The Secret Lives of Cats

Thought for the day:   In ancient times, cats were worshiped as gods; they have not forgotten this. [Terry Patchett]

Our cats as kittens: Dash on the left, and Dot on the right

It's been a while since I did a post about things I've learned from my pets, and I have a sneaky feeling our cats are trying to tell me they want me... expect me... to write about them today. Dot's lying on top of the printer beside me, looking at me accusingly through half-closed eyes, while Dash is alternating between parking her derriere on the keyboard and standing in front of the monitor, swishing her tail in my face like a preening peacock.

A catless writer is almost inconceivable. It's a perverse taste, really, since it would be easier to write with a herd of buffalo in the room than even one cat; they make nests in the notes and bite the end of the pen and walk on the typewriter keys. [Barbara Holland]

            They're both staring at me now. Yep, they definitely want me to write about them.

Cats are the ultimate narcissists. You can tell this because of all the time they spend on personal grooming. A dog's idea of personal grooming is to roll on a dead fish.  [James Gorman]

So, our girls are a lot bigger than they were when they first wormed their way into our hearts at the animal shelter almost ten years ago. And they've taught us quite a few things over the years. (Or as they'd probably put it... they've trained us well.)

                         Like... did you know cats aren't equipped with snooze buttons?

An early morning selfie of our daughter and her oh-so-helpful "time to get up" cat Mrs. Flynn. 

And no matter how big they are, they can wriggle into the smallest places imaginable...  A cat determined not to be found can fold itself up like a pocket handkerchief if it wants to.  [Louis J. Camuti]

[image courtesy of seniorark]

Dash, especially. She can curl up into the teeniest ball and scrunch into the smallest boxes and containers. Dot, on the other hand, prefers to sprawl and let it all hang out...

[image courtesy of seniorark]

Dogs come when they're called; cats take a message and get back to you.  [Mary Bly]

A cat isn't fussy... just so long as you remember he likes his milk in the shallow rose-patterned saucer and his fish on the blue plate. From which he will take it, and eat off the floor.  [Arthur Bridges]

Now, don't get me wrong. Sure, cats can occasionally be a tad stand-offish. And, yeah, it's entirely possible that they consider us their staff. Or their furniture, or personal scratching posts or jungle gyms. But they're cuddle bunnies, too. When they want to be. When it's convenient for them. Like when I'm trying to read the newspaper, or work at the computer, or sleep... I mean, who doesn't like to wake up with a cat licking her face?

I'm usually the nighttime jungle gym of choice for our girls, and the one who's swatted and reminded oh-so-sweetly that they're starving to death in the early morning. Ever since she was big enough to get onto our king-sized bed, that's where Dash has spent almost every night. Usually somewhere on top of me. On my stomach, on my chest, on my neck, on my face. Doesn't matter, because she doesn't usually stay in one place for very long. See, she likes to... hop around. Explore. Crawl under the covers, lie still for five minutes, and then ta-DA! pop back out. Lots of head-butting, purring and nose-kisses, too. My favorite is when she climbs up on the headboard and jumps down on my face...

And I... let her. Which is why she still does it. Dot, on the other hand, is usually much more polite about it. She's happy to lie beside me, glued to my body, and she generally stays put most of the night. If she wants to navigate past us, she politely walks around or jumps over. Not Dash. She's a damn-the-torpedos-full-speed-ahead kinda gal. She plows straight ahead and blithely stomps right across us to get wherever she's going. She may also pause in place, as if she's waiting for a bus. Nothing like having those four little paws digging into your posterior while she pauses to take a breather. Then, she launches, which is a whole 'nother adventure altogether.

But as anyone who has a cat well knows, what a cat always does or always likes is always changing. Their favorite place to nap is never constant, and the food they gobble one day is the same food they turn their noses up at the next. They follow a strict routine for a while, only to change it for a whole new routine. I suspect they're trying to keep us on our toes.

Our girls used to pretty much leave Smarticus alone during the night, but lately, Dash has been sharing some of her love with him, too. (He calls her the Stomper.) I'm used to her waking me up before the butt crack of dawn every day, but one morning a couple years ago, after she woke me up, she pranced over to Smarticus to say hello to him, too. She only went over to him a couple times before concentrating her efforts on me, but nonetheless, what popped into my sleepy head as she bounced back and forth between the two of us was, Hello, muddah! Hello, faddah! (Which is totally ridiculous, because our cats have always called us Mama and Papa...with the accents on the second syllables.)

