The Crazy Cat at Our House

OK, it's been a while since I posted on "the queen." She has become more insane than I ever thought possible. Gracie is our rescued feral cat. We found her summer before last behind our church, a mere week-old kitten. That she survived was a surprise, although I'm not so shocked now seeing how feisty she is. She thinks the house is hers, and all who live here or who enter are at her whim. No guest goes unchecked, and usually gets a swipe of the paw and a hiss (just to put them in their place). Although she hates for us to pick her up, or pet her, or generally look in our direction, she doesn't avoid us either, and in fact she usually follows me from room to room. She does this even if I've just harassed her.

She LOVES paper balls! If I wad up a piece of paper she comes running and when I throw it in the trash she pulls it out and carries it in her mouth to whatever location she wants to play with it (usually one with a tile floor). She likes her water fresh, so she is constantly knocking the boys' water cups off the counter so she can lap the fresh water up off the floor. She isn't afraid of the dogs in the least, and usually attacks them just for fun. The German Shepherd cowers. She likes her dog food, but every now and then gets a hankering for dog food, so she bullies the dogs out of the way and eats what she wants. She always waits for me to finish my yogurt, ice cream, etc. so she can lick the bowl. She is a perpetual kitten, and several times a day has very playful moods where she runs around and trills, trying to get someone to play with her. When we do, she usually ends up attacking us.

She has every person in our house wrapped around her little paw, and she's so soft and cute that nobody can keep their hands off of her. You know, if I were watching all this from the outside, I'd think we were nuts to let an animal take so much control, but truth is, we love her. She's the queen and we are her mere servants. But it's OK to be a servant to the queen. Right?

Gracie the Grinch

Can you see me?

Here I am!!! Don't come too close! I'm waiting for you.

Move over Grinch! Our silly cat is determined to ruin Christmas. When we set up our Christmas tree, she claimed it. She climbed up in it until we broke that habit with a spray bottle! Still she's determined. In the last few days she has:

• knocked a small tree in our entryway off the shelf . . . multiple times!
• removing ornaments from the tree to play with
• "helping" wrap presents by laying down in the open end of the paper while I work on the other end.
• slashed into presents with her present-opening-claws
• taken again to climbing up the inside of the tree . . . all the way . . . to the top! Then she plays with the ornaments!
• ripping down the garland hanging in the stairwell

On top of that, we're dog-sitting, so we have THREE dogs right now, and I'm constantly heading off dogfights.

All we need is the toddler. Uh . . . no thanks.

Life With Kitty

OK. The boys can come up with wonderful names . . . I know they can. They've come up with great names for their Webkinz! AJ has three named Root Beer Bandit, Chocolate Chip, and Cookies N Cream. Josh has a monkey named Pernix (Latin for agile) and a bear named Mini-Me (he was a bear in the play, remember). So why in the world do we have a cat named Kitty? Actually her name is Kitty Pryde--it's a super hero thing. I've decided I hate it. I wasn't crazy about Chewy when we thought she was a he, but at least he had a real name. There's just a part of me that wants to call her something, and I feel like I'm not really calling her anything when I call "Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!" Everybody calls their cat with that!!! I may have to take this whole thing into my own hands and name the poor animal!

Other than the goofy name, life with Kitty is fun. I AM her mama. In fact, every now and then she just wants to see my face, so she grabs on to one of my legs with her small little claws and scales me like a tree. Yeah, I know. Cute now . . . not so much when she's ten pounds. Our favorite times of day are when she goes into what Josh has labelled "loopy mode." She races around attacking anything that moves and acts all goofy and funny. She's a little rough on the hands in loopy mode (and face, and toes, and arms . . . ), but we are definitely enjoying playing with her. OK, so maybe we're enjoying her a little too much, but we'll get school and those chores done eventually! Of course we also love the mood she's in when she just wakes up. She purrs and purrs and loves us back. The boys really like having an animal that will snuggle with you and let you carry it like a baby. Not that we don't love the dogs anymore, we just like the different dynamics of having a cat.

I'm not so fond of the litter box (which is in my bathroom, getting litter all over my floor--a real joy when you have wet feet!), and loopy mode gets a bit exhausting when she decides to go into it at 5 am (with my face!), and she's only just starting to get the message that counters and tables are not fair game for her curiosity. But none of those things are as dreadful as I had been programmed to remember (by the cat hater in our family!), and I'm quickly deciding that they are worth the inconvenience to have the fun of a kitty . . . er Kitty. Only, now I have to go, 'cause she's sitting on my desk and she thinks the keyboard is a fun place to walk. So vdsfnapfh aewfrawfywae fhafaehf . . . .

We're Still Treading Water

OK, I haven't fallen off the planet. I have either been:

a) busy (School and kids are killing me!)
b) playing Webkinz (sorry, I know I'm a grown-up, but it's how I unwind)
c) just not feeling like blogging (yeah, I know--what? Me not blog?)
d) playing with the kitten (oh yeah. Did I mention we now have a kitten?)

Guess I have a lot to catch you up on. I'll try to do some this weekend.

A Kitty Tail . . . Er . . . Tale

Last week as we were leaving church the boys kept saying, "Mom, Mom! There's a cat back there [behind a shed] about the size of the guinea pig!"

Finally I checked it out. It was NOT a cat. It was a teeny new kitten. His eyes were still closed, and he was lying in the mud screeching! So I picked him up! I took him into the kitchen and got a towel to wrap him in, then took him home.

Once home, I gave him a little milk and started to warm him up. I got on the Internet, to see what to do for him, only to read "Do not give cow's milk!"

Ooops.

I put him in a bin with a heating pad, and run to the pet store to get kitten formula. Now I'm committed. Come home, feed him. For about two days, I worried that he wasn't eating enough, worried that he would dehydrate from diareaha . . . . worried about this teeny, helpless little thing.

But he's a scrappy little fighter. Over the week he has gained two ounces or more, and is SO CUTE! The boys and I are in love. We named him Chewbacca--Chewie for short. Yeah, I know. It's all over when you name them.

We are not keeping him. Yeah. Right.