The Cat Who Danced with a Roadrunner

Today is the day for finding files.  This morning I found a file while looking for another, this afternoon I found another.

"The cat who danced with a roadrunner" comes from Diane Quinn, who tells us one of the adventures she had with her cat Zorro.  To read more of Diane, please visit http://www.helium.com/users/212149/show_articles

 

Our Ragdoll breed cat, Zorro, is just the sweetest, laid-back guy you would ever want to snuggle with on your bed or have sandpaper lick your hand.  Typical of the breed, he loves his people family more than his Fancy Feast.  (Well, okay, at least I believe we come in a very close second.)  So much has been written about this breed, that when we adopted him at one-year of age, he seemed to lack many typical cat traits.  How many cats do you know that come and greet you at the door?  Or, how many cats do you know that will follow you around the house—all the time?  Perhaps I named him wrong.  Instead of Zorro, he should have been called, “The Shadow.”

About a year after we adopted him, we moved to a location on a hill above a desert golf course with a patio looking over the 9^th tee.  We knew that an assortment of wildlife passed by every day, but we were not prepared for the antics of the roadrunner we named, Rocky, who visited us daily. 

We had only been moved in for about a week, when I met Rocky for the first time one morning as he pecked a greeting on one of our French doors.  I was fascinated with this primitive, even scary looking, huge bird fearlessly making himself known.   When I went over to the door to get a closer look at him, he gave me the once-over, just as I was doing the same to him.  When he didn’t run away, I called:  “Zorro, come!” hoping he would come join me at the door.  It must have been the tone of my voice, perhaps tinged with excitement that brought Zorro zooming to a stop beside me.  By this time, Rocky had lost interest in me, and he had jumped on top of our patio table, and was scanning the horizon for movement that might translate into his breakfast.   Zorro could see him, but he had not yet seen Zorro.

My big guy was mesmerized.  His smoky gray, elegant tail was waving furiously as he paced in front of the French doors.  Eventually, Rocky went on to the serious business of lizard hunting. I felt disappointed because I really wanted to see what Rocky’s reaction would be to Zorro.  As luck would have it, I did not have to wait long to find out.

The next morning, there Rocky was again, pecking at the French doors, intense dark eyes trying to see in through the glass.  Again I called, “Zorro, come!”   This time Zorro ran so fast, he overran and actually slid into the glass door.  Suddenly, they were face-to-face.  It was a stare-down of epic proportions.  I could see the curiosity mixing with the caution in their eyes.   Being a smart guy, and unsure of the situation, Zorro sat down to take a load off his paws.  He gave me a look that said, “What IS that thing?”  Even though Zorro was a house cat, he still had the same instincts that every cat before him for a thousand years understood.  He was just not sure what to do about them.

Rocky cocked his head one more time and jumped on top of the table that had become his command post.  A ground bird, I learned that roadrunners often seek height in order to see movement at a distance.  When nothing appeared to be moving, off he went.

This same pattern went on for a week.  Zorro was not quite sure how to react; and Rocky tried to look menacing enough so we wouldn’t venture outside and chase him away.   Then one day something changed.

On this day when Rocky appeared, and when I called, “Zorro, come!” he not only ran over to the window, but threw himself against the glass and began to pound on the glass with his paws.  Rocky reciprocated by jumping back at Zorro on the other side of the glass.  I was watching a boxing match!  They had their own rhythm going and, if music had been playing, it would have been, “Flight of the Bumble Bees,” so comical was their dance.

Eventually, Rocky tired of banging against the glass, and got back to business on top of our table.  He sat there for the longest time that day.  I wondered if he was posturing as any conquering predator would after battle.   Self-satisfied, he proudly perched on his table surveying his territory.

What did my handsome guy, Zorro, do?  He came over to mommy, of course, for lots of praise and head rubs.  He had little idea what had just transpired, but he did know that he had protected his turf too.

Thank goodness, I thought to myself, knowing they would never meet without glass between them.  Because the truth was that Rocky was larger than Zorro, and a very aggressive bird that would not only have scared Zorro to death, but was capable of seriously hurting him with those sharp claws and deadly beak.  These primitive birds survive in the harshest climate in North America, and for a good reason.