Nonetheless, that darn Allan Sherman song niggled at me most of the day, so I did what any cat-crazy weirdo writer would do. I wrote a parody of that song. I shared it on my blog back then, but here is is again, in case you missed it the first time around:

Hello Muddah, hello Faddah.
Here I am now, right beside ya.
Time to open up your eyes now;
Get your butt out of that bed and fix me chow now.

 I tried bouncing on your belly;
You're so fat, it feels like jelly.
You were so still, thought you were dead;
So I did CPR by jumping on your head. 

Come on, Muddah, time is ticking,
And your face I now am licking.
I must meow loudly in your ear,
Because if you don't get up soon, I'll starve, I fear.

With my claws, your cheek I'm gripping,
And my nose on you is dripping.
Come on, let's play and have some fun;
In only three more hours, we'll see the rising sun. 

Please get up, oh muddah, faddah, please get up, don't be a bother.
Starting your day's such an endeavor; sometimes it takes me forever.
Please get up, I promise I will be your friend and love you 'til the bitter end,
So why this cruel wait to get food upon my plate? 

Hurry, hurry, dearest muddah,
One foot down, and then the other.
I will lead you to the kitchen;
It is almost five o'clock, so quit yer bitchin'.

Wait a sec! What's that you're pouring?
Same as yesterday? How boring!
Pardon my French; it smells like crap...
It's time for me to join dear Faddah for a nap.

(I wish I were clever enough to know how to record that song and post it on Youtube with some funny cat pictures...)

Anyhow, here's the thing. Dot and Dash are usually right there with us, day or night. (Whether we want them there or not.) But sometimes... sometimes, they... disappear. Occasionally, they retreat to the sunroom we fixed up. For US. (They DO let us use it from time to time...)

But there have also been times when they simply... disappear without a trace. I always thought they were in some secret hiding place around the house. You know, that special place they go to when they hear you spell v-e-t? When they wanted to hide, there was no way we were gonna find them, no matter how hard we looked. No matter how much we called them, or how hard we shook a bag of treats. If they wanted to hide, they weren't coming out until they were good and ready.

At least, that's what I thought.

 Now I've learned.

 Now I know the truth.

Our cats have been leading  (gasp!) secret lives! It's true! Dot drives the getaway car...

                                            And just LOOK what Dash has been up to...

[courtesy of seniorark]

                                                             Those little stinkers.

                       

                  So what do you suppose YOUR cats are doing when you can't find THEM...?

                          Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

When Cats Meow, I Jump

Thought for the day: Dogs have owners; cats have staff.

At one time, Smarticus didn't think he liked cats. But that was before we had cats. Now he spoils them every bit as much as I do.

Which, of course, is exactly what every cat deserves. Just ask 'em. They'll tell you. They were once worshiped as gods, and as far as they're concerned, they should still be worshiped as gods. Makes sense, right? This explains their uncanny ability to maintain such a haughty regal air about them, even when they're caught doing something stupid or clumsy.

Anyhow, much to my surprise, it looks like we have three cats now. Yeah, three.

Remember Dash?  This is what she looked like when we adopted her from the shelter almost five years ago.

And this is what Dot looked like. We figured two cats would be juuuuuust right. That way, they could entertain each other. Besides, we had no choice. They picked us. (Anyone who has ever adopted an animal understands exactly what that means.)

This is closer to what they look like now. Most of the time, they get along well, except for occasional bouts of sibling rivalry...

... like over who gets to sit on my lap. I was reading the newspaper... Oh well, what can I say? Their royal highnesses decided it was nap time.

If you'd like to see an earlier post about our girls, including some fun little-known secrets about cats, go here.

