Tag: Cat

Thursday’s Theme Music

Song from 1969 is rambling through my head. (Guess it’s Throwback Thursday.) (This is Thursday, innit? Days are sort of bleeding together with a lovely melange of rain, sun, and night.)

“Good Times, Bad Times” by Led Zeppelin is cranking through the stream? Why? Because it can. But I think it sorta works for these P.D. (pandemic days, or pandays, if you must). “Good times, bad times, you know I’ve seen my share.” Plant sings it so much better than me, according to my cats. But then, they’re very critical by nature. They’re like, “Stop singing. Feed me. Stop moving. Let me sleep on your lap. What’re you doing? Where you going? Get back here. Don’t close that door. Hey, what’re you doing? What’s going on behind that door? Let me in! Let me in!”

 

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All I Want (A Cat’s Lament)

Give me strength

to not claw you as you sit

looking at me

and telling me,

“I don’t understand what you want.”

You’re not trying.

We both know it.

We know what I want.

You’re just being dogmatic about what you’ll give me.

Pig-headed about giving in.

Mulish in your approach to our relationship.

Drawing your head into your shell.

Sticking it into the ground.

Or scurrying, mouse-like, from my demands.

Slithering away from facing up to my natural superiority.

Following the herd about what should be done.

Instead of striking out on your own,

and going in there,

and opening every food that’s available

until we find one that makes me happy.

That’s all I want.

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The Surviving Dream

I was out with others. We were in endless stores but outside, in rolling, emerald green hills bathed in sunshine. I was happy but I was aware that it was a dire situation. Everyone was aware. What measures did we need to take? How could we survive?

Then, boom, all were dead.

Then I was getting back up. I was aware it was a dire situation. What measures did we need to take? Okay, I’d just died, so what we’d done didn’t work. We needed to do something else. Then, boom, something was coming, and we all died.

I was back after a second, in the same situation, trying to figure out what to do, then it all happened again.

I spoke with others. How can we stop this cycle? Others were certain that it couldn’t be stopped, they saw no way that it could. But a man in uniform stepped forward.

He was dressed like a WWII Nazi officer, grey uniform and hat, black epaulets, knee-high shiny black boots, in a movie. “Actually, it can be stopped,” he said. “You just need the right place to hide and the perfect timing.”

Before I could question him more, he said, “Ah, here it comes again.”

I saw something coming, or more correctly, looking down and across the stores on the grassy hills, I saw its effects on the people and world. I warned others that it was coming as I took cover with a cat. I died.

Born again after that, I joked with the cat, “Well, that didn’t work. Did you die, too?” The cat didn’t answer. Then, knowing the cycle was short, I began hunting for the next place to hide. This time, I seemed more aware of the threat coming toward me. It rippled through the people and fields like a light breeze blowing through a rows of wheat. Watching it come up, I timed my move and stepped aside.

I’m not certain if I died or not. There wasn’t a moment of awareness of dying, but I was again considering the situation, the German officer beside me. “No, it’s not that easy,” he said in a jocular voice.

I was dubious of him. “I think you’re trying to distract me. Who are you? Why are you even here?” I had the sense that he was there for misdirection. He was there to stop me from seeing and thinking.

An event was coming again. Picking up my cat, I turned my back and hunkered down under a table.

The dream ended.

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A CBD Update

I have cats.

That’s my human POV. The cats put it, I have a human. The cats say, I make demands, play with things (because I’m booored), and show affection (sometimes offering my human a gift), and in return, the humans feed, shelter, protect, care for me, and give me a body to sleep on so I don’t get cold. As a human, I say, aren’t they sweet?

The cats, smugly, nod, their eyes hooded: yes, we know.

Some of my little felines have issues. After inquiries and research, I decided to attempt a CBD course. The inquiries didn’t do a lot to reassure me about what was going to happen; neither did the research. They’re cats; they’re as individual as humans and offer less insights (and more cryptic insights) into how they’re feeling. Eventually, I purchased Sun God CBD Heka Pet Oil. It’s available locally. Friends swear by it.

Boo’s stress and anxiety drives my feline CBD attempts. Boo, an older cat with a mysterious history, huffs, hisses, panics, and swats at everything. You never know what’ll set him off. His back fur by his rear has matted. Always a large cat (and, we suspect, arthritic), he can’t groom that area. During the consecutive years of wildfire and smoke-filled air, all the cats (except young, short-haired Papi) (aka Meep) developed matting. With everyone except Boo, we bought sprays and used those in conjunction with scissors, brushes, and combs to remove their mats and restore their gloss.

Can’t do it with Boo. He ducks hands, although he’s come to tolerate our petting and stoking. (But beware of going close to his matted fur!) Hairbrushes? No! Hiss, snap, swat, run away, run away, run away, run away. Scissors?

I dare you.

His mats are so bad, they’re like a hard hump on his back (for which we cruelly call him Humpback). You know it has to be bothering him. We have great ideas about what’s going on with his skin underneath. We’ve done research.

We’d already tried other things to calm him. We considered hiring groomers to come to the house, but until Boo calms more, we think that option is out. We have managed to groom some of it down, but not the worse, and without constant grooming, it begins expanding. Something must be done. Hence the CBD.

Knowing Boo’s condition, I knew it would take some time for me to get any quantities into him. The oil smells unusual. Boo doesn’t do unusual.

At the same time, I was trying it on two of the others: Pepper (the neighbor’s elderly cat, who treats our place as her home), and Tucker. Tucker suffers from autoimmune and inflammatory issues. Somewhere older than ten years old, he’s aging, too. He apparently lived a rough street life before reaching our door. Again, he’s a cat without a past (that we know).

