“Pickles” is Zoë’s nickname. She taught herself fetch, despises milk, loves peanut butter and tomatoes, and runs to the window whenever a truck, school bus or large vehicle drives by. I had to kitten proof the house because she was more destructive than a two-year old child. She even chewed on the dining room table. She is just over four and half years old and still seeks chaos.
She has gotten herself trapped behind a stack of boxes, stuck under a radiator, crawled into a box with a closed lid and many more misadventures. Luckily, I was usually nearby to rescue her each time. Zoë cannot sit still for very long. I call her thunder-kitty when she rushes through the house. Her sharp nails have scratched the linoleum tiles. She loves to jump on one area of the dining room wall. She rushes to the spot, jumps up about three feet from the ground, makes a happy sound, and springs off in another direction while making small scratches in the paint. Heavy sigh.
Pickles hates being alone so she is either shadowing Mo or I. At least she will venture to the basement to use the litter box and eat without us. When I am on second floor for too long (the door is closed), she will stand at the top of the landing and mew for me – loudly. She even follows me into the shower – not to get wet but to sit in the same room and wait for me to wash off the dirt. When I am outside during warm weather and the windows are open she will mew for me through the screen. She is very vocal so I have learned a lot of her communication cues “Mew-lish.”
Since we reside in town, the cats do not venture outside. Too many dangers exist in an urban environment. Mo is neither very bright nor fast. Zoë is bright and fast but naïve. My grandmother had farm cats and many of them perished due to the perils of living outside. Happiness is when Momo & Zozo are sitting on top of me and purring. Aww.
Gotta clean the zoo.
© 2010
Showing posts with label purr. Show all posts
Showing posts with label purr. Show all posts
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Friday, January 22, 2010
THE STORY OF MO
Two felines share my house, or more accurately, I have the privilege of serving as the personal assistant in their home. Maureen (Mo) arrived angry, frightened, and wet (she peed upon herself) on a cold rainy night. She belonged to the brother of my best friend. He had been playing roughly with her, the Jack Russell terrier and three year old son. She was cornered and went for the weakest link – she bit the boy on the arm. His wife ordered him to remove the cat and that is how she ended up at my house on a proverbial dark and stormy night. The boy was fine and still loves cats.
Mo was a 7-year-old tortoise-shell calico mix. Piercing green eyes and an attitude. Cotter, the previous owner of the cat obtained her as a kitten from a shelter. She probably was the offspring of feral animals. He obviously loved her but his girlfriend, who became a spouse, did not. Once they gained a dog and child, Mo was sequestered to the basement. The only attention she received was when Cotter would venture down to play with her on occasion. The result of neglect was a withdrawn, angry and human-wary critter.
I never planned to have an indoor cat. Outdoor farm-cats were the only felines that I interacted with on a regular basis. My grandmother had extensive gardens and maintained about 100 cats to ensure that her crop was protected from small beasts. I wanted a dog but Mo arrived instead. I was only going to house her temporarily. She bit me three times, unprovoked, and I warned her that one more drop of blood and she would go to the shelter. A regular shelter would have exterminated her immediately due to the biting. It would have cost a lot of money to place her in a no-kill shelter. She must have understood because during the ensuing six years – she has never bit me.
Mo prefers to curl up next to me when I sit on the couch. She will grab my hand and purr while I rub her soft belly. She loves to sleep with her head in my hand. Her warm moist breath tickles my palm. I guess that I am now her person. I don’t consider myself a “parent” I am a personal assistant, catering to her every whim… (well, maybe not every desire or she’d weigh 40 lbs).
Time to get Mo a saucer of milk (a couple tablespoons only).
(c) 2010
Mo was a 7-year-old tortoise-shell calico mix. Piercing green eyes and an attitude. Cotter, the previous owner of the cat obtained her as a kitten from a shelter. She probably was the offspring of feral animals. He obviously loved her but his girlfriend, who became a spouse, did not. Once they gained a dog and child, Mo was sequestered to the basement. The only attention she received was when Cotter would venture down to play with her on occasion. The result of neglect was a withdrawn, angry and human-wary critter.
I never planned to have an indoor cat. Outdoor farm-cats were the only felines that I interacted with on a regular basis. My grandmother had extensive gardens and maintained about 100 cats to ensure that her crop was protected from small beasts. I wanted a dog but Mo arrived instead. I was only going to house her temporarily. She bit me three times, unprovoked, and I warned her that one more drop of blood and she would go to the shelter. A regular shelter would have exterminated her immediately due to the biting. It would have cost a lot of money to place her in a no-kill shelter. She must have understood because during the ensuing six years – she has never bit me.
Mo prefers to curl up next to me when I sit on the couch. She will grab my hand and purr while I rub her soft belly. She loves to sleep with her head in my hand. Her warm moist breath tickles my palm. I guess that I am now her person. I don’t consider myself a “parent” I am a personal assistant, catering to her every whim… (well, maybe not every desire or she’d weigh 40 lbs).
Time to get Mo a saucer of milk (a couple tablespoons only).
(c) 2010
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