The kittens are looking at me funny. Probably because I am actually cleaning house. They keep coming over and sniffing about, trying to figure out what I am doing.
I tried to explain to them that the time to come over, all big eyed and kitten curious, is NOT when a trash bag full of two litter boxes worth of excrement and litter ruptures, and THEIR POOP goes spilling out all over the hallway and kitchen.
It really is not the time.
The cats still don't get along. I don't know if they ever will. Here is a song I made up for them this morning. Sung to the tune of the theme to the "Beverley Hillbillies."
Ode to Mo and Pru
Let me tell you a story about a cat named Mo,
Eating is her favorite, a hallow leg that's for sho,
Then one day comes competition for her food,
A snaggletooth kitten, a fluffball named Prud.
Prudence that is,
American girl,
Yankee cat.
Next thing you know, ol' Mo is getting pissy,
Both cats are fluffing up, getting ready for a hissy,
But just before all the fur can hit the fan,
In she comes, The Girl Who Opens The Can.
Jodi that is,
American girl,
The true Alpha Cat.
Oddly enough, they both seemed nonplussed by my song. Although I am sure that secretly they love my singing.
My new bed has broken me. It's so freakin' fantabulous, that all other beds are now The Suck. I'm at the house, packing, and the bed I previously considered to be so comfy is now a box of rocks. The many layers of padding I have added to it, trying to simulate Pillow Top are flat and unflufffilling. They probably need to be flipped and manually poofed up, there is a definite dip in the middle of the bed, where I sleep. And that's the other thing, I couldn't even begin to get comfortable until I moved to the previously untouched Edge Of The Bed. Because that's where I sleep now. I sleep on the right side of the bed. Wil sleeps on the left and part of the right. Sometimes, Pru sleeps on the far right side of the bed, and I am left with a thin strip of bed between the two. (Momo sleeps pretty much on me, or Wil, when she sleeps on the bed. After 4 am, she prefers to just jump up and down on my ass, however. )
So last night, it's 3 am and I am still not asleep, even though I am pretending I am in my new bed, by sleeping on the edge of the bed. The parts of Wil and both cats was played by Pru, who managed to stretch her body across the rest of the bed, and somehow steal most of the covers. But it's not the same. She's cute, but she lacks of the manly arms for snuggling. And that Sleep Number bed is THE BOMB.
When we first tried it out, Wil said his Sleep Number would be 100, because he is a man. I declared my Sleep Number to be 35. Wil said 35 was for pussies, but I told him that 35 was TV's Bionic Woman, Lindsey Wagner's Sleep Number and I'd like to see him say that to her FACE. Her bionic face. But, after sleeping on it for a while, Wil has decided that real men like squishy. He will sometimes deflate down to 20 or less, effectively creating a nest, or bowl, of smooshy cushiness. He likes the feeling of sinking in, I can always tell when he's doing it, because he becomes lower than me. I find that I like it about 35 to 45, depending on how I like to sleep. We usually default at 45 and adjust accordingly. And when Wil gets up for work, I will roll over into the Mattress Bowl and sleep there for while. Although, it's much easier to get out of bed, if you firm it up a bit before attempting it. I find it impossible to leave the warm, soft Mattress Bowl.
Maybe Pru is a bit neurotic. I fear that trait is only exacerbated by the move. Momo is handling things better. She's known me for a long time. Got to know me slowly, in her own territory. And is not an antisocial freak to begin with, unlike sensitive, twitchy Pru. She's adjusting. Slowly. But she's moodier than normal. And has a short span of tolerance for anyone but me.
Wm: Honey, can you come get your cat?
Jodi: What is she doing?
Wm: She's sitting next to the toilet. She won't let me go to the bathroom.
Jodi: Did she hiss at you?
Wm: Yes. See?
