Category: Izzie & Teddy

Freeloaders

There was a wee bit of a mix-up and now we might have another cat. Or not. It’s confusing and too soon to know for sure.

Every night at 11:00 on the nose, treats are handed out to Teddy and Izzie, like alms for the poor except they aren’t poor, and Izzie isn’t as deserving as poor peasants. And I’m not a good acolyte, either. Okay, it’s nothing like alms for the poor so just ignore the whole alms thing.

Last night, close to 11:00, Izzie abandoned her usual routine of trying to hypnotize early treats out of The Viking and went to crouch in front of the cat door. That in itself isn’t unusual because she squats there all the time, daring Teddy to make it past her without receiving flesh wounds. However, the timing of the squatting was unusual. She’s usually more focused on treats than petty assault.

I assumed that she was feeling more militant than usual. “Izzie! Let Teddy in for his treats!”

She didn’t move. “Izzie!!”

Her left ear flicked in my direction, but she still didn’t move. So, I went to the door and opened it so Teddy could come in. Except he seemed sort of hesitant even though he could clearly see that Izzie was behind me and, therefore not a threat.

“Come one, Teddy. I chased Izzie away.”

He came up one step and that’s when I noticed that his tail was unbelievably huge. “Holy moly, Teddy! What’s up with the big tail? Come on. Come get your treats.”

He came up one more step. The Viking showed up and gave his version of encouragement. “What the fuck’s the problem? Come on, Teddy!” He shook the treat jug loud enough for every cat in the block to hear.

He came up the top step and looked at me.

What the fuck?! Was this even Teddy? Same colour, same eyes. The light on the fur around his ears were the same silver. But the tail is too long, isn’t it? And did he lose about three pounds since supper?

“I don’t think this is Teddy.” The cat now had two feet in the house, and it was obvious.

I turned to look at Izzie who was standing off to my left. She was wearing her frowny face and staring at me. Apparently, she knew it wasn’t Teddy and definitely didn’t approve of my invitations to Treat Time.

“Where’s Teddy then?”

The motion detector light came back on, and I thought I saw Teddy squatting on the garage roof. I grabbed a flashlight and aimed it at the garage. Yup. He was just sitting on the garage roof watching the show. “What are you doing up there, Teddy?”

I scooted Skinny Teddy out the door. “Okay. Let me get this straight.” I said, rubbernecking between Teddy and Izzie. “You two allowed a strange cat that we’ve never seen before to sashay right up to the back door? You even let me invite it into the house for treats?”

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Skinny Teddy was just sitting at the bottom of the steps, wondering if treats were still available. Fat Teddy still squatted on the roof and Izzie, bored with the whole thing, was cleaning her right ear.

“Do you know that The Viking and I were sitting out enjoying a beer the other day and a mouse – yes! A mouse! – spent at least an hour scampering around back and forth in front of the office door? Yes! AN HOUR! You guys drag the corpses of rodents and birds you’ve killed into the house but allow a live mouse free access to the beer drinking patio?”

No one moved. They weren’t even looking at me. “And you think you deserve treats?!”

Skinny Teddy took a step toward the bottom step. “You know what?! I’m going to ask Skinny Teddy for its* resume and references. Gawd! Maybe it will earn the food and treats we pay for. And don’t think I’ve forgotten about that damned fly that bumped against every window for two days!”

I sent Skinny Teddy away to put together an employment package and banged the back door shut.

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Teddy immediately left his perch and headed for the house. Izzie took up her usual position beside The Viking to beg for treats despite my mutterings that they don’t deserve them.

They don’t care, because The Viking is the weakest link in this household and will give them treats whether they earn them or not. And most of the time, it’s ‘not’.

Freeloaders.

*I hadn’t taken the time to check his/her private bits and besides is it even polite on a first meeting?

She’s Naked. Again.

I was semi-happily catching up on paperwork Friday afternoon when Izzie popped through the cat door and started bellowing at me. Seriously. She shouts everything. Unless she’s apologizing and then it’s little croaks, but mostly, she bellows.

“Hey, Izzie. How’s it going?” I have to acknowledge her arrival, or she doesn’t stop.

