Showing posts with label cats. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cats. Show all posts

Wednesday, December 19, 2018

A Critterful Christmas ~ Part 3 by Leah St. James






Dmitri pulled the SUV to the shoulder, what there was of it, got out and hacked at the wiper blades with his scraper to dislodge the inch of ice that had accumulated. It was the third time he'd had to pull over since leaving the veterinary clinic, and even for a guy like him who liked winter weather, this was getting old.

Apparently reading his mind, Apollo mrowled when he climbed back into the driver's seat. 


"I know, buddy. The weather is looking a bit iffy for my plan. What do you think? Should I still give it a go?"


It was a simple plan. Get home as quickly as he could, settle Apollo with a bowl of kibble, clean up the cat's mess--quickly--then head back into the storm with a bottle of Chianti and a package of gourmet cheese and crackers his sister had sent him. He'd stick in the box of Belgian chocolates he'd picked up at the warehouse store, just because he liked Belgian chocolate. And because Layla looked like a woman who would enjoy good chocolate. 


He hadn't even shocked himself at how quickly it had taken him to jump from ‘Dr. Spencer’ to simply ‘Layla.” Sometimes things just felt...right.

As if his body agreed, a shot of energy sizzled all the way to his fingertips. 


“Son, you’ve got it bad,” he mumbled to himself. No way he was going to let a foot of snow get in his way of getting to know Dr. Layla Spencer.



He eased the SUV to a faster pace and was nearing his neighborhood when his radio squawked to life.

“All units, BOLO for missing teen. Fifteen years old, six feet, 140 pounds, wearing hunting pants and jacket.”

The dispatcher added the teen’s name and address. The parents had come home early from a day trip to find him and his dog gone and couldn’t reach him on his cell phone. They’d been out searching several hours.

He thumbed the radio on to acknowledge, then gave the cat carrier a grimace. “Looks like I have to delay my plans, and your bowl of kibble. There’s a kid out in the snow somewhere, and I have no intention of spending Christmas Day telling a couple parents their son is still missing. Or worse.”

After swinging the vehicle in a U-turn, he headed away from civilization. He engaged the flood light and pointed it toward the shoulder of the rural highway, looking for anyone walking or signs that someone had passed—a near impossible task considering the gusting winds and drifting mounds of snow.

He’d driven no more than a quarter mile, creeping along, when Apollo started wailing.

“Not now,” he told the cat. “I’m busy. Be grateful you’re warm inside a heated vehicle, not stuck out there like that poor kid probably is. And his dog.”

In response, Apollo ratcheted up the volume and started clawing at the mesh covering on the side of the carrier.

“Seriously, buddy. I get it. You want out. I can’t deal with you right now.”

The cat kept it up until he was using both paws. Dmitri slowed the car and turned to give his cat a stern look. Apollo’s claws clung to the meshing, and spots of blood dotted the material.

“For crying out loud!” Dmitri flipped open the carrier’s locks and opened the top. “There. You happy now?”

But Apollo wasn’t happy. He stood on his hind legs, front paws on the passenger’s door, and stared fiercely out the window into the dark, his head making tiny jerks from side to side. And he was crying, a pitiful, mournful sound.

Shaking his head and muttering about crazy cats, Dmitri put the vehicle in gear and started forward again. He’d just passed a small access road locals used to get up to the hunting trails when the cat started going berserk, clawing at the faux leather padding like it was the enemy.

He stopped again and leaned over to capture the cat, and a tiny spot of red flashed in his peripheral vision. “What the…?”
 
Apollo had stopped picking but was looking straight ahead and mrowling again, like he was calling for someone. 


Wondering if he was as deranged as the cat, Dmitri backed up and hung a right onto the access road, pointing the floodlight forward. He’d traveled about a hundred yards uphill when the beam picked up a dark shape in the field of white. He eased the SUV forward until he could make out a vehicle turned sideways and plastered against a large snow bank. Blinking red taillights glowed through the storm like Rudolph’s nose.

 
Dmitri pulled the SUV as close as he could, then radioed an update and his position to dispatch. “Send a wrecker and a bus,” he added. “It looks nasty. Could be injuries.”

