Happy birthday shout outs to my Dad, my nephew Jordan, my friend Roxanne, my old pal Chad, and to Judy.
I "friended" Judy on FaceBook ages ago, but it turns out the Judy I friended, while from Texas, is not the Judy I know, which I discovered when I went to her wall to post a happy birthday message to her. There was a picture of a woman I didn't recognize, and a little girl who might have been Judy as a child, but something was off. This woman appeared to be about my age, too old to have been Judy's mother when she was a little girl. Then I realized that the pictures of the little girl were recent instead of from the time period when Judy would have been a little girl. Then I looked at this Judy's other friends and did not recognize a-one of them. Not one. I realized that I have friended a Judy I do not know. Oh, well. Judy, wherever you are, Happy Birthday!
Channel 9 weather boy was going on and on about a winter blast that's headed our way. About the fifth time he went through his routine I thought, okay, enough. Let's see what Channel 4 has to say about it, and it was like they had co-authored their scripts. Supposed to be getting a wintery blast with precipitation about Thursday or so. They're predicting freezing rain (which makes ice wherever it lands) and then sleet and then maybe some snow. We are in the big fat geographic middle of the rather wide band that they think will get 6 to 12 inches plus drifts, after the sleet, after the freezing rain. Yuck.
So I checked our propane levels and called our propane people. Nice folks out in Minco. The kind of business where you call 'em up and say your name and they know who you are. I like that. I said to her, "We're at about 33% and the weather boy is calling 'Blizzard! Blizzard!' this coming weekend," and she said to me, "I know, I'm gonna fire him!" I laughed and said, "Yeah, I didn't like what the first one said so I changed channels, see if I could get a different report, but they're all saying it!" So we're on the list for a fill up before Thursday. I'm also working on a contingency plan in case we get a power outage, which is a distinct possibility when we have an ice storm.
The good news is that it should only be in the thirties and twenties for a few days once it arrives, instead of low teens and single digits. It may be difficult for some folks to see any distinction there, but there is a difference. Don't know if I've mentioned it, but I have lived to see the day that 20 degrees seems warm, comparatively speaking.
In other matters, Muffin the cat was camped out soakin' up some rays on top of Mommy's notebooks. Ordinarily I would not begrudge him a nap in a sunny window, but I need to work in here today. I said to the old darling that a nap in the sun is a great idea, and I know right where you can get all the sun in the world, and set him outside. What does he do? crouches under the steps IN THE SHADE and tries to run back inside every time anyone opens the door. I think it's not so much the wanting to lay in the sun as it is that he's feeling a little clingy lately. Looking out this window I see a great spot he could curl up and be quite toasty, but I guess he wants to nap in the sun AND be within arm's length of Mommy. I believe that if I got one of those baby carriers and packed him around all day he'd be happy as a clam. Sorry, pal, no can do. Paperwork to do, errands to run, preparations to make! We got a blizzard a-comin', weather boy says so!
Speaking of which, I gotta sign off and make busy! Thanks for reading.
V~
Showing posts with label cat. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cat. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Tuesday April 21, 2009
This mini suite we're in here at the residential hotel has a main living area with a television and a kitchenette, a good-sized bathroom and a bedroom. Like a teen-inesy apartment. Carpet everywhere except in the bathroom, so that is where the catbox is.
Muffin totally loves being this close to "Mom" all the time, but I am also seeing that I may be able to socialize Cookie a little more in this small space. She still spends most of her time hiding under the bed, but she is coming out a little more - every once in a while I enjoy the pleasant surprise of velvet against my ankles, and even more rarely she will join me on the bed at night or let me pull her into my lap for an ever-so-brief love-fest.
There is a lot of debate among cat owners as to whether cats should ever be let outside or not, but I do let mine out under certain conditions...one being that I can get them back in at night! So over the years we have formed the practice of taking up the food dishes in the morning and feeding in the evening so I can get everybody to come when I call. With a cat who may or may not answer when you call, feeding time can be an excellent motivator. Another plus for me with once-a-day feeding is that I can see who is eating what (yes, I watch them eat).
