is knocking it over, every…single…time he notices that I have set it right-side up.  I’m not sure what his deal is.  I’ve only seen him try to get in it twice.  Usually, he finally notices that it is sitting upright, and then stands on it until it slides over onto its side.  Then he walks away.

Our Family Has Grown By Four Paws

Published July 31, 2015 by Malia

When the boy and I first got together, I made it pretty clear that to love me is to love (or at least gracefully tolerate) any various pet (live or stuffed) that I may hold up in front of his face, while squealing something along the lines of, “Doesn’t he have just the most precious widdle face you’ve ever seen?”  We both agreed when we got married that eventually we’d have a dog or cat, but the timing wasn’t optimal at present.  I still needed to finish (and by that I mean start) unpacking, and we just needed to settle into being a married couple.  This is the first time either of us has lived with someone as more than just a roommate.  Adjusting has to happen.

The first few months, I did good.  Yes, I desperately wanted to go to the shelter and get a little unwanted kitty, but I knew the boy was right.  We needed to wait.  And then I got mono.

If you’ve read any of my recent posts, you’ll know the whole “yay, I got mono for the second time in my life”  story.   If you don’t know the story, basically I spent all of May trying to figure out why I felt so rotten.  Beginning of June, found out I had mono.  It was a pretty “magical” time in my life.

So, I was beginning to recover, when one of my friends let me know that the Humane Society was having a half-off sale on adult cats.  (I realize I should clarify, they weren’t selling half of a cat, it was half-off the price.  Wait, none of you needed me to explain that?  Oh well, here’s hoping at least one person out there found this terrible joke slightly funny…)  Thinking that it couldn’t hurt to at least look at the shelter’s website, as long as I stuck to my guns about not giving in to my desire for a kitty, I went browsing.  I’ll be honest, there were some pretty cute cats.  However, as I went from page to page, no image really leaped out and grabbed me.  Until I came across the image of a cat that looked exactly like my poor, dead Howie cat (except this cat had amber eyes instead of Howie’s green).

I stared at that picture, and I fell in love.  He was purrrrfect.  I wanted desperately to rush over to the Humane Society and adopt him immediately.  However, I knew the boy might have some issue if I did that.  Instead I waited until he got home, and then I kind of attacked him with all the information I had about the cat.  I’m relatively certain my ramblings went something like this, “He’s just so precious and adorable.  He really needs a home.  He’s four, and he’s been at the shelter for a month.  No one is going to want an older cat that’s already been there that long.  Just look at this picture!”  And that’s when I shoved my phone in his face, forcing him to look at the “perfect” cat.  I ended my sales pitch with, “We REALLY need a cat.”

I believe his response was something along the lines of, “I believe that you believe we really need a cat.”

“So, you’re saying we don’t need a cat?”

“I didn’t say that, I said that I believe that you believe we really need a cat.”

“So, if  I went and adopted him tomorrow, that’d be okay?”

“As you wish.”

I feel I should interject here, that when the boy says, “As you wish,” it’s super romantic and quite swoon-worthy because he’s actually saying, “I love you.”  And if you’re thinking that it sounds like I lifted that straight from Princess Bride, well, there’s a good reason for that.  I love when he says it, and I think he knows it.

Anyway, the next day my mom went with me, and I spent nearly two hours waiting to get to spend some time with the kitty.  Mom and I sat facing the row of windows, right in front of where he was sitting.  He came with the name Ziggy, but there was absolutely nothing about him that screamed Ziggy at me.  Maybe Garfield, but not Ziggy.  I spent the whole two hours being desperately afraid that somebody in line ahead of me would be there for Ziggy, and they’d get him before I could.  However, there were bunches of kittens, and they were definitely garnering more attention and visits than the big, fat, orange cat.

Finally, my number got called.

I found myself sitting in this little room with my mom and a humane society worker.  She asked some basic questions about my lifestyle and home, and then asked me why I wanted to adopt Ziggy.  I realized that I probably shouldn’t say, “He looks exactly like the reincarnation of my dead cat who I miss terribly.”  So, I gave some pat answer about how from what I’d read on Ziggy’s info, it looked like he would be a perfect fit for our home, and that I just wanted to give him at home.  I can’t remember exactly what I said, but I’m sure it sounded trite and formulaic.  I must have satisfied their questions, because they let him in the room to see how he’d do.

He did great.

I adopted him.

Then I texted the boy (who was at work) an adorable picture of Ziggy sticking his nose out through the holes in the carrier side, and captioned it, “Hi, dad!”  Unfortunately, the boy didn’t get the picture and only saw the text, and because he doesn’t equate pet ownership the same as being parents, he immediately thought that I meant a miracle had happened and I was pregnant.  Which led to him calling me with great excitement, and me realizing that maybe I should’ve worded my text message differently.  I had to burst his bubble, and tell him I was just referring to the kitty.  Later on, I had to give him a hard time about the fact that he actually thought that if I found out I was pregnant I would let him know via a text message.  Um…hello…that would be huge, life-altering, amazing news, and there is no way I’d tell him in a text message!  I could be 5000 miles away, and I’d find a way to get home so I could tell him face to face.

Ziggy came to live with us, and by that I mean, he spent the next few weeks primarily living under our bed.  He turned out to be afraid of  everything (side note: he’s only scared of mostly everything now, I see this as progress).  Since I was adamant he wasn’t a Ziggy, we started trying out new names.  For the first two weeks we called him Ajani (a cat character from Magic: The Gathering), but then I found out that Ajani is actually a girl’s name and put my foot down.  I said something about the fact that I didn’t care if he was fixed, I wasn’t giving him a girl’s name.  Which led to me calling him Monk, as in Adrian Monk, Tony Shalhoub’s character from Monk.  I figured that if the cat was scared of everything, it was a good fit.  And then the boy finished building the greatest cat house ever…

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He build a cat sized TARDIS.

