Keyboard with Cattitude

Luna apparently thought my last post lacked an air of realism.  She kidnapped my keyboard and held it hostage for the better part of a half hour.

Now that I have my laptop back, I've got work to do. Hope everyone has a terrific weekend!

Til next time -
Lisa

Loony for Luna

Luna at 5-weeks-old, 13 ounces

                      
When my daughter brought home a 5-week-old kitten, found shivering in a storm drain, my initial reaction wasn't just "no", it was "hellsabellsapoppin' NO!" After all, our household already caters to two dogs, two cats, and two rats. Do we need another furry critter roaming about?

Apparently, we do. *sigh*

My daughter named her Luna, and on her initial visit to the vet Luna required de-worming and antibiotics for a respiratory infection. Luna brought fleas with her, too, but at only 13 ounces, she was too tiny for chemical treatment; the alternative was daily grooming with a flea comb.

I asked our vet if they had room for her in their cat adoption room. "No," the doctor said. "But I can give you the numbers of a couple of no-kill shelters."

Yeah, right. Like I would take a sick, furry baby to a shelter. I'd gnaw my arm off at the shoulder first.

And that, buttercup, is how Luna became the newest member of our furry menagerie.  She graduated from helpless baby to sharp-clawed terrorist in just a few short weeks. She weighs in at 2 pounds, is now healthy and free of fleas, and thinks she owns the place. And pretty much, she does.

Luna at 3-months-old, 2 pounds

Luna hangs out with me while I'm writing and delights in batting things from my desk and laying kitty paw prints on my keyboard and screen. She also keeps my lap warm and purrs with contentment when I coo at her. Overall, she has proven herself to be a delightful muse.

Pray for me, please, that no other critter in need shows up at my doorstep. I'm running out of lap space.

Til next time -
Lisa

Furry Friendships

I sat down to post about yesterday's trip to the ER with my youngest daughter (appendicitis scare) and decided I'm still too emotionally spent to turn it into anything besides AARRGGGHHH! So the appendicitis-that-wasn't story will have to wait a few days.

Instead, I'm writing about a topic that never fails to cheer me:  my furry buddies! If you know me or read my blog, you've seen pictures of the animals that share my space.  To make it easy for you, I posted photos of my furry beloveds. Aren't they the coolest hairy kids ever?

Sitting here in my office with my gray kitty, Bailey, in my lap and my black Lab mix, Penny, stretched out at my feet, I considered how lucky I am to have been born with an "I-adore-animals" gene.  I know people who don't care for animals ("Too much hair!" "Eww, slobber!") and I can't understand it.  So dogs and cats shed. . .big hairy deal.  Pull out your vacuum cleaner a little more often.  Slobber? Nothing a little soap and water can't take care of.  Those things are a small price to pay for tail wags and purrs and unconditional love that reduces stress and eases heartache.

How do our dogs know when we need a wet nose pressed against our hand?  How do our cats know when we need a purring body curled up in our lap?  Pets know their humans.  These wonderful creatures read our moods and decipher our emotional needs like furry barometers.  Don't believe me? Ask anyone who has an animal companion and they will tell you the same thing.

What do the furry friendships in your life mean to you? Do you have an animal companion who senses your moods? Who is your furry beloved?


Til next time -
Lisa

Priceless

My hubby and I spent the day cleaning out the attic. It was an arduous task, punctuated by the added insult of having to haul every yard-sale-worthy item down three flights of stairs and into the garage. With every dang-blasted step I mumbled, “This will firm up my butt,” over and over like a religious mantra. So far no buns of steel. Maybe they just need time to set.

In spite of all the stuff we are shedding, the attic remains full of things we never use but can’t seem to part with. Not counting the sentimental things like my wedding gown, photo albums, and high school yearbooks, we catalogued cowboy hats, Mexican sombreros, a French maid costume (for the love of God, do not ask…) old artwork, knick-knacks, and the cushion for a papasan chair we no longer own.

We counted twelve—yes, twelve—large boxes filled to near bursting with stuffed animals, the detritus of Christmas/Easter/Valentine’s presents past. These we managed to whittle down to one box of sentimental stuffers to be safeguarded, which included my own beloved bear named Teddy (I was such a creative child,) a gift from Santa when I was nine. The rest were divided into two groups, the “like new” pile, suitable for donation; and the “hazmat suit required; discard at once” pile.

Anyway, I’m thrilled that we opened up space in the attic, the better to store more stuff that we do not need but cannot jettison. We might need it later. I mean, take the sombreros, cowboy hats, and French maid costume—who knows when these things might be required to extricate us from a life and death situation? Or better still, might be used to embarrass our teenaged daughter (“OMG! You are so not wearing that to the mall, are you?”) That, my friends, makes them priceless.

You know, some things are just worth saving.

Til next time,
Lisa