Shouting.

I bent down to give her a little love and discovered that she was naked. “Where is your collar?!”

More shouts.

“It’s brand new! And it was beautiful! All those sparkly rhinestones!”

More shouting.

“Stop shouting already! Gawd!”

She launched herself into my chest-ular area and gave me the stink eye.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not the one who lost your collar.” I said, as I was scratching her under her chin. “I suppose I need to go look for it?” Sigh.

I went out to the garage to tell The Viking that Izzie was naked and to keep a look out for her collar. His response was classic. “AGAIN?!”

I nodded and Izzie shouted.

I took a look around but there was no sign of her collar. Someone would return it though. They always do. Everyone within a 3-block radius knows Izzie and where to go to get an apology.

Ten minutes later, the phone rang. “Hello?”

“I’m at your back door and I have Izzie’s collar.” Izzie’s boyfriend. The guy that has been on a year-long crusade to steal Izzie’s affections from The Viking.

Weird. Why didn’t he just ring the doorbell or knock like a normal person? He was literally standing right in front of the door. When I opened it, he shoved Izzie’s collar at me. “I almost had to go to the hospital after I tried to put that collar back on her.” He sounded annoyed.

“Awww…did you bleed?”

“Yes!”

“Well, thank you for bringing the collar home. Apologies for your bleeding.” Izzie is sitting innocently beside me watching her boyfriend’s outrage.

It was difficult to feel any sympathy for this ballsy homewrecker. It’s not like she hasn’t slapped him before, because she has. Many, many times because it’s been a journey*. I suppose he just got cocky when she took a few treats from his hand like he had won the popularity contest. A contest that he bragged about winning directly to The Viking’s face. He obviously over-played his hand and now had the audacity to come to our door, all annoyed because he just realized that the joke was on him.

“She was crawling on my quad and must have caught her collar.”

I couldn’t help myself. Honestly. I tried to be gracious. For a full two seconds. But he had bragged to The Viking’s face, and that can’t go unanswered.

“That’s not what Izzie said. She’s been shouting and name-calling since she got home. It’s almost like she’s blaming you for the loss of her collar.”

“WHAT?! Why would I take her collar?”

“Hey. Don’t get testy with me. You and her have some sort of dysfunctional relationship that involves peeping tommery and food. So, how would I know what you would or wouldn’t do?”

“That’s ridiculous. If I wanted her collar, why I would I bring it back?”

“Like I said, how would I know?”

“She spends every afternoon with me, you know.”

“Yes, I’ve heard.”

“She usually lets me pet her and eats treats out of my hand.”

I shrugged, still not sympathetic. “Yes, well, she’s notoriously fickle. I’ve spoken to her about it, but it’s like she doesn’t care. Besides, you should consider yourself lucky that she hasn’t stolen your vehicle or a major appliance.”

“Well, I brought back her collar.” He started walking away, unimpressed.

“Thank you for your trouble.”

Suddenly, he turned around. “Just out of curiosity, does she cuddle with you?”

I laughed. “Yes! A lot more than I would like sometimes.”

“She doesn’t scratch or bite you?” Incredulous.

“Of course not. We’re family.” Just to show off, I scooped Izzie up, flipped her on her back in my arms, and started scratching her chin. She tipped her head toward Gregor and gave him a smile. She must not like his attitude.

I went to see The Viking in the garage. “Izzie slapped Gregor and there was blood.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “She did?”

“Uh, huh. And he was annoyed.”

The smile grew. “I feel so bad for him.”

And then we laughed and laughed and laughed.

We never should have doubted Izzie. It appears that her usual routine of crime has become boring and she needs to up her game. Emotional warfare is just the next logical step, I suppose.

*If you aren’t current with the boyfriend drama, click click here.

Uh, Oh!

It’s no secret that The Viking and I have had to apologize for Izzie many times over many years to many people within a three-block radius around our house. She’s…well…kind of a mobster but she commits her own crimes. I’m sure she’s tried to rope Teddy into being a hitman, but he’s just not that kind of cat, and I am eternally thankful for that because no one should be subjected to living with two Mobsters.