 
With a pat on Apollo’s head and a caution to the cat to be good, he levered himself from the SUV and jogged to the ditched vehicle, a small, older sedan pitched down at a 20-degree angle. It appeared stable but had come to rest on a sideways tilt, blocking the driver’s side doors. Someone—or something—inside was emitting a high-pitched whining. Whining like a dog.


Dmitri shined his flashlight into the interior. The airbag hadn't deployed, and the driver was moving sluggishly, trying to unbuckle the seat belt. In the back, two figures seemed melded together.
 
“Hell.” Dmitri slogged around the car, slid and caught himself on the side panel. There was an I BRAKE FOR ANIMALS sticker on the rear bumper. Another read: DON’T ARGUE WITH YOUR VET. SHE KNOWS HOW TO NEUTER.

 
A snorting laugh caught abruptly in his throat as the beautiful vet’s image flashed through his brain. Layla? What the hell would she be doing out in this storm? With passengers. And a dog?

    
His heart thundering, his brain testing the theory that he'd actually located the missing teen, he assessed how to extricate them all. He scrambled to the passenger side and tugged on the door. It didn’t budge. He stripped off a glove to rap on the window.
 
“Hey, Doc! I’m going to get you out. Hang in there!” He pointed to the handle, hoping she understood to unlock the door.

 
Nodding, she scooted to the right. After another eternity a click signaled the locks unlatching. 


It took a few minutes for Layla and her passenger to climb from the sedan. Thankfully, and miraculously, they appeared shaken up but not injured.


"Thank you, thank you, thank you," she said, throwing her arms around him for a quick hug...too quick. "I was sure we were destined to become human Popsicles. But we need to hurry," she said. "I have a patient in the back seat who needs attention." She jerked her thumb toward the boy who had hunkered down by the open door. "And we need to call his parents."

After a few quick questions, Dmitri confirmed the boy's identity, and relief flooded him as he made his first happy transmission of the night.


It was another ten minutes to get Apollo back in his carrier, then transfer the dog into the SUV. By that time the EMTs had arrived and bundled the boy onto a stretcher to get checked out at the hospital where his parents would meet him. Layla climbed into the back of his SUV to take care of her patient.

"How is he?" Dmitri stood at the open door, watching as she gently worked her hands along his ribs, back and legs. After a few minutes she looked up, hope in her eyes. 

"He needs a thorough exam, but all things considered, he's in amazingly good shape."

Taking a deep breath for the first time in what felt like hours, Dmitri smiled as she finished up with the dog who had thankfully decided to take a nap. Finally, thirty minutes later, her car was packed up and hauled off.

Layla stared after the wrecker’s tail lights, then sighed. “Looks like I’ll need a new car.”
 
“Maybe try to get one that has more than a three-inch clearance from the ground? You know so you can drive in this white stuff? We tend to get a lot of it around here.”

 
She squinted at him and wrinkled her nose. “Ha ha. I’m from southern Texas. What do I know about cars for snow?”

 
“Yeah?” He ushered her into the front of the SUV, then rushed to take his seat behind the wheel. As he navigated them back onto the main roadway, he said, “You know, I could help you shop. For a new vehicle.”

 
“You could?” There was a smile in her voice that made him want to grab her and spin her around.


“Absolutely. Consider it a public service, so we don’t have to dig you out of any more snow drifts.”

 
She jabbed at his arm with her mittened fist. “Again, ha ha ha. Very funny.” After a moment of quiet she said, “Seriously, thank you for rescuing us. I was really worried. But I kept praying. Thank God you found us.”

 
“Um….” He nearly didn’t tell her, but if anyone would understand, a vet would. “I can’t take all the credit. Apollo somehow sensed you, or maybe the dog, and sort of signaled your position. I figured, what the heck…” He glanced to see if she thought he’d gone insane, but she was nodding. 


“You hear those stories every once in a while. It’s a mystery how they do it.”

 
They pulled into the lot at the clinic a few minutes later and crawled from the SUV.


“Look.” Layla pointed upward. “The snow stopped.”
 
