We share our house with two floofs. Both are cats, strays that decided to call our place home. One is Papi, the ginger blade, also referred to as Meep and Butter Butt. The alpha cat is Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah), a black and white mixed fur cat with shades of Maine Coon. He’s older by several years.
Tucker has recently taken to not responding to me. Not responding, that is, until I mention Papi’s name. I can and do say, “What’s up, Tucker, are you hungry, what do you want,” etc., and get nothing. But if I say, “What is it, Papi?” Whoa, Tucker turns and marches over.
In my mind, I attribute this whole thing to Tucker trying to trick me into thinking he’s Papi. When I call Tucker by Papi’s name, Tucker is thinking, “I did it! He thinks I’m the other cat.”
As anyone who lives with an animal knows, this is basic flooflighting.
Yeah, it’s Munday, December 2, 2024. Just a couple notes on it. Temp is rising and falling between 26 and 28 F. Sun is kicking in. First strokes can be witnessed in the dining room’s southern window, which catches the sun’s approach from the southeast as it jabs through and around trees branches. Fog is doing a swirling veil dance. Alexa said it’ll be 56 F today. Same claim made yesterday and we barely topped 43, so I know where I’m putting my money.
Many people don’t realize the Monday as a day of the week comes from Middle English mondeyne which itself is derived from Late Latin, mundanus. It all means ‘common place’ as in ‘nothing special’. Boring. Routine. Mundane. Monday. Munday.
Trump continues with his authoritarian cabinet o’ clowns. Mockpaperscissors shares a scope outta the New Yorker about the dishonorable Pete Hegseth. True grrrspiring stuff about his drunken leadership and how he sexualizes women. Nice note about his drunken chants, “Kill all Muslims!” Bet those Muslims who clamored for Trump over Harris are creaming their pants with pleasure over that. Who coulda known that Trump woulda picked such a piece of meat for a high-rankin’ gubment position. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink.
My wife asked me last night how old I thought Papi was. We reminisced about his interactions with us. He first showed up on a fence back when Scheckter, one of the original Orange Boiz, was still alive. Papi, then called Meep for his tiny meow (yeah, he’s grown outta that), showed up on the backyard fence like a little Scheckter mini me.
Scheckter
Meep aka Papi
Records show Meep has lived with us since May of 2017. While Schecter was warm and sweet, Meep, I mean Papi, remains guarded and wary. When I informed my wife of my research, she remarked the same about the two floofs. Scheckter was a cuddler and lap dweller; Papi has been on my lap once for three pico seconds.
Dreams inspired The Neurons’ music choice today. I was reflecting about a dream of a levitating train I was driving through an apocalyptic ‘Merica. Thinking about the dream highights, I noted that it was a simple life of travel in the flying train with a small group of people. The Neurons shook my head. Out came No Doubt with “Simple Kind of Life”. “And all I wanted was a simple thing, a simple kind of life” keeps circulating the morning mental music stream (Trademark freeze-dried).
Sunshine owns all the living and dining rooms’ windows now. Blue sky speckled with withdrawn clouds rule the view. It’s 30 F. Coffee and I have found common ground again.Look up and open your eyes. Take a deep breath. Inhale; exhale. Here we go, December’s first Munday. Hope it’s a wonderful one for you. Cheers
Sunrise’s 0650 arrival showed us, flurries. They’re on the smallish side but they’re earnest. With the thermometer flailing at 33 degrees F, the flurries pile up. But it all melts when they take a pause. Most be demoralizing to work so hard, dropping millions of flakes and yet see no appreciable accumulation.
It’s Monday. Feb. 27, 2023, the NTL day of February, in case you’ve not been told that February has twenty-eight days this year. Children are walking, school buses are running, parents are dropping off students and zipping off for errands, work, exercise classes. My wife went off to the last.
Sunset is due at 5:58 PM. The weather whizzes tell us 40 F is Ashlandia’s high temperature expectation.
The cats are amfloofvalent about the snow. Tucker looks out without comment. Papi demands freedom. Released to the back yard, he zips around through the flurries to the front porch and demands permission to come back in. He knows Oregon weather at this time of year, so he expects it to change, but it’s not happening as fast as he’d like. I suggest he sit down, maybe have a cup of coffee and observe the weather through the window. He replies, “Meeep.” It’s his trademark sound. That was his name. He’s sometimes referenced as the floof formerly known as Meep.
Meep and Tucker did eat in the same room this morning. That’s a remarkable achievement. Maybe flooftente is thawing. They’ve only lived together for six years. It takes time.
Tucker is doing better with his hind section but still can’t jump. Appetite is much improved, though. We took a risk last week. Bought a twenty-five pound bag of kibble from Costco. Tucker is very discriminating about what he’ll eat, like a child eyeing whatever is offered. Papi is more liberal with what he puts in his mouth. He’s like, “Food! Yes!” Chomp chomp. Neither of them like anything with sweet potato in it. The purchased food is chicken and rice.
Well, Tucker leaped into the new food with gusto. Emptied his kibble bowl and then pulled over the bag to paw out more. See? Improved appetite.
In dispiriting news from around the U.S., Republicans keep pushing to pull books from schools and libraries. Fear, you know. What will their blessed offspring learn? God, what will they see? Might see nekkid people. May even discover that everyone poops. In the name of the holy bible, we can’t have that. They much prefer blinders on their little ones.
They’re playing, “Let’s pretend.” Let’s pretend that people don’t identify differently from the genders we think they are. There are only two, you know. That’s what Jesus said, and the disciples agreed with them to a man. Let’s pretend that slavery was a good thing and that racism doesn’t exist. Thus it is that books may not reference sex, racism, slavery, and other things that make certain people ill. See, it’s only certain people pushing these agendas, a terrified vocal minority.