In case you’ve missed it, here is a partial list of her crimes over the past few years:

  • She broke into a guy’s house via a closed but unlocked basement window and refused to let him use his washing machine for 4 hours. When she was ready to leave, she went to his back door and shouted names at him until he opened it for her.
  • She bullied a neighbour’s dogs into neurosis.
  • She stole a customer’s truck and wouldn’t give it back. He had to come and get The Viking to remove her.
  • She car-jacked a car down the street, but the woman screamed so loud that a neighbour had to get me.
  • She kidnapped 2 newcomers to the block and refused to let them use their back door.
  • She started a fight club and came home bloody, over and over and over again.
  • She sits on top of a cabinet at the back door and slaps every customer as they walk in to pay their bill.
  • She supervised a guy, all afternoon, while he built a fence and then slapped him when he tried to give her a treat.
  • She started a fight with a Raven who came back with reinforcements and turned our yard into Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds. I had to rescue her from under a spruce tree.
  • She taunted a Magpie, Alice Pooper, until Alice shouted insults and curses at her every time she left the house. It was deafening.

So, yeah. She’s a Mobster. The thing is, she’s a lovable Mobster. And it’s mostly men who become enchanted. They laugh about her antics, put food out for her in case she gets hungry during a crime spree, they chat with her when she stops by to judge them. She always came home, though, clear on who her family was.

But one of her conquests from down the street has crossed a line. He stopped by to brag to The Viking that Izzie has been visiting him and letting him pet her and takes treats out of his hand. Directly from his hand!! It’s one thing for her to just visit, it’s another thing entirely when she becomes a strumpet for any Tom, Dick or Harry’s affection! She has never let anyone touch her; she has a strict ‘no touchy!’ rule. Apparently though, this guy has been on a year-long campaign to win her approval and he’s succeeded!

I was unaware of the treachery until I heard The Viking’s indignation tossed at Izzie. “So! You would rather hang out with the guy down the alley?! You bite my toes at night if I move even a little bit, but you let that guy pet you?!”

Izzie busily started an extensive bath.

“You eat treats right out of his hand?!”

Still bathing.

“And, I had to hear it right from that bragging bastard?!”

The bathing moved to the lady bits.

Surprised, I had to ask, “Izzie’s cheating on you?”

“Yes!!” He bellowed. “That guy stopped right out there in the alley, asking where Izzie was because he hadn’t seen her since yesterday when he Gave. Her. Treats!”

I looked at Izzie. “Really? You’re cheating on The Viking? After all the fancy collars he’s bought you? And the Dynamite sticks you love so much? That’s cold.”

Still bathing her lady bits.

“Well, I’m not feeding her supper tonight.” He said to me, then directed himself to Izzie. “You can go get your supper at your boyfriend’s house!”

Sadly, Izzie seems to be morally ambivalent about the situation. Teddy, on the other hand, has taken advantage of the demographic shift. The Viking is spoiling him outrageously, especially in front of Izzie. She looks at me like ‘What the Fuck?!’

I just shrug at her. “That’s what happens when you betray a Viking. And they have very long memories, too”

One thing I do know – Teddy would never cheat on us. He’s a staunch defender of the home, totally loyal since we got him off the streets. He doesn’t bite The Viking’s toes in the middle of the night either, and hasn’t committed a single crime in all the years he’s lived here.

Because he’s a good boy.

You’re a Nightmare, Alice Pooper

Teddy made friends with a Magpie last summer.  Yup, a Magpie.  I have no idea how it happened, but suddenly Teddy was wandering around the neighbourhood, shadowed by the Magpie, having complete conversations with it.  They were answering each other! I had hoped the Magpie would have forgotten the fledgling friendship over the winter, but no such luck.  It’s back, it’s loud, it’s vocal and it won’t shut the fuck up.  And, along with the noise, we are now Magpie Shit Recipients.

Have you ever tried to get rid of a Magpie?  Well, trust me, it’s impossible, which means that we’ve been forced to accept Alice Pooper as a family member.  As if we don’t have enough attitude in this house already.

