Posts Tagged ‘cat’

Reasons why having a garden is worth it…

September 28, 2010

homegrown organic vegetables produce cat

… Going outside and harvesting a bounty like this, just steps away from my kitchen. I made a big ol’ saute/mash with these glories for dinner (added spinach, chickpeas, fresh herbs and a sweet potato), and have leftovers for 3 other meals before even finishing all of this off.

Fabrizio, as you can see, totally approves.

(pictured: three zucchini, Early Girl and Juliet tomatoes, Yukon Gold potatoes, rainbow Swiss chard and four lonely soybeans)

product of usa, fresh tomatoes, garden, veggies, produce, organic

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Remember Anxiety Cat?

December 9, 2009

She’s the one for whom I built a cardboard cat shanty a while back.

Well, anxiety-ridden Buffy strikes again. This time she was so frightened of the world she kept herself underneath the house for 5 days, the latter couple of which the temperature dropped to single digits. She kept herself down there willingly, with ample opportunity to come out, get food and water and possibly come indoors where it was cozy and warm, but instead she remained beneath the house. In the dirt. In the cold. Crying.

Crying all the time. Whenever I made a sound.

She’d even follow me from under the house as I moved around within it, crying for my help. Would the damn thing accept it when I’d come outside and oh-so sweetly call her name? OF COURSE NOT. Too easy. Cats don’t accept the world of logic, and Buffy is absolutely outstanding at rejecting any sort of sensible action.

Last night she finally emerged from the dingy depths and I was able to snag and bring her inside. Problem solved, right? Nope, the indoors are mighty scary too. That’s where the other two cats are most of the time, especially Merlot, who despite his cuddliness, is the resident asshole of the house.  So she began howling. And hiding underneath the couch. I could coax her out every now and then and enjoy her peacefully sitting and purring on my lap in a seemingly content little fuzz ball (might I add, filthy from being under the house), but the second there was movement or a noise, she was back under that couch. Or crying at the door to be let out back into the frigid, awful cold. Remember the whole cats-don’t-acknowledge-logic thing.

When I came home from work this evening, she had been inside in the warmth all day long, and she was itching to get out. Sorry lady, it’s no warmer out there and I don’t want to have to haul your frozen, adorable carcass out from my foundation. The howling begins again. I brought her to the litter box in case she was too scared to scamper the 20 feet to it during the day, but she ran out the second those paws touched the patented Super Scoop granules, and she was back under the couch. Whatever, I have shit to do upstairs. Peace.

You know,  funny I should mention the word shit.

Yes, that’s exactly what she did, underneath and up INSIDE MY COUCH. Poop. My beautiful, giant red couch that I bought several years ago for a pretty penny with my own hard-earned cash. Over time she had torn up the fabric underneath so she could crawl in and laze about, hammock-style. Once there was even a dead lizard in there for a couple days. But never poop.

Might I add, I can’t even comprehend how mentally unstable you have to be to literally shit where you sleep, in your personal sanctuary, but again with the cat/logic, oil/water equation.

I called my dear friend Crispin, a fellow cat lady, for her advice, and she had the genius idea of locking Buffy in her own room with her own food, water and litter box. Done and done. Anxiety-Ridden Buffy now resides in the guest room, at least during the colder periods, and enjoys her own queen-sized bed, down comforter, chic dinnerware, and a view of the Columbia River and Mt. Adams. With no other cats to bully her around. That cat damn well better not complain.

As for the poop? Maneuvering with a flashlight and a pair of scissors, I had to reach under and cut out the piece of fabric that held the offending offal and dispose of it properly. I would also like to thank Febreeze for getting all up in that couch and making it smell less like cat shit and terror.

Crazy cat lady strikes again

October 9, 2009

While I was watching Jim and Pam get married, I turned my pile of recycling into an outdoor cat house.

I swear, this is being a good pet owner. Not crazy.

I swear, this is being a good pet owner. Not crazy.

My reclusive cat Buffy spends her outdoor time hiding out in my side yard/patio. Sometimes she’s so freaked out by the other cats bullying her that she won’t come inside. Fine in the summer (minus the raccoons eating all her food and washing their grubby paws in her water), but in the winter that isn’t so great. I’ve been contemplating a cat house (read: not whore house) for her for a while. As I was breaking down a bunch of cardboard boxes last night I realized that I could turn it into her house.

I made it water resistant with stiff plastic sheets that held some kitschy placemats and a bunch of packaging tape. I tore apart a long cardboard tube and made reinforcing “columns” as well as a top beam, should anything decide to sit on the “roof”. Then I made a little bed like structure to go inside, also covered in plastic and tape. I’ll put an old towel in there once I get it outside.

Crazy cat ladyness aside, not a bad way to reuse my junk. If I was really enterprising I’d paint it, but I think that puts you into the crazy cat lady realm. Maybe I’ll scrawl a sign that reads “Cat Cardboard Hobo Shack” instead.

Photo of the Day: Day Fifty-One

April 30, 2009

At around 6:55am this morning I returned home from working out at the gym. The moment I pulled into my driveway my laziest, fattest cat Fabrizio was on the front step to the house with a big ol’ bird in his mouth. Well I’ll be damned.

Fab has the tradition to run and greet me at my car whenever I come home. It’s really pretty endearing, even if he insists on greeting any car and/or person that pauses outside my house. I’ll take what I can get. When I pull in the driveway he runs up (often too close for my comfort) and meows repeatedly until I exit the vehicle. If I take too long he might jump up on the car and rub up again the window, looking in at me beseechingly. When I open the door he’s all loves, like he hasn’t seen me in weeks and has missed me terribly. This can even happen if I go to the grocery store for 20 minutes. It’s become some odd Pavlovian thing over the years.

Today was no different, except when he ran to my door he dropped off his dead friend at my feet and proceeded to rub against my legs like crazy, as if he was so dang proud that his chubby butt was still able to catch a bird. I still don’t know if he actually caught the thing or if it was actually obtained by his younger, much more lean and spry brother Merlot. Nonetheless… cute.

Fab had no desire to eat his kill, and instead went indoors to stuff his face with cat food.

Fab had no desire to eat his kill, and instead went indoors to stuff his face with cat food.

Photo of the Day: Day Thirty-Nine

April 17, 2009

Good morning from Fabrizio and I!

It’s that time of year when the temperature and lighting are just right so that I can take advantage of having a guest room and spend a week or two sleeping up there. I painted it a sunny yellow and almost every morning have the trees, the sunrise and my cats welcoming me into the new day. It’s like a mini-vacation from my cave of a room, and a new spring tradition. I think it started sometime last year when I realized, “Shit. I have two beds. Why don’t I sleep in the other one?”

My best friend Pat, who lived on an air mattress in his apartment for months last fall, likened that statement to this scene from Dumb and Dumber.

He's the portly cat.

He's the portly cat.