Cats work out mathematically the exact place to sit that will cause the most inconvenience. [Pam Brown]

Anybody remember Cowboy? I wrote about him a while back. Lots of you urged me to adopt him. He was forever hanging around our house, looking in the windows and waiting on our front porch to greet me every morning, so we thought he was a stray. I mean, he was the epitome of the poor outsider looking in. So you might think HE would be our new resident feline. But nope. It turns out, he has a home. He still spends a fair amount of time in our yard looking for some cuddles and some food, (not necessarily in that order) but since his owner got him fixed, he doesn't spend nearly as much time mooning at us through the windows. (Hmmm, methinks it may be possible he was mooning at our girls.)

This is the new Swiderski feline. We named her Daisy. Her previous owners moved away, and left her behind to fend for herself. Before they dumped her, we saw her in our yard a few times, often being chased away by Cowboy. But she was extremely skittish, and not very friendly.

Then we noticed she was getting thinner and thinner, so natch, we started providing her with food, too. Her own bowls on the front porch... away from where Cowboy had his bowls out back. (His and every stray cat from miles around, that is. I swear, there must be some sort of underground communication that enables critters to let other critters know where the restaurants are. A very very large raccoon especially seems to enjoy the cuisine...)

Anyhow, the more we fed her, the friendlier she became. The more loving she became. The closer she came to making us fall on our arses because she kept doing figure eights around our feet whenever we walked outside. And the more she tried to follow us into the house.

Uh-oh. It was pretty clear. She'd picked us.

So we had no choice. We took her to the vet. Got her tested, de-wormed, and up-to-date with her shots. She's spayed, clear of fleas, and has a clean bill of health. Okeydoke. Time to bring her inside.

FIREWORKS! [Morguefile]

Not so okeydoke.

Dash and Daisy don't get along very well. What an understatement! They chased each other around the house like a couple crazed bats outta hell. (sigh) Talk about noisy fireworks!

Oh well. Our fault. We should have taken more time to introduce Daisy into the herd. Especially to our princess Dash.

Now, the new little kitty is in our Florida room, where our other girls can see her... but can't get at her. Dash and Daisy still try to attack each other through the glass from time to time, but I think they're becoming a little more used to each other. I'm hopeful they'll eventually learn to live together, and soon. Otherwise, we're gonna have to find Daisy a new home.

[Would anyone like to adopt a cat? Daisy's about eighteen months old, less than ten pounds, and extremely sweet and loving. Isn't picky about what she eats, either. She gobbles up whatever kind of cat food, wet or dry, that we give her. I guess being abandoned on the street has a way of instilling appreciation, huh? Seriously, if any of you local folks are interested, just send me an email or give us a call. We'll even throw in a big bag of food! Pssst... hey, Kyle...!]

And so it goes. At least for now, we have three cats.

And I swear, we're stopping at three.

I think.



I had been told that the training procedure with cats was difficult. It's not. Mine had me trained in two days.  [Bill Dana]



Oh yeah, it's been a while since I posted anything new about the things our pets have taught me. Well, I've learned something else new from our cats, especially Dot. She loves to knead my belly. Vigorously. So what have I learned? It's her fault. I'm not really gaining weight. Thanks to her administrations, my belly is simply... rising.

Cats are the ultimate narcissists. You can tell this because of all the time they spend on personal grooming. A dog's idea of personal grooming is to roll on a dead fish. [James Gorman]

As you read this, I'm not anywhere near my computer. (Dontcha love the pre-scheduling feature on Blogger?) I'm actually doing something really really cool. I'll tell ya about it next Friday, but in the meantime, I won't be online to respond to your comments for a while. But I will get back to you. Assuming our four-legged furry kids let me up, that is...

                                     Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

For Da Birds, Part Two

Thought for the day:  There is an unseen force which lets birds know when you've just washed your car.  [Denis Norden]

Yeah, so maybe there are a few drawbacks to having a passel of bird-filled trees in your yard. (Especially if they're mulberry trees.)

I thought of something else pet birds taught me: One of my aunt's parakeets could hang upside down from its perch like a bat. It was the darnedest thing...

Okay, ready for some more astoundingly fascinating bird trivia? (Or at least, a teensy bit interesting, anyway.)