We started this feeding-at-night thing when we first lived on the acreage, and then more consciously when we lived in Cooperstown - if one, some or all the cats happen to go outside during the day, it's my way of making sure they all come in at night. Believe it or not, even in Cooperstown there are scary, dangerous things about at night - raccoons, skunks, dogs, foxes, and the like. In the hills around the village they also have bears, but those guys rarely enter the village. (Notice I did NOT say they "never" enter the village!)
At the acreage in Oklahoma, we have all that, plus owls, coyotes and bobcats, so while I occasionally let my creatures out to enjoy the day with me, I'm nearly anal about making sure everyone is securely inside come nightfall. To this day, wherever I am, if I awaken in the night to the sound of coyotes I sit bolt upright in a panic until I have taken a mental roll call of all my pets.
This tiny room at the residential hotel is showing itself to be a good way for Cookie and I to rebond, which will be good when it's time for the cats to go to the acreage.
The former renter is all moved out, so we're going out there today to evaluate, to triage what needs to be done, and to work in the garden. Overalls, work gloves, notebook, camera, ice chest and sack lunches; I'm just sorry the cats don't get to go yet. Big job ahead, I know that, but I so love that place.
The day awaits!
Muffin totally loves being this close to "Mom" all the time, but I am also seeing that I may be able to socialize Cookie a little more in this small space. She still spends most of her time hiding under the bed, but she is coming out a little more - every once in a while I enjoy the pleasant surprise of velvet against my ankles, and even more rarely she will join me on the bed at night or let me pull her into my lap for an ever-so-brief love-fest.
There is a lot of debate among cat owners as to whether cats should ever be let outside or not, but I do let mine out under certain conditions...one being that I can get them back in at night! So over the years we have formed the practice of taking up the food dishes in the morning and feeding in the evening so I can get everybody to come when I call. With a cat who may or may not answer when you call, feeding time can be an excellent motivator. Another plus for me with once-a-day feeding is that I can see who is eating what (yes, I watch them eat).
We started this feeding-at-night thing when we first lived on the acreage, and then more consciously when we lived in Cooperstown - if one, some or all the cats happen to go outside during the day, it's my way of making sure they all come in at night. Believe it or not, even in Cooperstown there are scary, dangerous things about at night - raccoons, skunks, dogs, foxes, and the like. In the hills around the village they also have bears, but those guys rarely enter the village. (Notice I did NOT say they "never" enter the village!)
At the acreage in Oklahoma, we have all that, plus owls, coyotes and bobcats, so while I occasionally let my creatures out to enjoy the day with me, I'm nearly anal about making sure everyone is securely inside come nightfall. To this day, wherever I am, if I awaken in the night to the sound of coyotes I sit bolt upright in a panic until I have taken a mental roll call of all my pets.
This tiny room at the residential hotel is showing itself to be a good way for Cookie and I to rebond, which will be good when it's time for the cats to go to the acreage.
The former renter is all moved out, so we're going out there today to evaluate, to triage what needs to be done, and to work in the garden. Overalls, work gloves, notebook, camera, ice chest and sack lunches; I'm just sorry the cats don't get to go yet. Big job ahead, I know that, but I so love that place.
The day awaits!
Thursday, February 19, 2009
How Did Your Pets Get Their Names?
Our dear old yellow and white cat Muffin was, has always been, and still is "just as sweet as a little sugar muffin."
Cookie got her name because the name Muffin was already taken.
Mimosa (who passed away a few days before this last Christmas) - I know y'all think she was named after the mixed drink called a Mimosa, but we lived on Oklahoma when she was born and there grow leguminous trees called Mimosa trees. They are fast growing and have an exotic look about them (as Mimosa did, come to think of it) and bloom out with countless flowers that look something like pom-poms or those big fluffy cosmetic blush brushes, and those flowers smell so sweet I can't even tell you. I'm sure the drink Mimosa was named after those flowers and so was our sweet little Mimosa kitty.