For the past couple of weeks, we noticed that Alice was going above and beyond her normal squawking, to the point that I had to yell at her several times to…

“Shut the fuck up, Alice!!”

It didn’t work because Alice is not only loud, she’s an asshole, too.

We discovered the reason for the increase in vocals completely by accident.  The Viking and I were trying to have a business-related conversation by the garage when Izzie wandered past, followed closely by Alice Pooper shouting insults.  Lightbulb moment!

“Is Alice Pooper pissed at you, Izzie?!”  She gave me a flat, pissy look and went directly into the house.

In the past, Izzie has picked fights with ravens.  We know that because our front lawn became a scene out of Alfred Hitchcock’s ‘The Birds’, and I had to rescue her from under the spruce tree in the front yard.

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We had a long conversation about the perils of picking fights with large birds.  Apparently, I was too specific about the ‘large birds’ I was referring too, because Magpies are technically smaller than ravens.  I have a child who was exactly like this, living on the fringes of technicalities, and I can’t believe I have to deal with the same thing with a fucking cat!

So, Izzie is slinking around, hiding under vehicles, the patio table, the back steps, and the fifth wheel trailer.  Alice Pooper sits on the power pole composing eloquent and savage insults, waiting for a chance to use them on Izzie.  The Viking and I only whisper when we talk to her because who knows how good Alice Pooper’s hearing is?

And now, I’m wondering if I have to start apologizing to the neighbours about Alice’s shenanigans, since it’s Teddy’s fault that she’s part of the family to begin with?  Also, I had a stern conversation with him about befriending large birds, and played a clip of Alfred Hitchcock’s ‘The Birds’, for reference.

Another Day, Another Murder Attempt

Four in the morning.  Sleeping peacefully.  Dreaming happy dreams.

“OW! Fucking OWWWW!”

I bolted upright in time to see Izzie catapulted into the air.  Obviously, she bit The Viking’s toes.  Again.  She curls up against his legs when he’s sleeping and when he tries to move, he gets the big chomp.  Or more than one chomp.  Sometimes she chomps four or five times in a lightning-fast cluster, depending on how annoyed she is, I suppose.

She gets me too, in the middle of the night.  My right armpit has scars.  I walked past her Cat Tree today while I was tidying up and stopped to give her a cheek rub and have a short lovey chat.  When I wanted to move on, both paws grabbed my wrist and claws dug in, drawing blood in three spots.

“OW!  Fucking OWWWW!!!!”

I squeezed some hand sanitizer on the wounds because if I don’t, it takes months for them to heal.  Thanks to COVID I have jugs of that shit everywhere.  While I rubbed in the sanitizer, she just sat there like nothing had happened!

Me: WHY?! Why, why, why?!

Her: Why not?

Me: I thought we talked about the murder attempts!

Her: I don’t recall.

Me: We have had many, many conversations about this.

Her: You’ll have to refresh my memory.

Me: NO CLAWS!!

Her: Hmmm…..I vaguely remember something, but that was years ago.

Me: IT WAS YESTERDAY!!

Her: Really? It seems so long ago, and I didn’t think you meant forever.

Me: Yes!  FOREVER!

Her: That sounds a little extreme, don’t you think?

Me: If I’m bleeding, it’s not extreme!

Her: You’re such a Drama Queen.

Me: You’re such a pain in my ass!

Her: Whatever.  By the way, you missed a spot on the counter.  I can see it all the way over here.

Me: You know what?  You’re just one small step away from becoming a Barn Cat on some guy’s farm.

Her:  You wouldn’t.  You love me.

Me:  I’m bleeding, and the thought is becoming more appealing all the time.

Her: The Viking wouldn’t let you.

Me:  You bit The Viking’s toes last night!  Trust me, it was his idea!

Her:  ……..

We haven’t spoken since.  Well, she tried to talk in a squeaky, mewing tone, but I’m holding a grudge until my wrist stops hurting.

Fucking cat.