Dmitri tilted his head and gazed into a field of stars glimmering against a velvety black sky. “I’ll be damned. No snow. Like it had never happened.”

 
They got the dog inside and settled, and Dmitri was about to say goodbye, ready to put his wine and cheese aside, along with his budding romantic intentions, when she stopped him with a hand on his arm. 

 
“It’s midnight. Officially Christmas. I have to check Baxter out, but would you and Apollo care to keep me company for a bit? You can let him out of the carrier. I’ll get him some treats and put a blanket down for him to cuddle in and rest his tail while you and I have some eggnog and cookies?” 


She gave him a hopeful smile, and his heart zinged again.

 
“There’s nothing I’d like more. Let me get my cat.”

 
He retrieved the carrier from the SUV and turned it so he could see Apollo's face. “Looks like we’re going to get our date with the beautiful vet after all. Merry Christmas to us, buddy. Merry Christmas.”


.....................

I hope you enjoyed meeting Dmitri and  Layla (and Apollo and Baxter). And I hope this story gave you a bit of a break in your busy holiday preparations. (Parts 1 and 2 can be found here and here.)

Please check back tomorrow for the beginning Alicia Dean's story, "Once Upon a Brave Christmas." (I know it will be great!)

Happy holidays from my family (including Hercules) to yours!

Leah writes stories of mystery and romance, good and evil, and the power of love. Learn

more at her website, or visit her Facebook page where she occasionally posts about writing, her life, her son's cat and more.

Sunday, May 6, 2018

The Final Excuse ~ By Leah St. James #amwriting #blackcats

Looking back over my last several posts, I’m wondering why I haven’t offered readers some cheese to go with my “whine,” especially after I read Jannine’s Recipe for Success a few days ago that featured her talented and super-hard-working daughter (like mother, like daughter!).

Yes, it seems my recent posts have fallen into a bit of a pity-partying pattern of reasons–excuses–for my lack of writing productivity over the last couple years. For any newcomers, here’s a brief recap:

First there was the Year of the Wedding.
Okay, that was true, and a joyful event. No regrets.

But here, ranked in order of most influential, are the rest.
1. A crazy full-time job that sucks my time and energy.
2. Lack of focus
3. Followed closely by focusing on business during my “creative time”
4. Losing my writing voice (probably from lack of writing)

I think there was another one in there (overall fatigue maybe?), but it doesn’t matter. What matters is that except for having to work full-time for financial reasons, these are all fixable conditions, and they’re in my control to fix. But before I move on, I’d like to wrap up this unintended series with one final roadblock.

I almost hesitate after reading Chris’s heartbreaking post about losing her beloved cat Shikari, but I hope this will give her a chuckle and help her remember the fun times they shared

Because my fifth (sixth?) and final excuse is none other than HERCULES THE CAT.

It’s been some time since I’ve written about Hercules, who is fast approaching his second birthday, and he's even bigger than he was then. Son No. 1 describes him as a “30-pound brick.” (He might not actually be that heavy, but he sure feels it when he’s sprawled across half the bed in the middle of the night.) The Plot Master (TPM) has nicknamed him “Thunderfoot” for the thuds he makes when he jumps and lands on something. (On a positive note, we generally know where he is!) He runs down the stairs down in a two-legged gait, but not the usual two legs. Instead of left/right, he vaults down front/back, like a bunny rabbit!
 


Hercules will celebrate his second birthday on May 15!


He hasn’t been a cuddler since he outgrew my lap about 15 months ago, but he is a people cat. He rarely spends time alone, and will follow us from room to room. He loves playing tag, fetch and catch, and is quite the outfielder with miniature tennis balls!

Unfortunately, his favorite time to play is 4:30 a.m., which, as I recently discovered, is my “creative” time. This has resulted in a standoff between the two of us since I altered my morning routine.


Where previously I got up and exercised first thing–while he watched–now I get up and start to write (sitting on the couch in the blessedly quiet living room). This apparently bores him, so he starts wreaking havoc everywhere he can within my vision and earshot. 


