31 May, 2010

Lady of the Manor 2, Road 0

I had to run some errands this morning as the Manor was in desperate need of resupply; I was running low on food for the Manor Cats, and was completely out of dog food. Oh, plus I needed food for myself. So off I went, and first had to stop to herd a black snake out of the road, and then an Eastern Box Turtle darted out in front of me, so I stopped and helped him on his way. Unfortunately conditions weren’t safe for photos, he was a lovely dark reddish orange.

Having done my good deeds for the day I choogled off to Tractor Supply Co, the grocery store, and the local feed store, where I picked up food for all and sundry plus Frontline for the Manor Cats, or at least the three little girls who let me handle them. So far I’ve gotten Emmaline, I’ll have to wait on Noodlehead and then seduce Briar Rose (formerly SisterTwo) into letting me goo her later.

I also picked up kitten-feeding supplies on the principle that I know how cats are, and if I don’t have kitten-feeding supplies on hand, then one of them will be a total bastard and deposit neonatal kittens on my doorstep. Probably on a Sunday night, leaving me with no choice but to take a box of kittens to work with me on Monday so I can feed them every two hours while I look for someone who can foster them. Cats are mean like that.

And now, having been productive, I think I’m going to eat lunch and then settle in on the futon with dogs to watch a zombie movie.

30 May, 2010

One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl…

So first there was Noodlehead.
Noodlehead, a small tabby and white kitty with a lot of tabby on her face, stares at the camera resentfully, wishing it would go away so she could finish her wet food.

Noodlehead was very wary, but the dedicated application of gooshy food turned her into a cat who likes her pettins when she comes up for her snacks, although trying to bring her inside proved disastrous. Then one day, Noodlehead showed up with her sister, Emmaline:
Emmaline and Noodlehead stare into the camera over a plate of wet food.  Emmaline is also tabby and white, but her face is mostly white instead of mostly tabby.

And lo, Emmaline was initially skittish, but she too decided to enjoy pettins along with her snacks, and got to the point that she would yell at the front door for her gooshy food if the human seemed slow in providing it. And then one day, Emmaline showed up with her sister.
Emmaline and SisterTwo, only the tops of their heads visible as they eat from the same plate of wet food.  SisterTwo is a calico tabby and white, her grey-brown tabby areas broken up with splashes of orange.  The two kitties are mirror images in terms of head angle and ear position, if mirrors added (or removed) orange spots.

SisterTwo did not really want to hang out with me. She did chat, but clearly didn’t want me too close. She did, however, REALLY want that gooshy food, badly.
SisterTwo displays her lovely calico coat as she sniffs at the gooshy food.

She was also not going to interrupt her eating for anything, not even having her picture taken so I could make her world famous on the Manor of Mixed Blessings. She did, however, manage to work her tongue into one shot. In addition to the fact that she is shaped JUST like Emmaline and Noodlehead, this gratuitous display of tongue is how I know for sure she is related to them.
SisterTwo pauses in the eating of wet food to lick her lips just in time for her tongue to appear in a picture.  This is how you know she is a purebred Manor Cat.  Accept no substitutes.

SisterTwo needs a better name. You know what to do, Internets.

In praise of my pointy-eared fetchydog.

Zillekins is amazing. Want proof? She has learned to count, and indicates numbers by raising and lowering her ears. Here, I’ll show you!

Zilledog, how old are you today?
A full-face portrait of Zille, a sable German Shedder, looking alertly at the camera.  She has both ears up, because today she is two!
See that? Both ears up. Sheer genius.

Zille petitions Big Sky Dog to spare her the silliness of her owner, looking heavenward with a beseeching stare.
Oh, Zille, stop asking Big Sky Dog what you did to get stuck with me. It’s your birthday! You should be happy!

Zille, lying in the yard, ignores her devoted owner as hard as she can.  Her eyes are shut tight, she's ignoring so hard.
Ignoring me won’t make me go away, Zillekins. I know I tried to make you wear a silly hat, but I made up for it!

Alas, there are no pictures of me making up for it, which is why those are all old. Since today is Zille’s birthday, I took her down to the Rapidan River at Ely’s Ford, where it is reasonably shallow and slow, and let her make a wet muddy mess of herself. I was going to pick up a new toy first but then remembered that rivers flow, so instead I threw sticks and Zille sproinged joyfully into the water after them and brought them back and I threw them again and she charged into the water and we did it over and over again for an hour until we were both wet and muddy and tired and ready to come home, so we did. I was at least smart enough to cover the back of the car with a cheap comforter, which is now being washed, and then I hosed her down before we came in the house and fluffed her with a towel so now she’s only getting the futon mildly damp as she sleeps off the fun.