But, Zorro didn’t have to know the truth.  He just needed to know that mommy was proud of him, as she reached in the cupboard for his favorite treat.

 “Good boy,” I murmured, stroking his head in the way he preferred.  “Good boy.”

  

Trissy's Story

While looking for a file (see latest entry in "Undert the Toronto Sun" blog for more details) I came across another file.

I have no idea who sent this story to me (must have been a while ago), but if you recognize this as your story I will edit this entry and mention your name. 
----

One evening, I was working after hours receptionist duty, at a university veterinary teaching hospital. An owner came to pick up her ten-month-old Maine Coon cat. I did not know anything about the breed, and I could not understand the reason she was so proud of him. OK, he was a Premier Grand Champion show cat. He was nice looking, but he seemed to be just a cat. Then he looked out of his carrier, and I fell into the most beautiful green eyes I had ever seen.

Several years later, I was in the check out line at a local garden store. I mentioned I had recently adopted a parakeet. The clerk asked if I wanted to adopt a cat, too. I checked with my roommates, and since we already had two cats and a dog, the response was, “Sure! What’s one more?” So I arranged to meet the clerk, and the cat, the next day.

I arrived at the garden store, the clerk opened the carrier, and out strolled a big, long-haired cat, with a very long, fluffy tail. He looked around, and was very nonchalant, while rubbing and purring. I stroked his head, but that was all. I had been around many cats in my life, but not one that big, and I found him intimidating.

We put him in my carrier, and I headed over to the veterinary teaching hospital to have him checked out. Again, he strolled out of the carrier, looked around and started purring. People began picking him up, and he loved it. It was while I was there, I recognized the same big, beautiful green eyes I had fallen in love with, several years before!

He was the same cat! His former owner, for whatever reason I never did learn, had given him to the garden store clerk. He had some type of problem at her house, and she had been keeping him in a barn. He was thin, had some mats, ear mites and smelled like a barn.

We went home and I put him in my bedroom. He was not in the least bit shy, and soon put me at ease. I was not working the next three days, so I closed the bedroom door and we were able to spend the time alone, getting to know each other and bonding. He decided his place was on my pillow. This big sweetheart, with the loud purr and gentle ways, seemed to be happy with his new living situation. He groomed himself, with my help, until we had the mats and barn smell eliminated.

I had medicine to treat his ear mites. It was in a small squeeze bottle and easy to use. He, however, did not like it. One morning, he was sleeping beside me on the pillow, and I thought if I could sneak the medicine into his ear while he was asleep, it would be much easier. I had the bottle poised, squeezed it once and realized I needed to give it another squeeze to get the right dosage. I made the mistake of relaxing my thumb and finger, and the bottle made a loud, moist, sucking sound, right in his ear! He jumped straight in the air, came down and looked at me as if I had shot him. Much to my dismay, he never slept on my pillow again.

Now, Trissy was a big, tall, aristocratic looking cat. The name he came with, Johnny, did not seem to fit him at all. I found my book of names and began searching for something I deemed more suitable. I came across Tristan. It seemed to fit. My book said it meant young prince, plus I had always liked Tristan in the James Herriot books. However, he soon became known as Trissy.

I was curious about the Maine Coon breed and wanted to learn more. I looked up Maine Coon cat breeders at work, took the list home, and began calling. The first breeder I spoke with, became very interested when I told her where I lived and that the cat was called Johnny, when I first brought him home. She asked for his description, then told me she wanted to make a phone call and get back to me.

About a half hour later, she called. She was the breeder of this cat! She had sold him to a show home, as a kitten, and he was not to have been sold or given away. If his new owner could not keep him, he was to have gone back to her, the breeder. She was not happy. My first thought was, do I have to give him up? But, no, thank goodness, I could keep him.

Due to this phone call, I was the recipient of his registration papers and the name of the veterinarian with his medical records. I was able to look up the record of his exam at the veterinary school, and learned of his family history of hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. His grandfather had died of this disease, at age eleven.