First, some quick facts:

• Birds have hollow bones, which help them fly.
• Seagulls can drink sea water, because they have special glands that filter out the salt.
• A duck's quack doesn't echo.
• Penguins can jump up to six feet into the air. (Yeah, but how are they on free throws?)
• A chicken with red earlobes is likely to lay brown eggs; and one with white lobes, white eggs. No matter what color their earlobes are, none of them can swallow when upside down. And get this: believe it or not, the chicken is believed to be the closest living relative to the tyrannosaurus rex!
• Emus can't walk backwards.
• Puffins fly underwater.
• The male sand grouse soaks himself in water, and then flies to the nest so his young can drink from his feathers.
• Vultures can soar for hours without flapping their wings.
• The common loon can dive more than 76 meters below the water's surface.
• Owls can turn their heads almost 360 degrees, but they can't move their eyes.

The male frigatebird has a red inflatable  throat pouch, which he puffs up to attract a mate. If he gets rebuffed, I guess that deflates his ego and pouch.

Flamingos can only eat when their heads are upside down. (How can they swallow?)

The albatross, AKA goony bird, can sleep while in flight. He goes into snooze control at about 25 MPH.








Talk about miles per hour, which bird do you think is the fastest flyer? Most sources say the peregrine falcon holds that title, and can reach a speed of 200 MPH. However, I read one report of a spine-tailed swift flying an astonishing 220. At any rate, how'd you like to get a vicarious thrill? This video allows you to experience flight with a peregrine falcon and a gos hawk. Pretty doggone cool!

Did you know storks have no voice? That's because, unlike other birds, they don't have a syrinx, the usual sound-producing organ. They do, however, bang and clack their bills together as a means of communication. (Looks like avian sword-fighting...)

Don't ya love the sound of a woodpecker at work? Unless, of course, he's a much earlier riser than you are... and he's hammering on your gutters, or fiberglass boat. Would you believe woodpeckers can peck up to twenty times per second?!

The fine-looking malleefowl lives in Australia, and I guess you could call this bird a real environmentalist. He composts. Sorta. The female lays her eggs in a nest built of rotting vegetation, and the decaying process keeps the eggs warm. Papa checks the temperature often, and adjusts the pile as needed to maintain the warmth.

The catbird is a talented bird, who can imitate... Wait! Not THAT catbird...

THIS catbird.

This catbird imitates other bird calls, and can even meow like a cat.

As can a mockingbird, who has quite an impressive array of sounds and songs in his repertoire.

And here's the mighty bald... er, wig-wearing bald eagle. One of the more majestic birds, (without the toupee) most people are well aware of this bird's flying, swooping, and hunting capabilities, and of its great strength.

But did ya know he could...  swim?







                                                                      Check it out!

This guy is a cowbird. No, cowbirds  don't moo like cows, but they are cow groupies. They hang out with cattle, because moving herds stir up a mess of fresh cowbird food — insects. Because cowbirds stay on the move, they don't bother to build a nest. They share the nests of other birds. When the female sees an unattended egg-filled nest, she simply lays her little ol' eggs in there, too. She doesn't abandon her young entirely, though. She returns from time to time to observe, and if the other bird shoves her eggs out of the nest, well then, she may just have to retaliate by pushing the other eggs out, too.

That's about it from me. This barely even skims the surface of all the fascinating things there are to know about birds, and I'll betcha you could all add something. Like, anybody know about turkeys? Ben Franklin seemed to think they were intelligent birds, but I've read stories about them being so dumb they look skyward when it rains... and (bless their little hearts) drown. Izzat so?

And have you ever wondered why female blue jays don't have subdued coloring, like other female birds? I don't know if that's the case for any other species of birds; do you?

So, what have you got to add? Ever have any pet birds? Could they talk or do tricks? Do tell.

This is gonna be my last post for quite a while. I know a lot of you will be participating in the A-Z Challenge during the month of April, and I wish y'all a lot of fun with it. Not me. Not this year, anyway. Gonna take the month off and tend to some other writerly stuff. But I'll be around. I'll try to visit some of your blogs from time to time, and see how you're doing. If you leave me a comment here, I'll certainly respond, or if you want to get in touch with me, just use that little Email me thingie in the sidebar, and I'll get back to you.

In the meantime, if ya miss me, (and Johnny Carson) just watch this video... that myna sounds a little like me!

                                      Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

[Images come to us courtesy of Wikipedia, Seniorark, and Morguefiles.]