He jumps on TPM’s sacrosanct (and overly neat) desk in the corner and starts swiping things onto the floor. Pens go flying, as do neatly stacked notebooks and folders. Once he actually got his claws on our checkbook and sent it tumbling into the narrow space between the desk and wall. (That was NOT a fun morning.) 

He's watching and waiting to make his move.
 
When he tires of the desk, he starts attacking what little artwork remains hanging on our walls (after we purged the walls of anything he could reach except for a few larger pieces I refuse to take down). Or he jumps on me.


In the tiny space next to the couch (where I'm sitting), poised to snag me!

This behavior goes on until TPM comes downstairs for the day to guard his desk and the artwork, but that’s a good 60 or 90 minutes of Hercules’ playfulness to work around. And usually by then he’s tired and ready for his first nap of the day.

After a few frustrating weeks of that, I moved to the dining room where the worst he can do is rip apart my printed outline and story notes while I’m trying to read them. Have I mentioned he eats paper and cardboard? Like a billy goat? He doesn’t actually swallow, just rips with his fangs and spits the pieces out. I think he likes the shredding noise. Maybe Son No. 1 should have called him Shredder instead of Hercules.




He is NOT liking this new setup.

So that’s where things stand now–an uneasy truce with me stationed each morning at the dining room table and Hercules waiting and watching for an opportunity to get some attention. I’m counting my blessings since I never know when he might find a new method of torture–I mean fun– to try! 


And I should mention, he's giving me some great material! In my current WIP, my heroine has a black cat named Romeo. I might need to give Romeo an expanded part!

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Leah writes stories of mystery and romance, good and evil and the power of love–-that is, if Hercules lets her. She blogs here on the 6th and 22nd of each month. Learn more at leahstjames.com or visit her on Facebook.  

Friday, September 16, 2016

Donna's Little Helper

The mission, should you choose to accept it: study college student behavior and report back to me.

Hi, it's Donna Michaels and that is the mission I gave my daughter’s cat Franco before we left her dorm last month. This is Jes’ junior year in college and she’s going to rush a sorority this fall/spring, depending on the ‘house’ she is interested in. 

So exciting! This works out great for me too, because I’ll be writing a book in an N/A collection with two incredible authors next spring that focuses on three sorority sisters and a mystery at their college. I can hardly wait!

Did I also mention it’ll be first person? New ground for me. I’m excited about the challenge, but need all the help I could get. So, I enlisted Franco’s services to take notes and keep up on the research for me while I make my other deadlines. 

Here are a few shots of him hard at work.
Pretending to chill while secretly recording activity in the common area
I'm not sure what he's looking for...and I'm not sure I want to know
Keeping an eye on the parking lot for any suspicious activity
Lulling them in with cuteness. They must've been on to him
Looking at things from a different perspective
I'm not sure why he's inspecting my daughter's finger. It'll be in the report
This is where he told them to get the camera out of his face, they were going to blow his cover

So, as you can see, I’m pretty sure he has a lot to tell me the next time we meet. Jes will fill me in on the rushing and all the steps involved, but Franco…he’s going to have the juicy stuff about college life in general so I get the vibe right. He’s my inside guy.

An author’s life...so exciting! We get to talk to some amazing people...and cats…to get the facts. Just imagine all the good stuff your pets could report...

Hope you have a great September.

Thanks for reading,
~Donna
www.donnamichaelsauthor.com

Friday, July 22, 2016

Meet Hercules ~ by Leah St. James



As many of my fellow Roses have written on these pages, one of the toughest parts of this writing job is grabbing readers’ attention. When I was first published in 2010, I was clueless (seriously, painfully clueless), but I figured that like anything, marketing can be taught. And even though I’m far from a natural at it, I can learn best practices. Right? 

So I set out to learn everything I could. I studied the blogs and social media accounts of successful authors. I created my own accounts and tried to replicate their behavior. I’ve taken classes and spent hours experimenting on what “engages” readers.

Here’s what I’ve learned:  Readers like personal tidbits they can relate to. Women especially like anecdotes and photos of young children or grandchildren, and young animals. Or animals of any age, actually. And pictures of hunky, bare-chested men. Some hobbies or expertise/interest in a particular subject matter can work as well.