Jodi: Pru? What is your problem. Oh, look... she threw up. Well, there you go. It makes perfect sense. You can't use the bathroom. SHE is using it. To barf.
it's been hard for me to blog the last few weeks, because I've had a secret. What was on my mind I could not blog about. Not until I spoke with certain people first, took certain steps. But, it's all good now, and so I can tell you.
I gave notice yesterday, at my POE. I'm leaving at the end of the month. End of the year, I suppose, as well. I'm moving to Canada. Ironic that I should do it now, and not in 2004, but since I'm not doing it for political reasons, I guess that doesn't matter. Obviously, I am going to be moving in with Wil. We are looking to get a place for February 1st. And really, I could not be happier.
Moving to Victoria is a lot more complicated than moving to, say, Portland or Los Angeles. It's a gigantic pain in the ass, to be honest. I'm doing the research, but from what I can tell, I'm going to have to inventory and price every single item I move over there. Every. Single. Item. Like I can remember how much my monkey socks cost! This is what I am going to spend January doing. Separating things into 1. Taking, 2. Storing and 3. Garage Sale. I've never had one, but I have some friends who might have a few things to sell, not worth an entire GS themselves, but combined I bet we'll have a good stash.
I can't work there, without a VISA. Luckily, I am in a situation where, if we are very careful and budgeted, I can take time off. I'm going to be... wait for it.... a HOUSEWIFE! Hahahahaha! Oh man, just thinking of it cracks me up. I don't know... what do you think I should do with my time? Improved blogging output, for one. In fact, I hope to do a lot more writing. Learn to cook, maybe? Kick off my shoes and get pregnant? Who knows.
So... what do you think? Be prepared for much discussion of immigration and the politics of introducing Your Cat to His Cat, and Him, and a New Home, all at once, over the next few weeks.
Wil and his cat, Momo
Well, the snow did it's best to prevent me from coming up here, but it finally warmed up and stuff started melting off. You would think that it wouldn't matter that much, as I am on I-5 the entire way, and SURELY I-5 has been plowed since Monday's storm. Surely. But you'd be wrong. I guess Nobody cared about the last 10 miles of the United States. It was actually a bit shocking. Because i was driving 70 miles an hour, like everyone else, to hit all these patches of frozen snow. Bastards.
Wil is sick. It's very sad. He has a bad cold. Last night I made him take some nighttime cold meds, as he had not been able to sleep the last two nights. And I made him go to bed at 9 pm. I wasn't the slightest bit sleepy. The only problem was, Jack and her sister Hazel were here too, and they had to go to bed as well, they have school this morning. So there was no place for me to go. Wil asleep in the bedroom. The girls asleep in the living room. I suppose I could have hung out in the bathroom.
So I lied in bed and thought, and composed brilliant emails and blog posts that are now lost to the wind. To the best of my recollection, these are some of the things I thought about:
I'm happy to say, that since Wil got about 10 hours of sleep, he's doing much better. He seems perkier, albeit still congested and coughy.
but I actually have the jodicam up. It's day one of NaNoWriMo, and I've cleaned off my desk and getting down to business. Unfortunately, Pru just got down to business in the litter box behind me, so I might have to step out for a minute.
I was responding to Delmer's comment below, when I decided my responding comment was long enough to be a post. With pictures.
Q: I'm curious ... is your cat named for Phoebe from Catcher in the Rye.
Based on what a person might gather from your blog-persona, it would make sense.
A: it was actually my bunny who was named Phoebe. She died 4 years ago this summer, which broke my heart, but she was the coolest bunny ever. And that is precisely what i tell people when they asked why i named her Phoebe. People thought it was because of either Friends, or that show about the witches, Charmed. But in truth, I got the name from the book. But we mostly called her The B.
Of course, if I name my daughter Phoebe, I will say it's after my bunny, and not some book. :)
Prudence, my cat, I named after a rag doll I had when I was a kid, that my grandmother used to try to steal from me, telling me that Prudence would rather live with HER. Which I never believed. My Moür Moür was a terrible liar, and her daughter didn't raise no fool. But again, people think I named her from that Charmed show. I didn't even know there was a Phoebe and a Pru on that show until after I got my cat. Never watched it.
