Bless The Little Mess

We always planned to change The Little Mess's name, but we never did.  The name, for better or worse, seems to suit her.  Usually we just call her The Mess.  Which is kind of funny because she's a stunning cat, absolutely beautiful.

The Little Mess was named when she was a tiny baby.  Her mother was feral, and Little Mess was very sickly.  She was on all kinds of medications, plus we were bottle feeding her.  She was always a mess, we were always wiping her face, cleaning her eyes, giving her mediation by way of droppers, etc.  When we were looking for her or talking about her, we would always say "where is that little mess," and the name just kind of stuck.

We used to think The Mess was brain damaged, but not any more.  Now we just think she's a little bit slow.

Puck the Stairway Bouncer

Puck has never been an active fellow, and the older he gets, the less active he becomes.  In his later years he has taken on the role of stair bouncer. 


Sitting at the center at the top of the stair landing, Puck decides who passes.  Which means, cats get by, dogs don't even try.  Sneaky Squirrel, who has never made any kind of sound that I know of, will try to sneak by when Puck is asleep.  This strategy is often successful.  Puck is often asleep.


When Puck is awake, trying to sneak by him results in a wicked slap of the paw.  Puck is very good at his job.

My Jacaranda, My Friend

The other day I pulled into the driveway after a very long day at work.  My eyes immediately went to the emptiness left by the removal of my companion, and friend, the jacaranda that had sat in front of my house for much longer than the 19 years that we have owned it.   This tree provided welcome afternoon shade, it assisted us in cooling down our home in the heat of the day.  Our children played underneath it’s mighty branches.  It provided a safe haven for many creatures, we once rescued a 3 foot iguana hiding amongst its branches from a murder of crows.

I am going to miss looking out my living room window and seeing my friend.  They said she was crooked, was going to topple over, and was a potential danger and had to be removed.  I didn’t see it.  To me she was beautiful.  I miss her.

Twink in the Sink

What is it with cats and sinks?  You can buy every conceivable pet bed, perch and apparatus in all shapes, colors and textures, and still some cats prefer to curl up in sinks.


The sink is Twink's bed of choice.  Specifically, my bathroom sink.  Which means I inevitably need to scoop her fat little body with the polydactyl paddle paws from my sink at least once a day, usually many times more.  And of course as luck would have it Twink has one of those fat litte bodies that goes limp when you pick it up, which makes the scooping all the more difficult. 


And before one can scoop a fat limp little cat with polydactyl paddle paws, one must somehow get a grip, which isn't easy if the little fat one doesn't feel like being scooped.  The fat just kind of envelopes your fingers and hands and the faucet gets in the way once the extraction has begun.


Does anyone know where one can purchase a fat cat extractor?

Darwin the Doorwalker

...or ... my Funny Gargoyle.

It used to kind of unerve me a bit when I'd walk into a room and there would be Darwin perched upon the door, peering down.  Nevermind half the time I couldn't figure out how he got up there.  How did he get up there?  I know on the French doors he would scale them as though he were rapelling up a front at REI.  But the smooth doors?  How did he get up there?  And how would he get down?

Sometimes in the dark when I enter a room I see his spooky eyes stare down on me.  It used to sort of startle me, not any more.  Now I know it's just Darwin the Doorwalker.

Don't Blink, Twink

Twink has a staring problem. I realize that staring problems are not rare among cats, indeed they're quite common.  But Twink's goes beyond the pale. 

I wake in the morning, before first alarm – Twink is sitting on my bed, in very close proximity, staring intently. 

While I'm sitting at the computer, Twink is nearby – gaze affixed.

In the kitchen, she's there, eyes on me.

Sometimes it seems she's everywhere.  On the couch, in the bathroom, on the dining room table.  Staring.  Never blinking.

I guess I should be glad she doesn't try to trip me on the stairs like Darwin does.

Twink-A-Dink

Twink-A-Dink

Twink is without a doubt the most neurotic feline I have ever known.  The moment my alarm sounds in the morning, the ritual begins.  Frantically, she runs in circles, crying all the while, as though it's been years since her last meal.  She circles the food dishes, pushing her feline companions out of the way. 

And once the food is in the dishes, Twink amps things up a notch.  She runs from dish to dish, a taste here, a taste there, growling at whoever happens to be breakfasting there at any particular time.  Until at last, all the food is gone, and Twink's fat little belly is satisfied.

Then it's time for Baby.  Twink has a [used to be] red, ratty, oddly shaped stuffed toy that is Twink's and Twink's alone.  She's had this toy for many years and it's her Baby.

After Twink's breakfast frenzy, she'll find her Baby, and run around with Baby in her mouth for about 10 or 15 minutes.  Crying all the time of course.

Yup.  Most neurotic feline I have ever know.  Twink-A-Dink, and this is just the tip of the iceberg.

Puck's Prerogative

Puck is a massive cat, a 20-lb. tabby who carries most of his weight in his low-slung belly.  Puck is middle-aged now, having spent most of his life in pursuit of food and sleep.  But mostly food.  As is his prerogative.

Lately Puck has decided that it's too much trouble to groom himself, and being that his coat is somewhere between longhaired and shorthaired (which makes him medium-haired, I guess), he has begun to get mats, mostly in the hind quarters.  Or he would get mats, if I'd let him.

I've never had a cat with mats, and I'm not going to start now.  So much to Puck's chagrin, he is now getting almost daily brushings, whereas before he was brushed only when he needed to be brushed.

And he absolutely hates it!  He hisses at me, claws at me, runs from me, and tries to bite me.  All of which is Puck's prerogative.

Sneaky Squirrel

First off, Squirrel isn't really a squirrel, he's a Chihuahua.  I was going to say tiny, or little, but that would be a bit redundant, don't you think?


Squirrel is so named because he's a very squirrely fellow.  Cute as a button, sweet as candy, but squirrely.  He is afraid of his own shadow, and so he runs and hides if someone breathes loudly.  If someone slams a door, Squirrel runs and hides.  If you make too much noise with your silverware, Squirrel is in "the fort" - a pile of blankets in a dark corner. 

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