I had a female cat once, named Ramon. Yes I know it's a boy's name, but I'd heard a song on Prairie Home Companion one time a hundred or so years ago,
"Black, black, black is the color of my cat Ramon,
My new white couch is his home...."
sung to the tune of "Black Black Black is the color of my true love's hair." It was so cute that I said right then if I ever got another black cat I would name it Ramon, and I did, even though she was a girl. Could've named her Ramona, but Ramona is a different character all together. Ramon was definitely Ramon. If she'd been Ramona, that is what I would have named her, but.... Maybe I'll name the next qat Ramona (after Ramona Quimby - you Beverly Cleary fans will understand)
Before Ramon I had a black and white Maine Coon Cat named Valentino. Goodness gracious he was pretty. Long haired, black with a white ruff, looked like he was wearing a tuxedo. Nicknamed "Dinks," he was an escape artist who loved to chase birds and just such a bird led him into the path of an oncoming car, breaking all our hearts, may he rest in peace.
Way before that, my first cat (in my adulthood) was a one of those grey and black tabby cats named Casey after a book I'd read called "Casey" about a horse who was infatuated with cats and wanted to be a cat, but since he couldn't be a cat, he took the name Casey, which stood for K.C., which stood for Kitty Cat. My Casey was a pill. Loved to tear around (wherever we lived), climbed curtains and furniture, liked to perch on top of an open door, if you can picture that. Would fetch those cellophane wrapped cigarette packs if you wadded one into a ball and threw it. He would go get them and bring them back as long as you'd throw them. Loved that crinkly sound they made. I haven't thought of that n years, Casey playing fetch.
When Casey got old we got another black and grey tabby cat who resembled Casey (although they were actually quite different) and we named that one "Eikon" (pronounced "Icon") which means "image" since he so resembled or was, as they say in the south, "the spittin' image" of Casey. we called him Ikie for a nickname.
There was a sweet little grey kitty just the color and shading of a soft graphite pencil drawing. We tried to name her Graphite, but my daughter always called her Grake Itty (for "Gray Kitty")
Oh, when I was a toddler, we had a gray and black tabby named Butch. Butch the Cat. Dear old long-suffering Butch - I dressed him up in doll clothes, tried to roll him around in a doll stroller. I really was afraid for Butch because it was plain that he, being a striped cat, was a baby tiger and everybody knows that tigers grow very large and become dangerous and you can't keep grown tigers at home. I fretted mightily, at the tender age of three, that he would grow up and we would have to get rid of him and I hoped upon hope that the zoo would take him. I don't know how Butch got his name.
Bart the Wonder Dog came with his name - at least the "Bart" part.
Benny was named after Benny and the Jets.
Arrow was named partly for the Nilsson song and mostly for the white arrow that ran from the top of his forehead to the tip of his nose. Arrow might or might not come when you called him, but he would always if you called Mom. That dude sure loved his Mom (that would be me.) We had Arrow when Isabella was little and she called him Dojjy Ayo - Dojjy for doggy and Ayo for Arrow, so cute.
Lots more to tell about all these guys, but this is all for now.
Cookie got her name because the name Muffin was already taken.
Mimosa (who passed away a few days before this last Christmas) - I know y'all think she was named after the mixed drink called a Mimosa, but we lived on Oklahoma when she was born and there grow leguminous trees called Mimosa trees. They are fast growing and have an exotic look about them (as Mimosa did, come to think of it) and bloom out with countless flowers that look something like pom-poms or those big fluffy cosmetic blush brushes, and those flowers smell so sweet I can't even tell you. I'm sure the drink Mimosa was named after those flowers and so was our sweet little Mimosa kitty.