And as long as well are talking pets, here is the dog who is responsible for me liking quiet, sweet, lazy dogs. ... Bunker. We had him for 17 years.
Look at me! I have devil eyes!
I.
A week or so ago I walked into the bathroom to see a ENORMOUS spider in my bathtub. It was trying it's 8 legged best to get out, but kept sliding down. Luckily, I had taken a shower the night before. I don't like spiders. I've been fearing them for, oh... as long as I can remember. [side note: have you noticed that spiders are less scary when they are lower than you, like on the bottom of the tub, vs. up higher than you, like the corner of the shower, where they jump down upon your neck, bite you, and kill you dead?] So I did the smart thing.
"Baby Kitty! Pruuuu. Pruuuudence! Baby Kitty! Pruuuuuu!! Help me please!"
It took her about five minutes to amble in, because I had already fed her breakfast, so there was no need for her to pretend that she was obeying me.
"What?" her little kitty face expressed.
"That! Look! No, over here, in the bathtub.. no, not the sink, get over here... never mind, I'll lift you. See? See the spider? Git it! Go git it!"
To her credit, Pru did stand on the edge of the tub and make her little hunting kitty yips. Then she jumped down into the tub, and proceeded to sit there watching the spider crawl all around her. I told her I wanted it "taken care of" by the time I got home from work.
When I got home, there was the spider, in the bathtub. He was very still, and looked a little peeked. But upon poking at him with a barrette, I found he was just a little worse for wear.
"Pru, what's up with this? You were supposed to take care of him."
"hmmm... oh, that's Nigel. I'm keeping him. He's fun."
"You've named him Nigel?"
"Yup... we're only making plans.. . for Nigel."
Pru hopped down into the tub and started batting Nigel around a bit. I was actually starting to feel sorry for it. She was playing with her food. Brutal.
I came back later to find, unlike some cats, Pru does not eat bugs. She only beats them to death. Slowly. Over several hours. I gave Nigel a water burial.
II.
Currently, I have a little pet spider that lives on, not in, my car. She's a tiny golden spider I have named Trixie. And she lives around the windshield. Every morning, when I am driving to work, I think that surely she has found somewhere safer to live. But no, she comes crawling out onto the glass, and waves a little leg at me. She's learned not to get caught up there when I get on the freeway, however. That makes her curl up into a tight little ball. Poor thing. She gets under cover now, when I start to drive fast.
Trixie is free to live on my car, as long as she doesn't come in, we are good. I kinda like saying "hi!" to her in the mornings.
In the next installment of Bugs Make a Fine Pet, we'll talk about my three pet bees who were mysteriously beenapped from my porch. Never to return. I still miss them. After that, I'm done with the bugs because I don't really like them very much.
Pru sleeps around. She rotates her favorite sleeping spot every week or two. Sometimes its with me, then it will be on the purple chair, then maybe it's on the bed again, only this time only at the foot of the bed, or maybe it's on my bed again but she has to actually sleep ON me. Then she's off again to god only knows where for a week or so. No matter where she sleeps, however, she always ends up on the bed, usually on me, in the morning, while she waits for me to get up.
Last night, she decided it was time to sleep with me again. This morning I found her resting on me, in such a manner, that her fluffy tail would swish back and forth, ever so lightly, on my cheek. That's how I woke up. I told her it was not even 6 am but she just looked at me with that "What? Oh, I'm a cat, I can't tell time, all I know is the sun is up and that means morning. And morning means breakfast! But if it's too early, you go back to sleep. Unless, that is, now that you are awake you realize you have to get up to go the bathroom anyway." look.
You can try to roll over to knock her off, but she'll just climb back on and stretch out on your face or something. Very subtle.