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I’m 5’0″ tall, and I can barely see over the top of this thing.  And if building a TARDIS for my cat wasn’t enough, the boy came up with the most perfect name ever.

Doctor Mew.

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My cat has a crush on Dean Winchester

Published January 30, 2014 by Malia

Okay, before your minds go completely into the gutter, let me explain.

This is my cat, Gracie…

Isn’t she just the prettiest little princess?

Technically, she’s actually the family cat.  And, then there are nights like tonight, where I came home from work, was tired and she did something gross and despite the fact that I’m a trained vet tech, I couldn’t deal with it, and so I locked myself in my room and was completely irresponsible and immature about the whole situation, because I seriously could not deal with anymore crap.  (Yes, tonight is also a night of bad grammar.  Part of the not being able to deal with anymore crap issue.)  Yeah, I didn’t really claim her as my cat tonight.

ANYWAY…back to my cat and her crush.

As long as we’ve owned her, we’ve noticed that Gracie has a proclivity towards being a little flirt.  When I brought a boy home, she flirted.  When a guy was replacing our windows, she pranced around and flirted.  Pretty much, if it’s male, she gets really adorable and does everything possible to get their attention.  If she was a human, it’s possible I’d despise her.  However, she’s pretty much the most adorable thing on four legs, so no risk of despising taking place.

We’ve noticed that while she always watched TV with us, she’s never more intent on the show than when we’re watching Supernatural and Dean is on the screen.  In case you have a life, and haven’t gotten sucked in, here’s what he looks like…

And here he is in one of my all time favorite videos…

I swear, if she could figure out how to get into the screen, she would climb onto his shoulder and never leave.  Silly little cat.

The Tail of a Cat

Published February 12, 2013 by Malia

Shortly before I turned 5, my family moved from Denver to a little town in southern Illinois.  We took a long two cats, Gracie and Marshmallow, some gerbils, and some fish.  Not long  after we settled in, the neighbor’s cat came around to visit with her kittens.  She did this everyday for a couple of days.  It was late fall, and the weather was turning cool.  Mom couldn’t stand it, and she started leaving out food.  Pretty soon, the mamma cat stopped coming, and only one little kitten remained.  Somehow mom and I convinced my dad that we needed to take the kitten in.  So, into our lives came a third cat, which in my 5 year old wisdom I named, Andrew George Mittens the Third.  Andrew came about because at the time I was convinced that “Andrew” was simply the greatest boy name in the world.  George was attached because our cat Gracie was named after Gracie Allen, so I thought it was appropriate to name the boy cat after George Burns.  Mittens was because he had little white paws that emerged from his tabby coat.   I didn’t quite comprehend the fact that “the Third” referred to line of descendants.  I just thought it fit since he was the third cat we had at the time.    Anyway, Andrew, George, and the Third rarely got mentioned, and he came to be known as Mittens.

Mittens quickly grew from being a tiny pathetic kitten, into a bit of a behemoth.  He remained this for as long as he was in my life.

The first year I was in 4-H, I decided to spend the year preparing my cat to be judged at the county fair.  Owning him was as close to owning livestock as I was gonna get.  When I took him to the fair, I had to take him up to a panel of judges which included a veterinarian.  Things didn’t exactly go smoothly.  Mittens decided it was a good time to hiss and be generally unsociable.  My mom ended up coming and holding him in place.  The vet was terrified of him.  I think the fact that I wasn’t scared of something she was, is what got me a blue ribbon.

We discovered, one day by chance, that Mittens could be called by the sound of hysterical crying.  We were watching an episode of Little House on the Prairie, and Mittens was nowhere around.  In the episode, Nellie Olson started fake hysterical crying.  Out of nowhere, Mittens lumbered in desperate to check on mom and I.  He was certain something was wrong.  He never failed to come when I was crying.

When I turned 9, I had a really bad case of pneumonia.  It actually hit a few weeks before my 9th birthday, and lasted until the middle of February.  I missed the better part of 3.5 months of 3rd grade.   The night I was at my worst, was the day we had gone to the doctor.  The doctor prescribed me meds, and told my mom that if I got worse, I had to be admitted to the hospital.  That night, mom sat on my bed and pleaded with God.  To say we were poor would be an understatement, and there was no way we could’ve afforded a hospital trip.  All that night mom prayed, and like he had from when I started getting sick, Mittens sat attentively on the foot of my bed.  I did start to slowly get better after that night, and didn’t have to go to the hospital.  Two weeks later when we went to the doctor for a check-up, he was in shock.  He told my mom that he had thoroughly anticipated that I would be in the hospital the night of my last visit.  He also told her that he had expected that I would die in the hospital.

Mittens lived with us, and saw me almost all the way through my teenage years.  He was fat, and precious, and crabby, and wonderful.

When I was a freshman in college, I was living several hundred miles away from home, and things at home took a bad turn.  My parents moved, and they couldn’t take Mittens with them.  So, he went to live with a neighbor.  He was really old at that point, and not in the greatest health.  I never got to say good-bye, but I think (or at least I hope) that he somehow knew that we loved him and didn’t leave him willingly.

I’m sure he’s gone on to kitty heaven by now, but I hope he knows how marvelous and how precious and how important he was in my life.

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