I added CBD to the food. Boo ran away. Pepper ate it up, curled up, and went to sleep. Tucker ate some and became…mellow.

Papi did, too. Yeah, he ingested a little with food. When I visited with him afterward, I swear he acted stoned, smiling at me like he was going to say, “You know, you’re so cool. I love you, man.”

The next day, encouraged by the small amounts and reactions, I squirted a few drops directly into Pepper and Tucker’s mouths. Pepper took it in stride; ate, went away, and came back stunningly invigorated. Success. Wow.

Tucker went to sleep. Deep, deeep, deeep sleep. It was so deep and prolonged, I wondered, what the hell have I done to my cat?

Then, after twelve hours of that, he hunted me down in bed in his usual Tucker style, and all seemed fine.

Meanwhile, I bought special food for Boo. He’s partial to things with sauces, so I purchased a more expensive offering, with skipjack tuna and chicken in a delicate broth (such marketing hype, right?). Into it I dropped two drops of CBD.

Boo lapped it up. Then he went outside, found sunshine, and went to sleep, deep, deeep, deeep sleep, for hours and hours. This was in parallel to Tucker’s deep sleep. Tucker was inside sleeping; Boo was in the grass in the back yard. Usually when I open the back door, each looks up from their sleep to see what’s going on. Usually, too, Boo trots over to me.

This time, nothing. From either.

Holy crap, I’d killed the cats.

I checked both for signs of life. They stirred, like, what? But it wasn’t their usual behavior.

After a day of that deep sleeping, I worried about it. I decided not to give any cat CBD to see what happens.

You know what? All are normal, almost back to their pre-CBD form, except that I swear that all seem more relaxed. Pepper continues to be sprier.

At this point in my non-scientific testing, I consider the CBD worthwhile. I have another can of special food for Boo. I plan to administer the CBD to him in it this week. Then we’ll attempt to groom him. Just a little, mind you.

Then we’ll really see if it’s worthwhile.

 

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Tail Tickle

Tail Tickle (floofinition) – The response felt (sometimes with itching or light laughter) when an animal’s tail touches or sweeps across a human’s face.

In use: “Jumping up onto the desk, the cat hopped over the laptop’s keyboard, giving Michael a tail tickle as he passed.”

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

I was ’bout to go outside (and let a cat out) (it’s Boo’s morning habit to go out, do his business in a corner of the yard (the far left side behind the bushes, thank you), and then groom in sunshine) (unless it’s raining or snowing, of course) to gauge the weather (it looks pleasant and warm) when I stopped. Hand on door handle, I watched through the glass at a profusion of birds. The many birds me from opening the door and disrupting the little sparrows’ and jays entertainment.

Boo really wanted out, chittering and chattering at the birds (they were a joyfully noisy congregation). I wondered what’d brought them here.

The juxtaposition of birds and weather reminded me of an instrumental song, “Birdland” by Weather Underground (1977). I used to listen to this in the Philippines while burning candles, reading books, and sipping wine, a pleasure combo.

After the birds abruptly departed, I let the house panther (and jigsaw puzzle expert) out to do his thang, and then came in and re-acquainted myself with “Birdland”. That song always prompts a grin. Hope you hear it and grin, too.

Or at least, smile.

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A Series of Weird, Short Dreams

I dreamed that dandelions were growing out of my cat’s head. I decided to pull them, because I thought, the roots must be growing into his brain.

I pulled the weeds. As they came out, his head broke apart like the top of a chicken potpie. Brains spilled out. Panicking, I tried pushing them all back in.

Before that —

I was marrying a robot. The robot resembled a cross between an Oscar and Marvel’s Iron Man. He’d been sent to kill me. I’d captured and converted him, easy to do because he was a foot tall and never moved, standing like the Oscar all the time. I don’t know how he was expected to kill me, but I was marrying him.

Before that —

It was cake again. A large white sheet cake was on a table. It looked gorgeous, and delicious. Writing was on the top. Leaning forward to read it, I misjudged space and distance and began falling into the cake. Wildly flailing, I managed not to hit the cake, but tilted the table. The cake began sliding away. I tried grabbing it, seizing a handful of a corner and tearing it away.

In a slow-motion sequence, I raised the cake that I’d torn away up to my face. Yellow inside, it smelled like lemon. I put some into my mouth to taste it. It didn’t taste lemon. I couldn’t decide what the taste was.

The cake was still sliding off the table. Lunging forward, I caught the cake, stabilized the table, and ‘saved’ the cake, except it was a mess.

Others came in. I wanted to run but I had cake all over me. Obviously, I’d done whatever had happened to the cake. As the rest came up (all strangers, dressed casually, but with what looked like flutes of champagne in their hands), I said, “There was an accident.”

Ignoring that, smiling and talking, they looked at the cake as though nothing was wrong. One woman said something to me. I held up the handful of cake and asked, “Is this lemon?”

Before that —

I was in the military, dressed in a crisp light blue shirt with dark blue pants, supervising a group of young NCOs. I was assigning them positions, roles, and titles. “You’re NCOIC of Back Office Reporting, BOC.” I laughed. “And you are Console Operations, COPs.” That brought more wild laughter from me. To the third, I said, “And you’re NCOIC of Training, which is, well, that’s just training.” I found that hilarious.

Before that —

My cat was sick. I was looking for his medicine. After I went through the house, I finally found it (it’s the last place that you look, innit?). Then I couldn’t find the cat. Putting the medicine down, I went through the house looking for him. Finding him at last, I couldn’t find the medicine. I said, “I just had it.”

That’s all there was.

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Floofché

Floofché (floofinition) – An animal’s winning touch.

In use: “With an unspoken floofché, the cat delivered a swat to the puppy, and the first rule of engagement was established: don’t sneak up on the cat.”

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