Pawnage.

Before I make use of tonight's new start with not allowing her to sleep with us (it's a trial, don't worry, we'll probably cave), I thought I should post this picture...

This came from a morning about two weeks ago when I awoke to see her sitting on John's chest staring out the window. She loves to look outside - all the people coming and going; delivery trucks are especially exciting for some reason. Sometimes I think she's making up stories about them in her head, her stare can be so intense I just can't image what she's thinking...

On this particular morning, I found it beyond endearing that not only was she people watching, but she was perched on her person, with her paw on his paw. When I showed this to John when he woke up there was only one word he could say: "Owned."

The Life.

I came home to this one day last week - lounging in the sun, cleaning herself, with her little "bird" toy by her side. I made a mental note, if there's an afterlife, I might want to come back as this cat...you know, minus the whole having to lick my own butt thing...and pooping into a box of blue crystals. 

The Look of Love

This has got to be one of my favorite pictures of Foxy ever...and wouldn't you know, after 7 years of taking care of her every need and after saving her from the garbage-eating life of a stray, she'd repay me by never, ever, ever looking at me this way.

Rather, this look came as a result of a random night of catching John up on Lost, me cuddled with the two of them on the couch...and after he got up to get something from the kitchen, she was disturbed, then visually upset and then finally, as he rounded the corner to come back into the living room, she was...

this.

ZZZZZZ....

I took this about two months ago, before we started this blog. I love that he's SOUND asleep and she looks as content as content could be.

She ain't heavy, unless I'm sleeping.

My view around 8:30am one morning.

Sigh.

Nails

Yesterday I got my nails done and I also did Foxy's nails. I figured it was time when she was trying to walk to John one night in bed and was actually sticking to the sheets. Anyway, to appease her after the truly life-and-death experience her meowing would lead one to believe nail-clipping is, I gave her some catnip afterward. She got excited for a few minutes and then proceeded to clean herself. And clean herself. And clean herself.

Who knew - goat cheese = catnip and catnip = time to bathe rabidly.

Warning: Gross Content

Don't say you weren't warned...and no, this is not poop, it's yet another one of the vomit episodes Foxy's food is responsible for.

This however, was the last straw with said food and said vomiting...the red fabric you see belongs to none other than my all time favorite kimono that I wear with my nightgowns; waking up to put it on one morning and finding THIS was it.

I threw away the rest of that food and have filled her bowl with non-"hairball control" cat chow. I'll keep you posted.

Beard

John grew a beard for me because I saw an older picture wherein he had one and as all of you know, I've got a soft spot for facial hair...

Foxy really liked it too. I think she was happy to no longer be the only one in the house with whiskers. That and she's in love with anything John does. I am too, especially when he's got a beard, apparently. It was a wonderful week until he came home and announced he felt like he was "wearing a sweater" on his face. I can't blame him and now I have even another reason to look forward to fall. Until then, at least I was able to get one picture of his handsome mug.

Awwww. <3

Monkey

Just because you can, doesn't mean you should
balance on a 2-inch railing and make my heart pitter-patter in my chest as I try not to scare you and yet coax you down in the same moment. They say cats always land on all fours, but something about this seems debatable when we're talking about from the second floor of the building with concrete below.

I Can Has Head Pillow?

I officially have the summer "off" which means that on average, I'm up by 8:30am on weekdays, maybe 9:30am on weekends. This morning, around 6:30am I was awoken by a loud rattling in my ears and a vibrating sensation all over my head; before I could reach for my phone to see what time it was, it became evident to me as the fog of sleep faded that the cause of all the ruckus was actually Foxy...curled up perfectly on my head. I can't fully express the weirdness of this sensation - at once comforting and sweet that she would choose my head as her resting place as well as the kind of teeth-gritting annoying that only something that fuzzy and that loud could induce. Before I could get mad, she shifted herself, maybe sensing my tension and her paw hit my mouth...bringing instantly images of her litter box to my minds eye.
I brushed her off my head and got up defeated. When I laid back down again a few minutes later and drifted back off the sleep it was short-lived...again, on my head, again, paws in my mouth, eyes, nose, again, annoyance and sleep deprivation. Rinse, lather, repeat until around 11am when John finally woke me up; my neck was stiff, my eyes felt like they'd barely closed, but up I got.

We'll see what tonight brings, but so far, my plan is to shut the bedroom door solidly.

Goat Cheese

Remember the first time you tasted something adult? Maybe it was a sip of your dad's beer, a toke of an older sibling's joint, a root vegetable your grandma made or an inhale of your mom's Marlboro's...you just know when you tasted it, there was this flush of wild rebellion and quite frankly, it was gross. Your taste buds hadn't yet caught up with your imagination...

Same thing when Foxy tried goat cheese. It was like watching a child tip toe through a minefield of flavors and emotions; she gobbled, then she staggered, then flung herself off the coffee table...and proceeded to run WILD around the house...before totally deflating on the floor and staring at us blankly. Even her fur looked a little different.