She is such a fantastic dog, really, nothing like the Dobes but beguiling and beautiful. Where they are either on or off, touching me or snoozing on a soft spot in blissful disregard of my whereabouts, Zille is always at the edge of my awareness. If she can’t get into the room I’m in, she stretches out across the doorway lest I escape without her notice. Injuries to her sensitive soul require her to sit on my foot and weasel her head under my arm, eyes wide. Injuries to my body require her to lick them solicitously in an orgy of concern. She is occasionally given to grooming me, complete with small nibbles to remove things she thinks are a foreign body (I had to protect my engagement ring for weeks). New humans are the object of polite suspicion, she is not wary but rather mostly uninterested, although she can be won over with a ball (but almost never a treat, she will usually take them to be polite, but drop them quickly). Her greatest joys in life are playing fetch and sniffing cat butts, although playing with the Dobes comes in close behind them. As she’s grown more confident here, my Zillegirl has stopped following Tink everywhere and doing everything Tink does, and now lets Tink use her for a Seeing Eye Dog. Where games of biteyface with Beowulf are violent, naked-toothed affairs, she never, ever plays biteyface with Tink without a ball in her mouth, as if she knows that Tink’s fragile skin can’t take your standard biteyface rules.

Happy Birthday, Zillegirl.

29 May, 2010

Video killed the radio star.

For your enjoyment: two videos, one of Breakfast At The Manor, starring Rooney Lee; and one of me attempting to leave the house with Beowulf en route to his vet appointment, starring the vocal stylings of Zille.

Breakfast At The Manor:

Transcript:
Video opens with a shot of a smallish orange and white Cornish Rex cat, the inimitable Rooney Lee, standing in the kitchen floor staring at the camera.
Roo: FEED ME. FEED ME NOW.
Tink, wandering briefly into frame: Is something interesting happening?
Me (off-camera as always): Let’s go get your bowl!
Roo: NO.
Camera turns as I turn to go down the hall to Roo’s room and get his bowl. We get a glimpse of the confused head of Braxton Bragg. Roo continues to issue demands.
Me: C’mon.
Roo: JUST FEED ME.
Me, turning the camera back so we can see Roo as he decides to follow me: C’mon, we gotta get your bowl!
Roo: Oh, fine. Let’s get my bowl.
Zille: I know where his bowl is! It’s right here!
Roo: My bowl’s right here! GET MY BOWL. PICK IT UP! Now go this way!
(Bowl is picked up and I turn to exit Roo’s room, showing girldogs in hallway)
Girldogs: Can we have food, too?
(I walk to kitchen, where Roo is waiting on the counter)
Roo: FEED ME NOW.
(I set the bowl on the counter, Roo checks it out)
Roo: THIS BOWL IS EMPTY GODDAMIT.
Me: It’s your bowl!
Roo: I know! BUT IT IS EMPTY. I love it anyway.
Me: Yeah.
Roo: Mine.
Me: It’s yours.
(Roo paces back and forth on the narrow strip of counter in front of the sink as I get his food from the fridge)
Roo: HURRY UP WITH THAT I AM STARVING. STARVING! MAKE WITH THE FOOD FOR THE LOVE OF CAT!
Me: Gross food. Setting camera down a sec.
Roo: Will this make you go faster with the food?
(The camera is placed on the counter so we get an excellent view of the side of the refrigerator and Roo’s bowl. Also, Roo’s feet as he continues to monitor the feeding process. Off-camera, some rustling of plastic as I open the ziploc bag holding Roo’s food.)
Roo: Hurry! Oh, I love my food. HURRY WITH THE FOOD.
(The camera is picked up again so that it gets a clear view of Roo’s breakfast being dumped into his bowl, and Roo beginning to chow down. Everyone loves a happy ending!)