Luckily, I had an “in” to get an appointment with the cardiologist, without waiting the normal several months. She checked him out with blood work, radio-graphs, ECG, and cardiac ultrasound. He had only mild thickening of the wall of his left ventricle. She suggested I have him checked every six months, until we knew if this was progressing.

Trissy loved going to work with me, for his check ups. He would ride in the passenger side seat of the pick-up truck like a little dog, his head poked up through the top flap of his soft sided carrier. When we arrived, he could hardly wait to get out and start socializing. I made him wear a little collar, with a small snap and a long pale blue ribbon, so I could catch and retrieve him, if he became frightened.

He, however, seemed to be afraid of nothing. He would lounge on the desk, standing up to greet clients, as they arrived. At times he would curled up on one of the desk chairs, and sleep peacefully. If I happened to be across the room, Trissy would sometimes look over at me with a great big old kitty grin on his face, as if to say, “Look how everyone is petting me!” And everyone did pay attention to and love him, including the clients. The hospital administrator made the joking comment one day, it was fine that Trissy worked with me, as long as he did not have to pay him, too.

One evening at home, I noticed Trissy having difficulty urinating. He would try to go often, but would be unsuccessful. I called the intensive care unit at the veterinary teaching hospital, and spoke with one of the emergency students. We were soon on our way, to have him examined by the resident on call. She diagnosed a urinary blockage, and admitted him to ICU. He needed a urinary catheter.

Since the resident was a friend of mine, I was allowed to stay and be with them during his catheterization. I had not previously realized how difficult it was to place a urinary catheter in a male, or neutered male cat. They struggled for the longest time, getting the catheter started, but then running into the crystals causing the urinary blockage. Thank goodness, Trissy was under sedation and completely out. But being his mom, I was concerned. . . no. . . I was just plain scared, for my boy.

The resident, even though she was now an ophthalmology resident, had previously worked in an emergency clinic. It was spring, so the student was nearly ready to graduate and begin working. Trissy was in good hands, I had no doubt of that. However, I felt such a sense of relief when the catheter was finally in place, and he was placed in a cage to rest, I nearly cried.

I was able to have long visits, during Trissy’s five day stay in ICU. I was allowed to sit by his cage, with the door open. There, I would rest an arm beside him, and he would lean his head on me, while draping one of his legs over my hand. At other times, he would be on one of the exam tables, so I could cradle him in my arms, and we could touch heads. We would spend several hours a night, being close, comforting each other and cuddling.

The ICU students said he was very quiet, until I came through the door. Then they would hear him start talking. Once they told me they were concerned, because at times he would lie in his cage with his lips slightly parted, as if he might be mouth breathing. I reassured them it was a normal behavior for him, and he was smiling at them, as he often smiled at me.

While in ICU, being rather spoiled, Trissy would only eat if he could lick the soft food from my finger. I also, had to dip my finger in his water, so he could lick the drops. I suppose it was the mom taste, or perhaps the closeness. Even after I brought his sport water bottle from home, he would only drink if I was present. I would hold the bottle and he would lick drops.

At home, if he drank from a bowl, he had to dig beside it, before drinking. Then he would lean way across, no matter what size the bowl. I am sure the water on the far side, was much better. At other times, he would drink by licking water drops from one of his big furry front paws. Many times, I found him with his “hand” in my water glass, helping himself to a drink.

Several months after he came home, I became ill. We had a very small bathroom, and the corner of the sink was so close to the stool, I had to almost turn sideways to get through. One evening, while I was on the stool, vomiting, I felt this big furry paw on my forehead. Trissy was on the corner of the sink with a very concerned look on his face. He was reaching over, touching my forehead, as if he were trying to hold my hair out of the way. It was his turn to care for and comfort me.

This gentle, loving boy became, not only my cat and companion, he became my best friend and life partner. He became the light of my life, and I finally understood the reason his owner, when he was a kitten, was so proud of him!

How to get a treat

It’s a good thing we don’t live in Buckingham Palace or the White House, because having five cats to keep track of would be a nightmare for mom.