Thundering Chases

Sweet Baby Jesus, it’s been COLD!  Of course, this is Alberta so it’s only to be expected but I don’t have to like it.  And as miserable as it is for The Viking and me to go about our daily business when it’s -30°C, it’s even worse for the cats.

On the first very cold day, both cats moped around the house, complaining and whining – Izzie at the top of her lungs.

On the second very cold day, Izzie ripped apart a loaf of bread on the counter when I shivered my way to the grocery store and Teddy destroyed a roll of toilet paper.

“IZZIE!!  You dirty cat!!”

A destroyed loaf of bread paled in comparison to wiping my Lady Parts with shredded toilet paper though.

“TEDDY!!  What the fuck?!”

On the third very cold day, a Cold War began.  Izzie would sit in front of the Cat Door so Teddy couldn’t get back in after he ran out for his pee/poo.  And then Teddy would sit in front of the Cat Door so Izzie couldn’t get back in after she ran out for her pee/poo.

“IZZIE!!  You long streak of misery!  Get away from that Cat Door!”

“TEDDY!!  Get away from that…….oh, never mind.  She has it coming.  Just don’t keep her out for long or she’ll get frostbite.”

They both took turns sitting beside me on my desk, staring at my left ear without blinking until I started getting a bit freaked out – usually 15 to 20 minutes.  It worked better on The Viking than it did on me because I’ve had children and have extensive experience at Ignoring.

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On the fourth very cold day, a Peace Treaty was negotiated, and Play Etiquette was established.  Very loudly.  With lots and lots of cursing and name-calling.  They also took turns trying to convince The Viking and me that it was Dinner Time despite the fact that it clearly wasn’t Dinner Time.  And then The Viking made the mistake of telling Izzie that she was getting fat.  The cursing was very lengthy and very creative, and he won’t make that mistake again any time soon.

On the fifth very cold day, a racecourse was agreed upon, including a chicane* behind the sofa, and a climb over the top of the Cat Tree.  We may need to bolt it to the floor.

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There are now Thundering Chases through the house at regular intervals, 24 hours a day.  I bought a set of ‘Ruggies’ – sticky triangles you put under the corners of an area rug to keep it in place – but the rigors of Formula 1: Cat Edition are more than the ‘Ruggies’ can handle.  I reposition the rug several times a day.  The wind gusts generated by two cats hurtling around the chicane have kicked up some impressive Dust Bunnies – I won’t have to move the furniture for cleaning until Spring, at the earliest.  Every time I go into our bedroom, I have to push a storage bin back under the bed.   The kitchen chairs are rattled violently and occasionally knocked over in their enthusiasm, as are the office chairs when high-velocity furry rockets storm my workstation.  Invoices and statements explode like a blizzard in their wake because Holy Crap they are fast!!  One minute I’m making an invoice and in the blink of an eye, I’m surrounded by fluttering paper.  I never actually see them – it’s only a fuzzy blur.

The Viking and I aren’t complaining, though.  Our Babies are playing!  Peacefully!  It’s so sweet!  We had almost given up hope they would learn to play.

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The weather started getting nice again yesterday so we’re expecting fewer race heats.  And let’s hope they remember how to play for the next cold snap.

 

* A Chicane is a serpentine curve in a road, added by design rather than dictated by geography. Chicanes add extra turns and are used both in motor racing and on roads and streets to slow traffic for safety.

Making Friends, One Felony At A Time

The phone rings.

Me:  Hello?

Caller:  Hi there.  I live just down the alley from you and I thought I should let you know that Izzie has been spending quite a bit of time in my yard.

Me (nervous….do I need to apologize for my damned cat again?!):  Okaaaaay.

Him:  It’s totally fine!  I don’t mind at all, but I wondered if I should put some food out for her?  I have given her treats before when she stops by.

Me:  That dirty cat!  She has bowls and bowls of dry food and gets paté every evening.

Him:  I thought she was too healthy-looking to be a stray.  So I shouldn’t put out any food?

Me:  No, it’s not necessary to put out food, but she probably appreciates the treats.  I have to say that I’m surprised she lets you get close to her.  She hasn’t made you bleed?