Zille Has Hysterics:

The video opens with a shot of the stove and a corner of my counters. It is quite dark, because it is 0545 and I have turned the lights out preparatory to leaving the house with Beowulf for his vet appointment.
Me: The Why Don’t I
Zille: I WANNA GO TOOOO
Me: Get to Go
Zille: I WANNA GOOOO
Me: Hysterics
Zille: I WANNA GO WIIIIIITH
Me: By Zille
(The camera turns to glance at dog crates, then proceeds toward the side door)
Zille: NO ONE LOVES ME I WANT TO GO WIIIIITH YOOOOOUUU. I AM UNLOVED AND ABUSED. THIS CAUSES ME GREAT PAIN, BECAUSE I LOVE YOU SO, AND IF ANY DOG DESERVES TO HAVE ADVENTURES IT IS ME, FOR I AM A GOOD DOG.
(Camera turns back to see Tink standing behind me)
Roo, heard in the distant background: LET ME OUT OF MY ROOM I NEED MORE FOOD.
Tink: Don’t leave me alone with these noisy bastards.
Me: She’s very noisy, huh, Tink?
Tink: If she doesn’t shut up, I’ll smother her.
Zille: GET ME OUT OF THIS CRATE AND TAKE ME TOO OH MY GOD MY LIFE IS A HORROR.

I should note for the record that Zille shows no signs of actual separation anxiety. She only throws these loud and dramatic fits if another dog is going somewhere and she is not. Oh and also she occasionally does it when I get home from work, but only before I have opened the door to the house. She does not, however, panic and try to escape her crate, show signs of anxiety when crated, or otherwise show distress. She just REALLY wants to be the dog who goes along, if any dog is going to go anywhere at all.

Pets are gross and worrisome. Also, a dog needs a rescue placement.

No, not one of my dogs, a beautiful red girl who managed to confound her current foster home and a vet with 30 years of experience and give birth to six puppies. If you know of a rescue that has a place for them, please head right on over there and get in touch.

On to gross pets. I am warning you, gentle readers, that two of my pets have just been flat out gross this week, and you may want to click on the link up there and look at puppy pictures instead.

First, Roo decided he loved me that way. He tried to have sex with my arm. I know what “humping” behaviors look like in cats, and let us say that he was a LOT more into it than he would have been with a random humping maneuver. I asked over on the Cornish Rex Friends mailing list (and by the way, a finer and more hilarious group of people is difficult to find on the internet) and got reassurance that while this isn’t precisely normal for C-Rexen, it’s not precisely abnormal either for them to totally miss the memo on being neutered. They also made me snort water out my nose once before I got wise and made sure I swallowed before opening any further e-mails. I may still make Roo an appointment with my fantastic vets to make sure there’s nothing serious going on, but I am much more reassured now that I know he’s probably just one of those C-Rex boys whose libidos cannot be stopped by the mere amputation of his testicles.

Then, while I was on the phone with my Mom and outside with the dogs, Zille started sniffing something. And then she started rolling in it. I should really have known better than to get down and look to see what was causing her to roll in that way dogs have that involves trying to get every inch of their body into whatever it is, starting with the nose and working back. It turned out to be a dead frog. Normally, Ms. Zillekins is a very sensitive dog who will wilt at just a disappointed word from me, but apparently dead frogs also make dogs deaf, because she was totally oblivious to my noises of disgust and horror until I stood over her frog and refused to let her to continue to use it as a coat conditioner. I’m probably lucky she didn’t try to eat it.

Finally, I noticed a lump on the inside of Beowulf’s left knee and ran him to the vet. It turned out to be a lipoma, a benign fatty tumor to which Dobermans are prone, thank God. Nothing to worry about unless it starts bothering him, just something to keep an eye on.

Later today, videos! I managed to get good video of Roo At Dinner Time, and also Zille having hysterics because I was leaving the house with a dog who was not Zille. She objects to other dogs Having Adventures if she doesn’t get to go.

24 May, 2010

My mother is out to get me.

Seriously, y’all, she is. I don’t know how else you explain what happened this morning. See, Mom visits once a month, and being the Best Mother Ever she usually even vacuums for me, because she knows how much I hate to vacuum. Sweeping I am on board with, not so much the vacuuming. Anyway, Mom has previously raved about how easy the vacuuming is on my laminate floors. Why, she says, you just set the vacuum down and watch the dirt run to it, practically. Easy-peasy. So easy, the dogs could learn to do it (although they never have, the bastards).

Anyhow this morning I went into Aida & Braxton’s room to feed them and noticed a thick layer of cat litter on the floor, doubtless deposited because Braxton is a digger. The vacuum cleaner was right there, so I thought “I will take my mother’s advice and just suck it up real quick, for she is the Best Mother Ever and would not lead me astray!”

Clearly I was momentarily forgetting her weird obsession with plucking my eyebrows, which indicates that even though she is the Best Mother Ever, she thinks it is hilarious to make me scream. I chalk this up to revenge for all those interrupted nights of sleep when I was an infant, and possibly the time I told my preschool class how babies were made after she expressly told me not to share that information. In my defense, it was exactly the sort of thing I thought my friends would find fascinating.