Okay, end snark.
Was pleased with the SAG results last night, as far as Everything Everywhere All at Once winning four honors. I enjoyed the movie and thought it deserving. Didn’t see many of the other movies, so I don’t know if my opinion is relevant.
BTW, just finished a novel, Legends and Lattes by Travis Baltree. Cited as high fantasy, and featuring a Orc swordswoman as the protagonist, it’s almost like a cozy, but it’s an entertaining and clever send-up of coffee houses as well. My wife found it and passed it on to me after she enjoyed it. I recommend it if you’re looking for a light read.
After a raucous dream night, I have “Bang!” playing on the morning mental music stream loud system. AJR released it a few years ago. It’s an interesting ditty, not about Jack and Diane, but about adulting, being responsible, like moving to your own place, filing taxes, and trying to remember a password.
Stay pos. The oaties have been eaten — they were of a sweet variety today, with brown sugar and blackberries. I have coffee at hand. Sips have been consumed. I am a go. Here’s the music. Pretend you know this song.
We have three cats. We seem to always have at least three, as they show up seeking shelter and food, and we oblige. We look for the owners but the cats seemed to have been cast aside. Sad, but not surprising, because we live not far from an apartment complex, and we think cats are left behind there. We also take care of the neighbor’s cat, Pepper. This isn’t because our neighbor doesn’t take care of her, but because Pepper enjoys visiting us for food and comfort.
One of our cats, Boo, suffers from PTSD. We don’t know what happened to this big Grizzly of a beast (twenty-four pounds) but he’s afraid and stressed by everything from noises to movements to smells. Other cats bother him, too, especially males.
Pepper, the oldest of the group (fourteen plus years) is a female; my cats, Tucker (a big black and white dude) and Papi (aka Meep), are males who are too damn territorial and adversarial.
We’ve gotten them all under control (we’ve only had one fight this year, when Boo went to jump onto the bed where Tucker was sleeping, and Tucker, arising from slumber and startled, attacked), more or less, but we can’t give Boo the treatment and care he needs due to his PTSD. His beautiful black fur has become matted on the back, and he won’t permit grooming, reacting by hissing, swatting and nipping at hands and brushes. He’s come to tolerate us stroking him, but he can turn in a snap.
He needs to be groomed.
Enter the CBD.
Friends have used CBD with their animals, found success, and recommended that we try it. A local floof shop sells several options. Selecting a product that’s made to relax cats, I purchased a small bottle of CBD oils ($40). Knowing that Boo is leery of new smells and tastes, I resigned myself to a long introduction process to get him familiar with the smell and taste. Just two drops in whatever wet food we’re serving.
That’s where Pepper comes back into this. Boo will take a few nibbles and run away. Pepper wolves down whatever is left. Stiff and arthritic, the poor little callie often seems in pain to us. I groom her a few times a week; she relaxes most, then, but still seems stiff with pain. That is, until she had the CBD yesterday.
After eating, she curled up on a rug and deeply slept. I’d not witnessed Pepper sleeping like this for over six months, and I was so happy to see that take place. Seeing the effect on her gave me hope for Boo. When she showed up this morning for breakfast, I specifically tried a larger dose on her, and she chowed that food down, and again, relaxed. My wife said that the CBD is worth it, even we only help Pepper cope with her pain and issues; I agree.
I’ve been giving the CBD for four days. Boo has taken in some. It does seem to have a calming and relaxing effect on him, too, but he’s a big cat and needs a larger dose. (Yes, patience, patience.) Little Papi and Tucker have also each had some. Papi, already a mellow fellow and the gang’s junior member, didn’t seem much different. Tucker, an older boy who enjoys sleep, slept more.
The experiment continues. I’ll let you know what happens.
We don’t know what happened. My S.O. was in bed in the M.B.R in the house’s rear and I was in the snug at the front when I heard her open the door and hurry out. She was talking but I couldn’t discern anything coherent. Knowing her, though, I followed.
She’d put on the back porch light. Growling and yowling, Meep was on the patio. He was holding up one paw. As we approached him, he put the paw down and tried to walk. That paw wouldn’t support.
From the forensics and investigation available – mostly the presence of Boo and the noises my wife heard – Meep and Boo fought, as they do too many times. Boo is bigger, older and a little damaged, but Meep is bold, spirited, and young ginger. He’d clearly been on the losing end.
We created a circle of peace around him so he could relax and calm down. My wife went back in while I, armed with a squirt gun to keep Boo and Quinn back, stood by Meep, talking in comforting tones. After about fifteen minutes, he’d relaxed sufficiently to lay down and wash the injured limb. I saw no blood. He seemed to be moving it normally. Again, though, he attempted to walk but limped.
Waiting longer, I saw an opportunity, picked him up and carried him into the house. After setting him down, I did a brief but closer examination. He was already walking around close to normal. I offered him food, and he ate with gusto.
The decision was arrived to keep him in the house in isolation for the night. He limped a little this morning but jumped around well. The thing is, cats are so good at masking their injuries and weaknesses and coping, they can fool you. So we continued keeping him in. What happened, exactly? We don’t know. We can speculate. We did. I wished once again that the cats all had cat cams mounted on them, or a drone was in orbit overhead, recording what happened. We don’t have those, so we remain frustrated by the unknown, and its results.
Funny, but that’s a good blurb for the novel in editing, “Incomplete States.”
Michael Seidel, writer 