Him (laughing):  A couple of times but we’ve become friends.  I could read her name on the tag quite a long time ago but it was only this morning that she let me flip it over to see the phone number.

Me:  Wow!  You’ve done well, then.

Him:  She helped me build the fence in my backyard in October.  She sat and watched me for hours.

Me:  She likes to watch a guy, who lives very close to you, do his gardening in the summer, too.  She spends entire afternoons with him.

Him:  Yeah.  She just sits and watches.  She’s sweet.

Me:  Ahhhh….that’s just a ploy to gain your trust.  She took the ladies at the end of the block hostage for 5 hours.  They had to escape through their front door.

Him (laughing again):  She wouldn’t let me in the garage this morning and when I tried to go around her she swatted at me.  I said, “Hey!  We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Me:  She stole a woman’s car two summers ago.  The neighbours heard the screams and came to get us.  So, don’t underestimate her motives.

Him:  She sounds like quite a cat.

Me (sighing):  I cannot count how many times I’ve had to apologize for her behavior.  I’ve tried to explain that she’s not allowed to swat or take hostages or steal buildings, but it doesn’t seem to help.

Him:  The guy at the end of my block has a cat and she’s been fighting with it.  I call her and she comes running across three garages, down my drain pipe and I give her treats after telling her to stop fighting.

Me:  I know!!  She was coming home looking like a crack whore for over a month!  We went on holiday for a couple of weeks, taking the cats with us, in September, and since then she hasn’t been in any more fights.  Maybe she just needed a time-out.

Him:  She was looking pretty beat up, for sure.

Me:  Well thank you for looking out for her.  And I appreciate the call to let me know what she’s up to.

Him:  No worries.  I can still give her treats?

Me:  Sure.  She loves treats.

Him:  Perfect.  Nice chatting with you.

Me:  Same here.

Okay.  So, no apologies were necessary and the blood was minimal.  I can’t help but wonder if Realtors will have to disclose Izzie’s presence to prospective purchasers of homes in the area.  I’m sure she would think it was cool, but driving home prices down might become an issue for The Viking and me.

Sigh.

Where the Hell is Izzie?!

Izzie’s nose is finally starting to heal from all her activity in Fight Club.  Either she is getting better at fighting or Baloshi is getting worse.  There is the slight possibility that they have reached a mutually beneficial armistice but I’m not going to hang my hat on that because….well….Izzie.  We’ve been worried about Fight Club for quite some time now – Izzie is a small cat and despite her criminal personality, we love her.

During Happy Hour on Friday afternoon, she stretched out on the patio, happy to just be near us.  We paid her little attention.  At some point she wandered off.

And that was last we saw of her.  Friday night she didn’t come for her supper.  At bedtime, she didn’t come for her treats.  Saturday morning, she never arrived for her morning treats.  We started to get worried.  Saturday night, she didn’t arrive for her supper.  Bedtime, no Izzie.

The Viking:  I suppose it’s finally happened.

Me:  I was just thinking the same thing!

The Viking:  She’s such a little dummy.

Me:  I guess I always knew that she wouldn’t live very long.  She wanders so far from home.  Maybe she was hit by a car, or she got trapped in another Cat Trap.

Every time Teddy schlumped past, “Where the hell is Izzie?!”  He either didn’t care or didn’t care.  Izzie is horrible to him so we can’t really blame him for not caring.  Without her around, he would automatically inherit our bed, both cat trees, full attention from us, more treats and the freedom to lay wherever the hell he wants when it’s -25° outside.  Izzie is a tyrant and badgers him constantly.

By Sunday morning, The Viking and I were almost resigned that Izzie was gone for good.

The Viking:  Well, fuck.

Me:  You know, I’ve been thinking about this.  It doesn’t make sense that a coyote got her, or a car ran over her.  I drove around yesterday on my way for groceries and there were no cadavers on the street.

The Viking:  Exactly!  And it doesn’t make sense that she would fall for another cat trap, no matter what treat was inside.  I think she got locked in somewhere.

Me:  I know!  She’s always in everyone’s business and probably got locked in a garage or something.

The Viking:  They probably went away for the weekend.