I had a female cat once, named Ramon. Yes I know it's a boy's name, but I'd heard a song on Prairie Home Companion one time a hundred or so years ago,
"Black, black, black is the color of my cat Ramon,
My new white couch is his home...."
sung to the tune of "Black Black Black is the color of my true love's hair." It was so cute that I said right then if I ever got another black cat I would name it Ramon, and I did, even though she was a girl. Could've named her Ramona, but Ramona is a different character all together. Ramon was definitely Ramon. If she'd been Ramona, that is what I would have named her, but.... Maybe I'll name the next qat Ramona (after Ramona Quimby - you Beverly Cleary fans will understand)
Before Ramon I had a black and white Maine Coon Cat named Valentino. Goodness gracious he was pretty. Long haired, black with a white ruff, looked like he was wearing a tuxedo. Nicknamed "Dinks," he was an escape artist who loved to chase birds and just such a bird led him into the path of an oncoming car, breaking all our hearts, may he rest in peace.
Way before that, my first cat (in my adulthood) was a one of those grey and black tabby cats named Casey after a book I'd read called "Casey" about a horse who was infatuated with cats and wanted to be a cat, but since he couldn't be a cat, he took the name Casey, which stood for K.C., which stood for Kitty Cat. My Casey was a pill. Loved to tear around (wherever we lived), climbed curtains and furniture, liked to perch on top of an open door, if you can picture that. Would fetch those cellophane wrapped cigarette packs if you wadded one into a ball and threw it. He would go get them and bring them back as long as you'd throw them. Loved that crinkly sound they made. I haven't thought of that n years, Casey playing fetch.
When Casey got old we got another black and grey tabby cat who resembled Casey (although they were actually quite different) and we named that one "Eikon" (pronounced "Icon") which means "image" since he so resembled or was, as they say in the south, "the spittin' image" of Casey. we called him Ikie for a nickname.
There was a sweet little grey kitty just the color and shading of a soft graphite pencil drawing. We tried to name her Graphite, but my daughter always called her Grake Itty (for "Gray Kitty")
Oh, when I was a toddler, we had a gray and black tabby named Butch. Butch the Cat. Dear old long-suffering Butch - I dressed him up in doll clothes, tried to roll him around in a doll stroller. I really was afraid for Butch because it was plain that he, being a striped cat, was a baby tiger and everybody knows that tigers grow very large and become dangerous and you can't keep grown tigers at home. I fretted mightily, at the tender age of three, that he would grow up and we would have to get rid of him and I hoped upon hope that the zoo would take him. I don't know how Butch got his name.
Bart the Wonder Dog came with his name - at least the "Bart" part.
Benny was named after Benny and the Jets.
Arrow was named partly for the Nilsson song and mostly for the white arrow that ran from the top of his forehead to the tip of his nose. Arrow might or might not come when you called him, but he would always if you called Mom. That dude sure loved his Mom (that would be me.) We had Arrow when Isabella was little and she called him Dojjy Ayo - Dojjy for doggy and Ayo for Arrow, so cute.
Lots more to tell about all these guys, but this is all for now.
Publish Post
Friday, January 23, 2009
The Legend of Muffin
Late one summer there appeared on the front step of the doctor's office were I worked, a yellow and white kitten who rubbed himself up against the leg of everyone who walked in or out of the building that day. All morning long I heard people talk about that sweet little yellow and white kitty in the entry way.
After we got done with our office patients, the doctor went to surgery and I had lunch, I said, "Okay, I have to see this cat everyone is gong on about," and went to the front door. Sure enough he purred and rubbed himself against my legs too. Purred like a big ol' truck engine, he did. What a sweetheart. I became infatuated with him immediately, smitten by this kitten. I called my husband and told him about this sweet little kitty who had come to the clinic looking for a soft touch, I mean a home, and could I bring him home for an interview. After a little discussion my husband Steve agreed so I took this kitten home with me. Doggoned if he didn't kill a mouse the first night he was there, securing his place in our household.
But what to name him?
We brainstormed a few monikers. In that process I said, "He's just as sweet as a little sugar muffin, isn't he?" As soon as the words were out of my mouth I knew - "That's it! Let's call him Muffin!"
And so it is - Muffin, because he was and still just as sweet as a little sugar muffin. Well, a big sugar muffin now. Great big sugar muffin. He's my love kitty. Muffin.
About a year later Cookie came to us, but that's another story.
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