I’d thought about building a cattery for my cat family (Mama Kali and grown babies: Ivy, Morpheus and Percheron) almost as soon as I had moved into my current house in 2001. It was always “Oh, that’d be so cool. The cats would love it so much!” what finally spurred me to action wasn’t the coolness, or the wow factor, it was more of an Ugh factor.
Cats
Caturday: Percheron Perching On
I had some Christmas gift returns to make, and had them boxed and ready to go. Perch, who is nothing if not a crass stereotype, decided to get in on the “if it fits, i sits” meme, and live up to his name in the process.
I didn’t name him Percheron because of his habit of perching on things, that was just a happy coincidence, though a number of people’s shoulders over the years might argue otherwise. I named him after the breed of horse because his father was (and actually still is) named Horse, and because it seems I have to have a naming theme for my animals, with the added complication that the cats’ names all have overly complex back stories. Having said that, Perch’s is actually the least complicated.
Anyway, please enjoy this picture of Perchy perching, and have a wonderful Caturday!
Doors
Given the rumored El Niño that’s supposed to wash California into the sea (still waiting, Kiddo!) and the satanically hot summers the San Joaquin Valley endures (I’ve witnessed many a squirrel burst into flames*) I thought it would be a good idea to install a dog door to the back yard.
The installation early last year went off fairly well (I still have all my thumbs), and the dogs learned to use it in short order.
The complication has been with the cats.
I can’t leave it open all the time as the solely indoor cats, who in truth are more like furry filter feeders than mighty, wild hunters, will slip outside and make themselves confused and panicked indoor cats. They have their own access to the outside anyway in the form of the cattery I spent way too much time and money building for them. So the dog door spends most of its time closed and is only open when I’m away and the weather is inclement. It that case the cats get about a third of the house (my bedroom, the work/cat/junk room, and the cattery while the dogs get the rest of the house and the back yard. That is, if Eris cooperates.
She is a Former Feral (or at least semi-feral) and is highly disinterested in being picked by stinky humans with their spindly, bone paws (and honestly, what would you do if you saw THIS coming at you?!) If she deigns to grace your lap with her presence be honored, but Do. Not. Pick. Up.
So the strategies I have used to get her where I want have been the following:
- Wait until she goes there. This is the least traumatic for all involved, but involves waiting for her to go eat in the cattery or lounge on the bed. This often isn’t an option with my complicated “having to be at work on time,” problems.
- Coaxing her. This has never worked.
- Picking her up suddenly before she knows I’m coming for her and hoping she doesn’t send me to the emergency room. This has never worked. She ALWAYS knows I’m coming for her.
- Chasing her around the house until I have her cornered, pick her up, and hope she doesn’t send me to the emergency room. This works occasionally, but is time consuming, and nerve wracking for all involved.
- Chase and barricade. This is relatively new, has worked a few times, and is relatively untraumatic. I pursue her into the kitchen, block off the door to the rest of the house and pick up or herd her into the cat room. I’m thinking it will be viable until she realizes that she shouldn’t run into the kitchen. Then I’ll be back to options 1 and 4.
As is often the case, I have what seems like a great idea, spend a good deal of time, effort and dinero on it, only to have the actual operation of said great idea made more complicated by cats.
*This statement is what the French would call “merde du boeuf.”**
**So is this. They’d actually say “C’est des conneries!”
Wordless(ish) Wednesday: Buddies
Thregger
Yes, the name of this blog is S’more Dogs and I am generally finding them easier to write about, but I am the senior staffer to four cats as well. Since this is my first Saturday post, and I’ve heard something about this whole “Caturday,” thing I thought I’d give it a shot.
Sharing seniority with his litter mate Perch is the subject of today’s post: Morph, full name Morpheus. He’s not named for the Matrix Character but for Greek god of dreams from which that character takes his name.*
At first glance Morph is a brown mackerel tabby, a no-frills, ‘base model‘ cat, nothing terribly distinguishing about him. But then, he gets up and stops hiding that right side…
He didn’t start life as a three-legger (which I started calling him and quickly shortened to “thregger.”) but lost his leg to a slow growing bone cancer in 2011.
He gets along amazingly well as a Tripawd. He got to the top of my 8ft high cat climber, still full of stitches and looking like one of Dr. Frankenstein’s experiments the first week he was home! My worries that his litter mates would start picking on him proved to be unfounded, and he’s been the same, overly sweet, often obnoxious self as he ever was!
Anyone have any three-legger stories or advice, I’d love to hear them!
*See, this is what I’ve done to myself. All my cats have names with layers of meaning that require explanation. I like to think that the dogs, being fairly obvious creatures, have fairly obvious names. Mostly black Marsha(mellow) might have an issue with this however….
I am VASTLY outnumbered
There’s an old Danish proverb* “Dine vægge og dine kæledyr bør tælle det samme,” “Your walls and your pets should number the same.” If this is the ancient wisdom of my ancestors** then no matter how you count, I have brought shame to my Scandinavian heritage.
If you count only the outer walls of my house I have three too many animals, and should have stopped before the dogs made themselves at home. If you count the inner walls as well then I need to get…..pardon me a moment…(1,2,3,4,5……) 19 more animals to truly make my house a home to make a viking proud, and make a health inspector call in air support.
First were the cats. When I moved into my house 16 years ago I brought with me a cat family: mama Kali, and kittens Ivy, Morph, and Perch. Six years ago came Flick, and about six months later, Hershey, my first dog. Four years ago I lost Kali. Three years, Graham came into the picture. About 2 years ago I got Eris and later that year lost Ivy. And about a year ago came Marsha.
When I say Hershey was my first dog, I don’t mean the first dog in this house, or the first dog of my adult life. I mean my FIRST dog, as in ever.
I know that 181 (dog years, you do the math) is a bit late in life to start hanging out with a new species, but I have a perfectly reasonable explanation, I didn’t like dogs.
But then something happened. I met someone, we started spending a lot of time together, and a lot of that time revolved around dogs. We walked her dog, took her dog to the dog park, signed up to volunteer at the local bully breed rescue, and so on.
Ultimately what I’d hoped for from all this hanging out didn’t happen; she went on to marry a very nice guy. However, I did gain first an appreciation of, then a love for, and finally my very own dog. I’ve never looked back, and never regretted it.
So welcome to my blog about dealing with these wonderful creatures, the cats they share their lives with, and whatever else crosses my mind.
*no, there isn’t.
**it isn’t.
smoredogs 
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