But I digress. I grabbed the vacuum, plugged it in, turned it on, and drove it expertly into the first pile of cat litter, which is when I discovered that MY MOTHER LIED TO ME. The vacuum cleaner does not magically suck up the cat litter. It grabs it with its brush and flings it behind it in a hail of tiny, excruciatingly painful projectiles that if they do not hit your feet embed themselves in the wall. My anguished screams, unfortunately unwitnessed by my mother (who would probably have enjoyed them), scared all the cats and dogs into hiding despite the excitement of breakfast time.

Next time, I’m walking the extra 30 feet to get the broom.

23 May, 2010

It’s World Turtle Day!

It’s also Box Turtle Season here in Virginia, although unseasonably cold and wet weather has kept the turtles out of the road, so I have yet to move one. Nevertheless, I thought I’d celebrate World Turtle Day by taking a break from cat-related posting in order to relay my Tips For Moving Turtles Out Of The Road.

1) Be situationally aware. Do not slam on your brakes to save a turtle if it’s just going to get you hit by the guy behind you, who was not expecting you to stop because a turtle suddenly darted into the road. While it is true that turtles are important, your bodily integrity is even MORE crucial.

2) Stop your car well back from the turtle and turn your hazard lights on. Your car is going to be the first warning sign another driver has to be cautious. If you’re blocking the road, distance is tricky. You don’t want to park your car so close that if someone hits it, your car will then hit you and the turtle, but you also don’t want it so far back that another driver will hit you after going around your car.

3) Stop, look, listen. At least here in the piedmont of Virginia, one is most likely to encounter a turtle in the road on the winding, hilly, two-lane back roads. You will hear another car before you will see it. Be cautious!

4) Move with a sense of purpose. If you pause to take pics, remain especially alert for other cars. Better yet, get pics while moving quickly to the turtle, and if you need more pictures, they can wait until the turtle is off the road.

5) Don’t get bitten. I specialize in moving Eastern Box Turtles, which are not going to bite you unless you go out of your way to stick a finger in their mouths, but still, be canny. If you’re trying to move a snapping turtle, for instance, exercise EXTREME caution. An adult snapping turtle can bite your finger off.

6) Handle the turtle safely for the turtle, as well as yourself.

7) Move the turtle across the road in the direction it was going in the first place. Otherwise, it may just turn around and stomp angrily back into the road, and all your work was for naught.

8) Don’t move the turtle a long distance. An Eastern Box Turtle, for instance, has a home territory that it roams. If you take it out of its territory, it will try to go back there. If you’ve moved it more than a quarter mile, odds are good the turtle will die on the way home.

9) Resist the urge to lecture the turtle on the foolishness of crossing roads in the first place. They never listen.

10) Don’t expect any gratitude. The scaley little bastards always act like you have created a huge problem for them when you whisk them safely to their destination on the opposite side of the road.

11) DID I MENTION WATCH OUT FOR CARS? Stay safe. You are of limited use to turtles or anyone else if you’re lying in a hospital after having been hit.

Also, I lied about the break from cat posting. Here’s a pic of Emmaline and Noodlehead from yesterday. My quest to get the perfect picture continues; Noodlehead had her tongue out for this one. Sigh.

Emmaline, whose face is mostly white but who wears a jaunty tabby-patterned cap, and Noodlehead, whose face is mostly tabby but has squiggles of white running up her nose, take a break from their wet food buffet (visible in front of and behind them on paper plates) to stare at the camera.  Noodlehead has stuck her tongue out, because cats are cruel like that.

22 May, 2010

Saturday Morning Post

Noodlehead came up alone last night, so I didn’t get to tell Sister that my friend jettcat has christened her Emmaline. I just really like the way “Noodlehead and Emmaline” sounds, because I am easily amused like that. I am slightly worried for Emmaline, who is so very thin, but usually once they figure out that coming up when I’m home guarantees a can of wet food, they start doing it more often. Maybe I’ll see her this weekend to cement the “Let me take your picture and I’ll give you gooshyfood” bargain.

Speaking of coming up alone, and also pictures, I finally got a (very bad) picture of Romeo last night. He’s a big grey and white tom who I have previously only seen in the company of young lady kitties. He has squired a couple up to the feeding station on my porch, including Stinky, who I then snagged and sent off to Illinois where she is safe from his blandishments. At any rate, voila Romeo, who is looking a little tense because I was right at the edge of his flight distance:
A large grey and white tomcat (you can tell by the enormous jowls) lies on the ground but is tensed to flee as he stares at the camera.  We'll just pretend this picture is not blurry.