So for these past six years or so, I’ve been bemoaning the fact that I don’t have  young children, I don’t have grandchildren, and I don’t have pets. I love my "day job," but it's not unusual (and there's only so much I could share), and I don't have any fascinating hobbies. And as much as I personally love photos of hunky, bare-chested men, I can’t help seeing them as someone’s son and wondering what their mothers think seeing their sons plastered like that all over the web! (I know, I know...it’s a curse.) 

But, hallelujah, today I have exciting news to share. 

My older son (whom I refer to as on No. 1, because I’ve promised to never name or tag him online) has come home to live with hubby and me while he works on his Ph.D. dissertation. He had one request (other than living here):  “So, yeah....uh...Mom, can I get a cat?”

“Cat?” My ears perked up, and I’m sure my face brightened. “Of course!” I said without even thinking of consulting hubby. We’ve had cats before. I love cats...hubby (a dog person) accepts cats. AND (let’s be real here) I NEEDED SOMETHING TO WRITE ABOUT ON MY FACEBOOK PAGE! My only condition was that Son No. 1 would be responsible for cleaning the litter, which he gladly agreed to. 

I had mentioned this to a friend who’s a vet, and two days ago she emailed me. “I have a kitten,” she said. “He needs a good home. Take him.” The kitten was being “fostered” with a local groomer and was “ready to go.”

That night we hit up the local pet supply store and armed ourselves with food, dishes, a litter box and litter...and a cat carrier that will hopefully last for years....it cost enough. By the middle of the next day, we were proud kitten owners. Or, uh...Son No. 1 is a proud kitten owner. :-)

I know I’m just a tad biased, but if this isn’t the most adorable kitten ever born...I don’t know what. He’s a black tabby – looks all black from a distance, but up close you can see definite stripes. He has one tiny patch of white fur on his chest. He’s playful and fun and curious about every inch of our house. He purrs all the time and is really affectionate. (He’s sleeping at my feet as I write this..purring.) Even hubby has fallen in love with this kitten. 

My son named him Hercules,  a name I’m sure he’ll grow into, in a good way...I hope.

Hecules barely stops moving, but that hasn't stopped me from using up most of my phone's storage taking photos of him. My son said he spent about 30 minutes the first day shadow-boxing himself in a mirror. (But did he get video that I could share??? NO. Argh!)

Anyway, I’ve “talked” enough. Meet the cutest kitten ever born. Am I right?

Hercules LOVES playing with pens. Who knew?
(On a side note, I included this as proof of my ability to grow at least two houseplants.These are African Violets which are NOT toxic to cats...althoughI'm not sure how wise it is for their health to leave them in Hercules' path right now!)

Sleeping behind my laptop. (Please disregard any dust you see.)

Peering out the window from my desk.

Another from my desk.

Sleeping behind my laptop...
Can't have too many "at my desk/laptop" photos, right!?

The eyes are the camera's and photographer's (my) fault, not Hercules'.


Now...I'm off to post on Facebook! :-)
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Leah writes stories of mystery and romance, good and evil, and the power of love. If you'd like to keep up with stories about Hercules, here's her Facebook page. She loves visitors!




Monday, November 17, 2014

Fall into the Right Hands by Betsy Ashton

Sometimes, fate puts its head in your hand. Sometimes, a face takes one look at you and chooses you for life. Such it was over four years ago when Stella met Terry.

We had been in the hunt for a new kitty, since our previous kitty, a sixteen-year-old Calico with an attitude, had crossed the Rainbow Bridge three months earlier. Trip after trip to no-kill shelters never presented a kitty right for us.

Then one Friday, Terry and I went to a no-kill shelter in an adjacent county. Terry went into the room with the adult kitties; I played with the kittens. While the kitten room was full of precious little bundles of fur, Terry never left the adult room. Kitty after kitty checked him out. One sleepy kitty jumped down from an open cage and sauntered over to have a bite of kibble before she approached. She sniffed his sneakers and his jeans before jumping onto the bench where he sat. She put her head in his hand and lay down beside him. Stella had chosen her forever family.