Take today for instance …

Today was the day the smoke and fire alarm would be tested in the condo building where we live.  Sure enough, around 2:00 p.m. there was a knock on the door and the superintendent announced that someone would be coming to the unit in a few minutes.

The knock on the door was enough to have Mickey, Charlotte and Gabriel running for cover.  Not Charlie, he’s relaxed about anything and everything and not me, (Chanel), because I happen to be under Dieter’s bed already.

I don’t know how the smoke and fire alarm was tested, but everything seemed to be in order and shortly afterward the front door closed.  That was when mom started her headcount.

She found Mickey, Gabriel, Charlie and me, but where was Charlotte?

She looked in all the usual places: under her bed, behind the cabinet, behind the love seat, but apparently she found nothing because I heard her stomping around the place.  She had another look under the bed, checked the linen closet, even opened some kitchen cabinet doors (heaven knows why she did that), but still Charlotte was not to be found.

So she switched to plan B.  “Charlotte, where are you?” she called.  “Charlotte!  Charlotte!” … no answer.

Okay then, over to plan C.  Mom got the treats out of the kitchen cabinet and rattled with the packet.  It’s a plan that never fails.  Within seconds Charlotte had materialized, along with the rest of the pack.  Yes, me included.  We just can’t resist a few treats.

So all was well that ended well.  The smoke and fire alarm worked and thanks to Charlotte we all got a few treats.  Is she a clever kitty or what?

Not the brightest bulb in the box

If you have cats, you know what wonderful companions they are.  Some cats are among other things, resourceful (they can hunt of they have to); funny (have you seen the amount of cat videos on YouTube?); and smart (just try taking out four treats and only giving three). 

And then, then there’s Gabriel.

Ever since he arrived here as a kitten, I knew there was something odd about him.  Oh he’s cute alright, but he’s definitely not the brightest bulb in the box.  At first everybody excused his lack of smarts due to the fact that he was a baby, but now he’s just over three years old and … well, not much has changed.

I saw him do something yesterday that made me shake my head in wonder.  He lay stretched out in the loveseat having a wash.  It started out alright, he groomed his chest, he groomed his belly and paws and then … then he started washing his face, and that’s where it all went wrong. 

He licked his left paw until sufficiently wet and then groomed his face with his right paw.  He did this again and again.  Then he licked his right paw and groomed his face with his left.  It was just the strangest and funniest thing I’ve ever seen.

He of course didn’t have a clue.  He just kept on licking one paw and wiping his face with the other.  

But it didn’t end there.

Later that day mom and Dieter played a game of ping pong with us.  They would throw a ping pong ball and the cats would chase after it.  By the cats I mean, Mickey, Charlotte and Charlie.  They went in pursuit, I just watched.

Gabriel was there too, but he didn’t get the game.  He would see the ball go by, but he didn’t chase it.  Not even when it hit him in head.  That’s right, the ball bounced and bounced and landed right smack between his ears.  And what did Gabriel do? … nothing.  He looked at the ball, shook himself and walked away.  

Being mentored by Mickey sure hasn't done Gabriel any good.  Maybe I should take over.  Neih, every house needs a comedy act.

How to safely travel with a cat

After a week in Belgium, mom is coming home tomorrow.  I'm purring in anticipation.  Dieter took good care of us cats, but the place wasn't the same without her.
The last time mom went to Belgium was for the funeral of her mother and she came home with a cat ... Mickey.
In the following, mom tells the story of how Mickey come to us.

When my mother died and my father applied to go into a nursing home, a new home had to be found for Mickey, their ten month old cat. It was not easy. If Mickey had been a kitten he might have had a chance, but as a fully grown cat, nobody was willing to give him a new home.

Taking my parent's beloved cat to a shelter was, as far as I was concerned, not an option. There was only thing left to do; I decided to take him back with me to Canada.

My research brought a few surprises.
I started off by phoning KLM and asking them a few questions:
Would I be able to keep Mickey with me in the plane or would he be traveling in the cargo space?
What sort of carrier was required?
If Mickey traveled in the cargo space, would there be heating and was there some kind of supervision?