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For Da Birds, Part One

Thought for the day:  A bird does not sing because it has an answer. It sings because it has a song. [Chinese proverb]

Are you a bird-lover? They're fascinating creatures, aren't they? Just about everyone on my mother's side of the family had pet birds when I was a kid, including us. Nothing too exotic. Mostly parakeets and canaries, but we had some tiny finches, too, and thanks to my brother, who was like a bird whisperer, we also had some wild birds living at our place for a while. Even a big ol' noisy crow.

On the other hand, my husband Smarticus didn't grow up with pets, so he wasn't particularly impressed years ago when a neighbor gave me two parakeets and a big cage. Nonetheless, I loved those birds, and to me, they filled the house with happy sounds.

Anyhow, since it's been a while since I wrote about things our pets have taught me, let's talk about birds, okay? Let's see, so what have I learned from birds...?

• They, um, poop.
• A lot.
• If you let them out of the cage to fly, they poop.
• A lot.
• For every two seeds they eat, they scatter at least ten times that many out of the cage and onto the floor.
• If you let them out of the cage to fly, they invariably crash into something. 
• And shed feathers.
• And poop.
• A lot.
• Just because you think a bird is a male doesn't mean it won't lay eggs.
• Birds are quite inquisitive. And smart. And beautiful
• And maybe, just maybe, Smarticus is right. Maybe they don't belong in cages at all.

We think caged birds sing, when indeed, they cry.  [John Webster]

Like I said, they're smart... (or maybe that cat isn't.)

Growing up, my mom always claimed to feel bad when a bird would slam head-first into our living room window. If she really felt bad, though, she'd have moved the bird feeder outside.  [Rich Johnson]

How's about some interesting trivia about some of our feathered friends?

I'm sure everyone recognizes this handsome couple. Reaching heights of up to nine feet tall, not only are ostriches the largest birds, but they're also the fastest runners. Would you believe they can hustle up to an astounding 97 km/hour? So don't let their girth fool you; these critters can MOVE! Oh, and even thought the thought of it is somewhat amusing, contrary to popular belief, ostriches do NOT bury their heads in the sand.

As you can see, their eggs are kinda on the large size, too. About the size of a cantaloupe. And if you're ever thinking about hard boiling one, you'd better not be too hungry. It takes about two hours. 

At the other end of the spectrum is the hummingbird, the only bird capable of flying backwards. The bee hummingbird is the smallest of the group, and only measures about two inches. (5 cm) However, in spite of the hummingbird's skillful flying and hovering capabilities, along with the loon, swift, kingfisher, and grebe, it cannot... walk. 

Seen here is a spot-billed pelican feeding her young. Early mythology believed that when they couldn't find food, pelicans actually ripped at their own bodies, and used their own flesh and blood to feed their young... which explains why some churches later adopted the pelican as a symbol of Christ's sacrifice. 

A wonderful bird is the pelican,

His bill will hold more than his belican.

He can take in his beak

Food enough for a week,

But I'm damned if I see how the helican.

[Dixon Lanier Merritt- 1905]

Here's a beauty for ya. Okay to look, but don't touch. The pitohui is the only known type of bird with feathers and flesh poisonous enough to kill a human. But don't worry. You aren't too likely to run into one of these fellows, because they only live in New Guinea. It's very easy to remember his name, though. It's pronounced just like the spitting sound someone might make if he were foolish enough to taste this bird:  pa-tooo-ey!

Birds are, um,  excellent parents.

And they never ever favor one baby over another.

And all in all, they can be pretty darned entertaining, too. 

                                

                                                     How entertaining, you ask? Just watch...

Okay, better, um... fly. Our cats are watching, and for some reason they're raising a real ruckus. I do believe they're... hungry. Go figure. Okay, more about da birds next time. Until then, take care of yourselves. And each other.

                                                You have to believe in happiness,

                                                 Or happiness never comes...

                                                 Ah, that's the reason a bird can sing —

                                                 On his darkest day, he believes in Spring. 

                                                      [Douglas Malloch]

[Images comes to us courtesy of Wikipedia, Icanhascheezburger, Seniorark, and Morguefiles.]

Exclusive: Cat Secrets Exposed!

Thought for the day:  Cats are excellent mathematicians. They quickly assess a situation, and calculate precisely where to sit to cause you the most aggravation.