Neither Terry nor I like Stella as a name. I could see myself doing a Stanley Kowalski and run down our street yelling, "STELLA!" We tried a series of names. Terry favored Spike but she was too soft a kitty to be Spike. We tried other names until we decided on a color-based name. Stella turned into Mocha.

Her personality gradually emerged. She's a bouncy kitty who loves to play and be chased. Mocha morphed into Mocha Java, Mocha for the color, Java because she one caffeinated kitty.

We added one more name: Smokin' because she can vanish like smoke. So, we fell in love with Smokin' Mocha Java, our forever kitty. And she fell in love with her forever family. She gives so much love, even when she 's standing where she shouldn't. She's not supposed to sit on Terry's keyboard tray. I tell her "no" but Terry is indulgent. And so she sits, pretending she belongs on the tray. Smokin'  Mocha Java just said "meh," which is her way of telling me to cope. Sigh.

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Betsy Ashton is the author of Mad Max Unintended Consequences available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble. The second book in the series, Uncharted Territory, will be released in June 2015. She lives for words and writing and a kitty.

Sunday, October 27, 2013

Things That Go Bump

by Betsy Ashton

Not all monsters live under your bed. Some do, but more live out in the open for the world to see but not recognize. Monsters come in all sizes and shapes. Some are drooling troll-like creatures that blither and babble and keep you awake. Some shadow you on your daily tasks, causing you to drop things, run into walls and forget why you walked into a room. There's the big pink bubble gum monster, homeless on the streets, that grabs the sole of your shoe and throws you to the sidewalk.

And there are the greeblings. Greeblings are invisible. They live in every house that has a cat. Sometimes they look in a window at night. Sometimes only a cat can see them.

Greeblings cause cats to go nuts long after midnight. 'Long around four in the morning, our dear kitty, Smokin' Mocha Java, becomes the caffeinated cat from hell. She comes into the bedroom on tippy-paw and chirps to let us know she's fine. Sometimes she chirps a whole bunch of times before we rouse enough to acknowledge the princess's presence. Then, she turns and races down stairs, hits the wet-shoe tray, pounces on her catnip mousie, and runs down the second flight of stairs to the basement. Tiptoe back to the bedroom. Chirp, dash, repeat. Last night was no different, except the greeblings began earlier and lasted longer. I counted at least six iterations of the pattern.

Don't get me wrong, She's not the only one who hears things that aren't there. My house has two spirits who visit occasionally. Odd, because the house was built in 2001, but the land was built much earlier. One spirit is male, the other female. Both are benign. Both speak directly in my head and to characters in my books. Both have spoken to friends who've stayed overnight.

I have this image of the man. Native American. Not a Plains Indian, but not dressed in beads and feathers either. More a Daniel Boone figure in buckskins. Kindly face. Words of wisdom shared with me and some, but not all, of my characters. He's pretty busy, so he doesn't come often. When he does, he nudges me to do  or think something new.

The female is a bit more of a cipher. I think she may be an early settler, but she may also be Native American. I've never seen her, but her presence often hovers in my bedroom or office. I never know when I'll feel her until I get a touch of cold air on my neck. I mean, the coldest air imaginable. That's when I know she's in residence. I welcome her touch, now that I've learned it can't hurt me.

Once when she came late in the evening, Mocha came out of a deep sleep, all puffy-tailed, on guard against the thing that didn't go bump that night. After a few seconds, she walked over to the corner of the room and sat down. Tail unpuffed. She stared upwards. I know she was hearing, "here, kitty, kitty."

Saturday, June 29, 2013

Weird Behavior? Moi? I Hide Plants....

By @GlenysOConnell


I hide plants.
There, I've confessed. 

While everyone else is out there nurturing their pretty green garden plants and jewel-toned flowers, I’m hiding houseplants. It's not like this is some dark secret  vice or anything - like talking to dead people or collecting booze bottles or having a mad crush on Justin Bieber  (if I was blah-blah years younger, maybe…)

No, I hide plants for their own good. Ever since a certain young lady came to visit for a while, brought by one of my sons, there hasn't been a safe place for plants anywhere in my house.
Her name's Miss Kitteh and she eats house plants. Now there's a dark secret vice if ever there was one.