The representative asked me some questions:
How heavy was Mickey?
In what sort of carrier would he be traveling?

Mickey, I told her, was about five pounds and had a spacious hard plastic carrier. This qualified him to travel in the cargo space.
In the cargo space there would be suitable air pressure, heating and some supervision. One of the flight attendants would check up on the animals during flight.

The only time an animal qualifies to travel with the other passengers is when the animal is less than 2.5 pounds and travels in a soft carrier. In Mickey's case this would not be a good idea. He would be much more comfortable in his spacious carrier, where he could stretch out and sleep in peace and quiet.

One last question was if Mickey would need any sedatives on the day of the journey. "No," I was told, "sedatives do more harm than good with a cat. Dogs need sedatives when traveling, but cats can handle a plane journey very well."

To be on the safe side I decided to get a second opinion and phoned a veterinarian. She told me exactly the same thing as the KLM representative. Mickey did not need any medication.

Next I checked his passport. To my relief I saw entries required by law- inoculations and a Rabies shot.

On the day of the journey I placed some food, a bottle of water, and two plastic containers in his carrier and we were all set to go. I was in for a bit of an adventure. Lugging around the airport with a suitcase (on wheels), a heavy bag, and a cat carrier was not exactly a walk in the park.

Still, at Schiphol, Amsterdam's airport, I found a trolley where I could load my suitcase, bag and carrier and this set of wheels made the walking and standing in line at the luggage check-in a lot more comfortable.

Once my suitcases were off my hands it was time to send Mickey on his merry way. For this I had to be at another counter where a KLM representative took Mickey's details and prepared the carrier with safety handling instructions.
"Not to worry," she told me. "Mickey will be well looked after." And, he must have been, because when we landed at Pearson's airport in Toronto, Mickey appeared completely relaxed. I, on the other hand, was not quite so relaxed.

Once again I was lugging around a suitcase, a bag and a heavy cat carrier, but without a helpful trolley. Suitcase trolleys were available, but required $1 for use. I didn't have $1. I had plenty of Euros, but no Canadian dollars.

Hot and sweaty I went through passport control and was then asked to present Mickey at "Live Animal Control" for inspection. Lucky this didn't take long and required no effort.
Mickey was healthy and alert and with his passport in order, he was let into the country with no problems.
Mickey was, at last, on his way to his new home.

More of mom's articles can be found at http://www.helium.com/users/edit_show_articles/380634

Cat Toys

I'm feeling a little bored, so perhaps this is a good time to talk about cat toys.  Cat toys serve more than one purpose. Not only are they entertainment for your cat, they keep kitty mentally stimulated and provide exercise.

Popular Cat Toys

What do cats like to play with? Just about anything and everything. Anything that can move is a potential cat toy. Like people, no two cats are the same; but fake mice and balls are the two most popular cat toys. Some cats like toys stuffed with a little catnip, others are completely indifferent to the herb.

Cats are not the most active creatures and have to be encouraged to play. Not only is playing a much needed distraction, playtime benefits the cat's health. The physical activity of running and jumping gets the heart rate going, the blood pumping and is exercise for the muscles. Playtime is also a vital part of relationship building. While cat toys are great, your cat will most appreciate you taking part in the game too.

Cat Toys That Challenge Your Pet

Cats are clever and need to be mentally stimulated. Some popular cat toys are:

* Rump and Roll

* Crackling Hide and Seek Sack

* Leopards Den Kitty Cat Teaser

* Laser Mouse and of course the

* Cat Tree

The Laser Mouse in particular will provide hours of fun. Cats are predators and even the most docile cat feels the need to hunt. Trying to catch the red dot of the Laser Mouse presents the perfect opportunity. Whether directed to the floor or a wall, a cat will chase this dot and never grow bored of this game. A clever pet owner will allow kitty to catch the dot, and praise her for its accomplishment.

For those who don't have a lot of money to spend, Wal-Mart and on-line pet stores always have discount cat toys. An excess of a certain brand of toy, a new shipment, or a special promotion usually is the cause for discounted items. Interacting with members of a cat forum can also be a great way to pick-up on special offers and ideas.