Our cats as kittens: Dash on the left, and Dot on the right

It's been a while since I've written a post about stuff I've learned from our pets, so it's time to rectify that today. One of our cats is lying on top of the printer beside me, and the other is alternating between lying on the keyboard and standing in front of the monitor, swishing her tail in my face, so I think the little narcissists may want me to write about THEM. (They're always so helpful when I'm trying to write...)

A catless writer is almost inconceivable. It's a perverse taste, really, since it would be easier to write with a herd of buffalo in the room than even one cat; they make nests in the notes and bite the end of the pen and walk on the typewriter keys. [Barbara Holland]

They're both staring at me now. Yep, they definitely want me to write about them.

Cats are the ultimate narcissists. You can tell this because of all the time they spend on personal grooming. A dog's idea of personal grooming is to roll on a dead fish.  [James Gorman]

So, our girls are a lot bigger than they were when they first wormed their way into our hearts at the animal shelter a few years ago. And they've taught us quite a lot. (Or as they prefer to think of it... they've trained us well.)

Like... did you know cats aren't equipped with snooze buttons?

And no matter how big they are, they can still wriggle into the smallest places imaginable...  A cat determined not to be found can fold itself up like a pocket handkerchief if it wants to.  [Louis J. Camuti]

Dash, especially. She can curl up into the teeniest ball and scrunch into the smallest boxes and containers. Dot, on the other hand, prefers to sprawl and let it all hang out...

Dogs come when they're called; cats take a message and get back to you.  [Mary Bly]

A cat isn't fussy... just so long as you remember he likes his milk in the shallow rose-patterned saucer and his fish on the blue plate. From which he will take it, and eat off the floor.  [Arthur Bridges]

Now, don't get me wrong. Sure, cats can occasionally be a tad stand-offish. And, yeah, it's entirely possible that they consider us their staff. Or their furniture, or personal scratching posts or jungle gyms. But they're cuddle bunnies, too. When they want to be. When it's convenient for them. Like when you're trying to read the newspaper, or work at the computer, or sleep... I mean, who doesn't like to wake up with a cat licking her face? Cats have an infallible understanding of total concentration, and get between you and it.  [Arthur Bridges]

And they're verrrrry supportive of your writing endeavors. And helpful in oh-so-many ways...

Who else would do such a thorough beer search on your behalf... or help clean up those styrofoam peanuts?

But here's the thing. Dot and Dash are usually right there with us. (Whether we want them there or not.) When I'm on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor, Dash usually hitches a ride on my back. (I dunno... maybe she thinks she's helping?) If I'm using the laptop, Dot manages to squeeze her rather sizable girth between my body and the computer. (I've gotten quite good at typing around her...) If we're in the bed... they're in the bed. Usually on top of me. (I guess Smartacus moves around too much. Then again, it's darned near impossible to move around at all with two cats on top of you...) And since they've taken over our house, I haven't given anyone a present that didn't have cat hair stuck under the tape and chew marks on the ribbon. What can I say? They like to help.

But sometimes... sometimes, they... disappear. Sometimes, they retreat to the sunroom we fixed up. For US. (They DO let us use it from time to time...)

And they do like to claim a windowsill or the front door... to look outside. Rather wistfully at times. Like when other cats are out there... looking in. Or they see squirrels cavorting in the yard.

Still, when they would mysteriously disappear for an hour or so, I always thought they were in some secret hiding place around the house. You know, that special place they go to when they hear you spell v-e-t? When they wanted to hide, there was no way we were gonna find them, no matter how hard we looked. No matter how much we called them, or how hard we shook a bag of treats. If they wanted to hide, they weren't coming out until they were good and ready.

At least, that's what I thought.

 Now I've learned.

 Now I know the truth.

Our cats have been leading  (gasp!) secret lives! It's true! Dot drives the getaway car...

                                            And just LOOK what Dash has been up to...

                                                             Those little stinkers.

                                 
A tom cat hijacked a plane, stuck a pistol into the pilot's ribs, and demanded: 'Take me to the canaries.'  [Bob Monkhouse]

                  So what do you suppose YOUR cats are doing when you can't find THEM...?

                          Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

[The images Smarticus and I didn't take came from seniorark and icanhascheezburger]