It all started when the aforementioned son decided he was changing jobs and couldn’t keep his beloved cat with him until he had got settled in his new apartment. I sighed a bit (we already have two cats) but agreed. Of course, it was only going to be for a week or two.
That was three months ago.

And in that time, Ms. Kitteh has cut a swathe of devastation through my pride-and-joy house plants. Even worse, she's got the other cats chewing on them as well.
So I have plants hidden on a high shelf in the bathroom. And two on the guestroom window sill - a forbidden spot for cats but unfortunately, one where the plants get forgotten at watering time. Then there's in the window behind my desk, and another - one of my favourites - hidden on a filing cabinet behind my office door. And that door is kept tightly shut.

I occasionally wake up in a sweat (yeah, it's an age thing) wondering if I remembered to close that office door. Of course, I then elbow DH awake to ask him if he noticed it was closed. It's a good thing he's pretty patient. Or maybe just too tired to care.
Of course, I've read that some house plants are dangerous to cats if they chew them. That may be so, but nothing seems to upset Miss Kitteh's digestion.

What worries me is how I'm going to retrain the other two to stop chewing, once Miss Kitteh goes back to her rightful slave. I mean, owner.
She's a former stray with sharp claws, sharp fangs and an even sharper temper. But you know something? We'll miss her when she goes to her new home.

Like, really.

Glenys O'Connell, a card carrying member of the Crazy Cat Lady Club, can often be seen waving her arms to stop traffic while she rescues turtles, frogs, snakes, chipmunks and other assorted creatures on busy highways. Friends predict that one day she'll be smucked by a fast moving transport. But until that day, she plans to keep right on writing - right now working on Never Kiss Another Frog - a romance writer's guide to dating for women who no longer believe in fairy tales! Visit her at Romance Can Be Murder! or on Twitter at @GlenysOConnell

Sunday, March 4, 2012

What if Cats and Dogs Had Opposable Thumbs Day


A fellow Rose of Prose told me about this odd observance for March 4th - What if Cats and Dogs Had Opposable Thumbs Day. Well, I can tell you this, I’ve got two cats and a dog, and if they had opposable thumbs, they’d be doing some chores around the house to help me out.

Here are my darlings:
Anubis
Shikari
Jamu
All three of them do an enormous amount of sleeping while I’m running around like a nut taking care of…well…everything! They’re lazing in the sunshine, chilling out on their beds, basically living the life I want to live, darn it. They never have to get up, get dressed, go to work. They have a roof over their heads, food in their tummies, all the petting and playing an animal could ask for, and they don’t have to do a thing for all this.

Slackers. Leeches. Infidels!

Ahem, sorry. Got carried away there. Where was I?

Ah, yes, opposable thumbs. If my animals had these, the cats would be charged with dusting. Their ability to reach high places would make them uniquely qualified to get at those pesky dust bunnies. I think they could also manage some small gardening jobs, weeding in particular. I hate weeding. It’s a futile job perfect for felines.

The dog could handle more strenuous tasks. He’s a big boy at over 65 pounds at just six months old. He’d be good with the vacuum, and it would serve him right for getting stuck with that chore since he’s the one dropping hair all over the house and dragging in dirt and grass from outside. He’d be good at shoveling snow too and mowing the lawn.

I could load my furry residents with duties, I suppose, but does having opposable thumbs guarantee that they would do the jobs correctly? I have high standards for cleaning and landscaping. I don’t know that they could make the grade. They’re good kids and all, but I’ve seen the way they live. They’re slobs.

I love them, but they’re slobs.

As I think more about this, I’m afraid that I will have to keep doing the chores myself. I’m just too Type A to let the responsibilities fall into their paws. I’ll stick to tossing balls and Frisbees, taking long walks, chasing string, and snuggling with my feline and canine kids. That’s why I have them anyway.

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Christine
www.christinedepetrillo.weebly.com