I found free plans yesterday for wooden cat shelters over at Alley Cat Allies, which is an incredibly useful site although they are more geared toward the city audience than rural feral cat feeders like me. Their shelters are made from one sheet of plywood, some paint, and some roofing shingles, and are larger than the Feral Villa, plus cheaper since I just have to buy the supplies and build them, not buy plans or villas and then also pay for shipping. This means I can set a much lower fundraising goal, so yay!

In Dog News, after 5 years of trying, Beowulf has finally learned an indoor voice. I know this because he told me about a very nice-looking akita puppy and her person who were walking by, without doing his normal roar of rage and thunderous barking routine. Well, actually he did them, expelling all the air as he would for his normal protecting-the-territory noises, but without engaging his vocal cords. At first I thought he was trying to cough up a lung. When I realized what he was doing, I got him cheese and told him Good Dog.

This morning I’m probably going down to Spotsy for the big commercial re-enactment as the 54th Volunteer Massachusetts Infantry will be there and I’ve been stalking them for two years now. Previously they’ve waited until I was traveling for work or out of the country to attend events, so I’m pleased that this time I’m around.

20 May, 2010

Then there were two.

The dogs were grizzling tonight so I looked outside and sure enough, there was Noodlehead (the artist formerly known as Little Tabby Girl), waiting for her wet food. I slapped some on a plate and headed out to the porch with it and imagine my surprise when there were two little tabby girls out there. Looks like Noodlehead brought her sister to the feeding station. Which is fortuitous, because Noodlehead’s Sister is painfully skinny. Noodlehead looks positively healthy next to her.

Sister is pretty un-shy for a first-time visitor, I suspect out of desperation and hunger. She let me get to about three feet away, and take some pictures, which is way more than Noodlehead would do the first time we met. Clearly I am going to be up to my neck in little tabby and white girls. Also I clearly need to get to sorting through the products of my various crafty hobbies and listing them online in the hopes that people like them enough to give me cat money. Ahem.

But what y’all really want is pictures, right? Never let it be said that the Lady of the Manor did not deliver your desires, gentle reader.

Noodlehead and Sister, that’s Noodlehead on the right:
At left, a small brown tabby and white kitty noms on wet food like it's the first time she's seen food in weeks.  Her face is mostly white.  At right, Noodlehead, who is also a tabby and white kitty, but whose face is mostly tabby, turns to walk off.

Sister, caught in an indelicate moment (the sound of my camera and the flash were worrying her a bit):
A small tabby and white cat whose face is mostly white stares into the camera with enormous yellowy-green eyes.  She is definitely worried by the person with the box on her face.  A chunk of gooshy food hangs from her bottom lip.

Sister probably needs a better name, though, so I’m taking suggestions. Name a Manor Cat!

19 May, 2010

Lest anyone think I sprang into being fully formed…

…I come by all this honestly. Case in point: Tuesday morning I get a call at work from my mother, who was at my house attempting to pack her car and leave. “Beowulf ate four ounces of chocolate-covered malted milk balls, should I make him puke?”

“Yep. You know where the hydrogen peroxide is.”

It is important to note that my office mate, Bob, was on the phone during this conversation and did not hear it. A little while later, Mom called me back and I greeted her with “Did he puke all right?” which caused Bob to break down giggling uncontrollably.

“Yes,” quoth my fantastic, patient mother. “He threw up the malted milk balls, his breakfast, the wet cat food I gave him to help him puke, and his peanut butter toast. Then I had to pick the malted milk balls out of the pile while protecting it from Zille and Tink, who thought it was great I made Beowulf give them a snack.”

Best. Mother. Ever.

In other news, when I got home from work today, Noodlehead the Semi-Feral Kitty was waiting for me on the porch to tell me that the dry food dish was empty and furthermore, it was time for her wet food and why the hell was I being so slow in providing it? She will once again let me pet her, but we’re back to just gently stroking her back. She’ll come around, though. And I’ll have to figure out a way to get a panicky feral kitty inside somehow, because she still needs to be spayed. Meanwhile this weekend I’ll be sorting through the products of my various hobbies with intent to sell off a bunch of it to fund her spay and vax and, in my wildest dreams, perhaps a Feral Villa for her to live in. I suspect that’s asking too much, though, so I’m just hoping to put a big dent in her spay/vax costs.

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