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

Pets, Frogs and Musings by Brenda Whiteside

Rusty delivers the paper

Gabby, Rusty and Xena

Since the month is a hodge podge of possible themes, my post is a mish mash of musings. Pets and frogs jumped out at me. (whoops, a pun)

We're two months into a new lifestyle on a northern prairie in Arizona. We're communal living with my son and his lady in a long house - a family at each end - on a family farm. In the middle of the house are the kitchen and living room which are shared. Added to this mix are three dogs that roam in and outside the house. Their two dogs are still puppies at two years and sisters, Xena and Gabby. My old man, Rusty, will be nine this year. It's been as  much fun watching them settle in here as it's been for us adjusting to the new lifestyle.

The sisters at play

I thought the dogs would be everywhere but they respect the living quarters the same as we humans do. Rusty in particular never goes into the other end of the house unless he thinks there's trouble. One day Xena let out with a yelp. She'd seen an unfamiliar backpack as she went around a corner and who knows what she thought it was? Rusty went charging in to help. Xena and Gabby have extremely different personalities. Xena will step into our area about a body length and wait to be invited in the rest of the way. Gabby barely puts her nose in and looks as if she's ready to flee if you deny her entrance.

Rusty retreats to his own space

All three dogs know to stay out of the kitchen, although Rusty will sneak in and lie just inside the doorway until you boot him out. Xena will walk through on her way to the doggie feeding area, even though there is another door closer. Gabby will try to follow Xena, but if you so much as look at her she darts back from where she came.

The previous owner of our prairie home left us a few items. Most went in the trashcan but not the frog. This piece of yard art is cast iron. I could barely drag it to a suitable spot. There were two frogs on the bench but one guy didn't make it. He had a missing limb and part of his nose had disappeared. The survivor got a new coating of paint and I spruced up his umbrella too. He's the only frog I've seen here. I like frogs, but we're pretty dry on the prairie so I'm not sure if our climate is suited for them. We're only a couple of miles from the start of the Verde River where there could possibly be frogs. I've yet to test my assumption. I think a picnic and exploration trip is in order.

Releasing July 4th

Two of my books feature pets. In Sleeping with the Lights On, Sandra has a chipmunk who resides in her window air conditioner. In my upcoming release, The Morning After, Abigail has a sixteen-pound Siamese cat.

Buy Link

Brenda and her husband are gypsies at heart having lived in six states and two countries. Recently, they moved to prairie country in Arizona and are enjoying the wide-open spaces while tending fruit trees and veggie gardens. They share their space with their dog, Rusty. When Brenda isn’t at her laptop writing, she enjoys hiking, motorcycle riding and the company of good friends.

Visit Brenda at www.brendawhiteside.com.

Or on FaceBook: www.facebook.com/BrendaWhitesideAuthor

Twitter: https://twitter.com/#!/brendawhitesid2

She blogs on the 9^th and 24^th of every month at http://rosesofprose.blogspot.com

She blogs about prairie life on her personal blog http://brendawhiteside.blogspot.com/

Nature Girl versus the Frog

I acquired the name "Nature Girl" when I started working on my last college degree (Landscape Horticulture). I used to put together amusing anecdotes about my adventures in Nature. Here's one of those stories, called:

Nature Girl Meets the Frog


As we all know, Nature Girl's CARP (Capture And Release Program) is always used in cases of small mammals, insects (except hairy spiders which are killed with a broom, and stinging insects which are killed by the Spousal Unit), and those critters slow enough not to escape NG's net.

The CARP was strained to the limits yesterday, though.

After a tough day at school and work (I'd like some cheese with that whine, please), I came home and, as was my wont, went out the Box 'o Mail and got the disposables therein.  I plopped the <pile of junk> on the counter and thought, "Mmm, did that pile of junk just sort of move? Did that pile of junk sort of ... HOP?" Holy shit.  A frog.

Not the tiny, little, cutsey frogs that you see on the World Wildlife Federation calendars.  Not the poster-frogs for "Save the Rainforest".  Nosireebob. This was a Fist Frog (as in, "as big as my fist").

As we all know, frogs can cause their bones to disappear at will, which is what the FF did.  He/she/it squeeeeezzzzeed itself under my toaster oven (and found a treasure trove of crumbs there, probably thinking it had gone to frog heaven).  Luckily my clueless cats hadn't even noticed my agitation ("oh, look, she's dashing around the kitchen again ... oh, hum, must be another toast fire or something").  I got out a pickle bottle, thinking I could shoo the amphibian into the bottle.  However, the lip of the bottle looked like a tight squeeze (and it smelled faintly of kosher dills, and I wasn't sure if the FF *liked* kosher dills, or was even Jewish for that matter).

So, I got out the SU's beer mug (don't tell him) and figured I could herd the frog into it (I figured the frog liked beer -- I saw it on TV, right?  .... in those Bud commercials).  I SLOWLY moved the toaster over, and got out a wooden spoon, prepared to herd the beast toward his temporary home ... and he PLOPPED right up on my wall and stared at me with his beady eyes.

Panic time. A frog is climbing my walls. Scenes of Easter time, with Charleton Heston and Yul Brenner, flashed through my brain. Obviously this frog didn't like beer (or maybe he didn't like wooden spoons. I wasn't sure). Maybe he had friends (I took a panicked moment to inspect the rest of the mail -- no more amphibians.  !Whew!)

By now the cats were getting curious ("she's moving kitchen appliances around ... hmmm, maybe there's food there. I will position myself directly under her feet so that if something falls I will get it ...") I knew that frog death was only a hop, skip, and jump away (not to mention frog parts, and frog blood, which YouKnowWho would have to clean up since the Spousal Unit was at work).

I took a deep breath, and still brandishing the wooden spoon (I wasn't going to TOUCH it, I draw the line at some things), I got out a Bruegger's Bagel used paper bag (still smelling vaguely of onion bagel), and positioned it near the creature.

The bagels must have done it.  He happily jumped into the paper bag when prodded with the spoon (he was probably just getting tired of being jabbed in the butt with a spoon; I know *I* would be!)  After tripping over 2 cats, I got him out into the yard, and tried to up-end him out of the bag .... nope, he LIKED that bag.

When I went back to check on him a few minutes later, he was still in the bag (looking slightly chubbier, probably having nibbled on some crumbs).  I made a little tear in the bag, and he peered up at the sky ("oh, look. There's sky. Am I outside now? What happened to frog heaven? Oh, well, there's a good looking plant ....").

Hop, plop, and he's out in the garden.....

Here is a word o' wisdom from Nature Girl: always fluff that mail before bringing it into the house.  You never know who might be Coming Along for the Ride.