About twenty minutes later, she was back to normal, and there hung in the air this feeling of relief - hers from having experienced a tiger-like wild kingdom explosion  and ours - from knowing that we didn't ruin her innocence completely.

Love and Movies

We didn't end up going to Orlando last night because we're lame and old and tired (not really, but kind of) so instead we had a scrumptious homemade dinner (turkey bacon wrapped shrimp with a light goat cheese, walnut and herb salad) and watched movies.

John makes great floor-forts: layers of bedding and pillows on the living room wherein we curl up for prime TV viewing real estate. Last night was no exception and usually minutes, no seconds, after the construction phase of these forts gets completed, Foxy is present.

She started respectfully enough, on the floor in front of us, staring and purring. Halfway through Beer Wars she got more bold, crawling up on to one of the pillows.

It was heartwarmingly cute, really. "I'm here. Pet me when you can. Love me."

But as most things with her, the cute phase is short-lived. She's impatient, not that I have any idea what that's like. Regardless, we patted her here and there, the usual. But it wasn't enough. It's never enough. She is, no argument, a bottomless pit of love.

And when it comes to John, Foxy is a woman obsessed with filling that pit. I've cared for her, nursed her back from the wild, picked up after her, taken her to the vet, moved her here and there, and loved the bejesus out of her furry little head for going on 8 years now. She meets John and it's "Vanessa who?" I can't blame her, he has the same effect on me...but still...cat, human, cat, human.

Anyway, as we make our way into The Bourne Ultimatum (yes, I know I'm behind) she makes her way into John's face. As usual, he gives in and pets her into a frenzy of muffled reverberation.
                                      

And then, because it's true that he really is the sweetest guy alive, he lays back and lets her do what she's been aiming for since that first innocent moment on the carpet. His chest is her Mt. Everest and last night, she didn't even have to use her claws to get up there!



They laid like that for I don't know how long. I actually fell asleep somewhere around half-way through the movie (which if you've seen it, you know I had to be really tired to be able to accomplish). But before I conked out, I did manage to snap this picture of them...holding (paw) hands! Sigh. Foxy 1, Vanessa 0.

--V

Carnage on the Patio

Like usual, Foxy follows me out to the patio. I sit down. She jumps on the table to explore. Everything's normal.

And then she attacks.

Like a crazed jungle cat, she viciously chomps into the plant on the table, tearing in half at least five of its leaves like they're the most delicious mouse or goldfish she's ever encountered ... Horrified, I take a picture ... She then seemingly realizes what she's doing and suddenly stops, conscious of her (hopefully temporary) insanity.

Or not. After a short while, she cleans herself proudly, jumps on my lap and meows demandingly.

I'm so scared.

J

Bon Voyage Human!

We're leaving for Orlando today to spend the night in a swanky Hollywood-style hotel, eat famous burgers and watch a drag show. While there is nary a bag packed, she knows. She spent last night mewing and climbing and begging to be loved, like a small child before their first day of school. She's stayed alone many nights in the years her and I have been companions. More than once when I've left her for a weekend to go camping or to see a show, I've returned to find she'd peed in my laundry, shed purposefully on my pillow, etc. So, based on her track record I'm always a little leery as to what we'll come home to.

Last time we left for a weekend, John's mom came over to spend some time with her during one afternoon, just because. I think it helped - although we did come home to so much hair on the bedspread that even washing it didn't quite rectify - it was better than what could have happened.

I'm off to fill her dishes and give her some love, in hopes that she will refrain from her absent-human behavior and spare us having to see sasquatch-level furballs on the bed when we return.

-- V

Good Morning, Vomit.

I cleaned everything yesterday - partly to work out tension and partly because I wanted to surprise John. I mean everything - got the mop out, did three loads of laundry, meditated in scrubbing, etc. My piece de resistance, clean sheets, of course. Imagine my chagrin this afternoon when after excitedly gushing about my exam, he told me that he woke up to Foxy throwing up. At 8:30am. In the bed. On my pillow and side, to be exact.

Cats. We laughed. John re-washed the sheets. I bought her some "hairball control" food a few weeks ago because she's a total diva and cleans herself about 70% of the day (and if you've met her you know that's a lot of hair). However, she's been leaving us little piles of love lately and I'm starting to wonder if maybe the food controls hairballs by inducing vomit instead...

I'm going to keep my eye on it but in the midst of our collective musing about the twist this cat brings to our lives, we wondered if maybe it would be interesting to keep track of it. Everyday she does something weird, adorable or just downright hilarious. Yeah, I know, her and every other cat in the world. But this one is different. I swear. This is our attempt to bring a little joy (or for those cat owners, some relief that you're not the only one) to the world.

And yes, I am fully aware that choosing to write about a cat puts me into a place to receive fun-poking from many of you. I respectfully ask that you keep your "cat lady" comments at a minimum - John's writing here too! For the record, I wanted a dog instead...but sometimes in life, people and animals choose you...and the rest is history or a blog, or vomit on a pillow.

-- V