One has to be aware of dangers in discounted pet toys though. You may question why the price of a cat toy seems low. Are the eyes, nose, whiskers or feathers on the toy secured, or can kitty bite them off? You don't want these small items ending up in your cat's throat. No matter the price, choosing quality items is always preferable.

Handy pet owners with a sewing machine can make their own creations. Whether it's a mouse or a bird or even a simple pillow, if stuffed with a little catnip it's sure to have you cat's attention.

With a little ingenuity, you can even make a cat tree yourself. All it takes is a few pieces of left-over carpet, some wood, and if you lack the expertise, a conversation with a knowledgeable handyman at your local hardware store.

Not willing to spend any money? The packaging of your new lamp or new pair of shoes will fascinate your kitty. They can hide in them, push them around, and after playtime curl up in them. Some form of paper is probably the cheapest of all cat toy possibilities. Whether it's a brown paper bag or a scrunched up newspaper, for you it is a cast off, but for your cat it is a toy.

Cats are quickly bored and more than one item should be available to them. Another good idea is to rotate their toys. When they appear to become bored with a toy, put it away for awhile and then re-introduce it at a later time.

Keep in mind that your love and attention is the most valuable and the best cat toy of them all.

Brutus the Rat Catcher

Today's guest blog post comes from Amanda Dcosta.  Amanda writes informative articles for www.helium.com and from time to time dabbles in creative writing.  The following is a poem inspired by lazy kittycat who turned out to be quite useful.  To see more of Amanda's work, please visit http://www.helium.com/users/491999/show_articles

Brutus / Uterus: Make Up Your Mind!

Here is a tale of a cat from home

Who never bothered when any one called

The name that he was given.

Or was it he tried to tell us his preference?

His name was Uterus. No, Brutus, in fact.

The house maid could never pronounce it right

We never corrected nor told her his name

After we heard her again and again.

Poor Brutus, or Uterus, I wonder if he knew 

that his name was a tongue twister, for she

Spoke a different tongue, and it 'mused us so

We'd laugh and laugh our guts right out.

Brutus was a lazy cat

Who'd sit around doing nothing but

Eat and sleep and sleep and eat

The dogs eyed him as real treat.

Every dog has its day, it's said

But what if it's Brutus, then what of that?

He got his chance to clear his name

Would he jump to it or consider it insane?

The cabinet shut, was all a mess

The food inside was contaminated

A rat had made its way inside

And found a lovely place to hide.

The plastic jars were chewed into

The biscuit packs were eaten through

The baby food was a disaster to see

The shelf was just so darn oily.

We didn't know how to deal with that

Did we need a rat trap or a glue pad?

To have Brutus catch it, was never thought of

Coz he just never moved whenever we'd want.

Brutus sat as if he was deaf

We called out Brutus! , but he paid no heed

Then to the rescue she came and said

Oh Uterus, Uterus, and he lifted his head.

With one swift move he jumped into

The cabinet we opened for him

Just wide enough to let him through

And before we knew it, he was out again.

We jumped around, to view him better

Brutus was finally a rat catcher.

He won his game, between his teeth

Our Uterus, that day, achieved his feat.

And then it struck me plain and clear

Of Brutus he was never sure,

But Uterus he loved to be

And that's what his name would finally be.

Happy Birthday Gabriel

My little brother Gabriel is three years old today.  Let's see how he grew up.

Baby pictures first

The first photo taken at your new home

With your new daddy

Mickey became your big brother

You slept in the company of bears

With a kiss goodnight from Strike

At Christmas mom gave you a bow and some fancy earrings

You didn't like it and sulked

You like to sleep in unusual places

In unusual positions

You like to sit by the window

 

And smell the flowers

You like to stay up late

Relax by candle light

And sleep with your bear

You were the inspiration to mom's book 'Kitten Diaries'

And so now today you're three years old.  Many happy returns Gabriel.  Smile and say mouse ...

Okay, maybe not.