Me:  It wouldn’t be somewhere close because we would hear her bellowing.  She can shriek the leave off trees.

The Viking:  She’s fucked if those people are gone for a week.  No water, no food.

We both sat in silence, thinking about walking the back alleys, calling for her.  If we heard her calling back, there would be nothing we could do to help her without breaking and entering.  And we would have to break and enter because there is no way we could do nothing while she was dying.  Fucking cat!!  We decided that if she didn’t come home by Sunday night, we would start trolling all the back alleys in a four block radius.  We weren’t prepared to Break and Enter until we had no choice.

Every time the cat door rattled we were hoping it was Izzie and then disappointed when it was Teddy.  Thankfully, he wasn’t offended.

And then, about 3:00pm yesterday, the cat door rattled and Izzie marched in, shrieking and name-calling and demanding treats.  Immediately.  The Viking and I barraged her with “Where the fuck have you been?!” and “You dirty, fucking cat!  We thought you were dead!”

You would think that she would be so happy to see us that she would be, at least a little, loving.  You’d be wrong though.  She was shouty and impatient and “Don’t touch me!” and “That’s not nearly enough treats!” and “Where is that Catnip Mouse I left here 3 days ago?” and “Shit!  You haven’t got rid of Teddy yet?  What have you been doing with all your time?!” and “That is not a fresh can of food and I will not eat it!  Get a fresh one out already!”

The Viking and I were hurrying around to do her bidding because we were so damned happy that she was alive, but we had questions:  “Were you so busy holding someone hostage that you couldn’t be bothered to come home?”, “Did you steal another car and go on a joy ride?”,  “Thieving household appliances and selling them on the black market?”  She never answered because of course she didn’t.  We know what she’s capable of though, so nothing is out of the realm of possibility.

So, she’s alive.  She won’t explain her absence.  And, she’s still demand-y and shout-y today.

And how was your weekend?

UPDATE: Izzie’s Fight Club

We are still in the middle of a titanic struggle for passage rights between Izzie and her Arch-Nemesis.  Baloshi has the law on his side with owner rights, while Izzie is claiming historic migratory rights.

It’s not going well.

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The Viking, Teddy and I have taken turns trying to convince her to just go around Baloshi’s yard, but she’s a stubborn little fuck.  The Viking has always held the title as The Most Stubborn Fuck in the Household, however Izzie has made it into a real competition.  I’ve never seen The Viking with open war wounds though, so I’m going to award the title to the new champion.

Her face is a mass of scars, scabs and open, seeping wounds.  She’s more grumpy, sarcastic and shouty than she usually is too, and that’s saying a lot given her normal temperament is somewhere between Angry, Vengeful Harpy and Bite-y, Slappy Gorgon.  I’m beginning to get a complex.

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We really have only one solution…….two solutions…..if we listen to Izzie who wants us to descend on the Ladies and Baloshi and burn the place to the ground.  With a flame-thrower*.  So, the only viable solution would be to lock her in the house.  We took a vote:

The Viking:  Nay.  Do you want us to be lacerated to ribbons in the dead of night?

Teddy:  Only if you chain her to a corner with a short leash.  My fur is finally starting to grow back after her last temper tantrum.

Me:  I would be in favour of the leash but it won’t stop her shouting threats and curses and I’m the one who is in the house most of the time.  Also, I think she knows how to VooDoo.  So, Nay to the leash.

The Viking:  We could wear protective clothing.

Teddy:  Nay.  I’m not wearing clothes.

Me:  It’s 32°C today.  Nay to protective clothing.

The Viking:  Maybe we could reason with her?

Teddy:  HA!

Me:  I’m with Teddy on that one.

It was unanimous – we can’t keep her in the house and still remain blood-free.

All we can do is to tend to her war wounds and continue to encourage a detour around Baloshi’s yard.  She won’t listen, but at least we tried.

 

*I’m not allowed to have a Flame-Thrower due to safety issues but Izzie pointed out that The Viking could do it.

Izzie’s Fight Club

It’s official.  Izzie has started a Fight Club in the neighbourhood.

If you are a follower of my blog, you are familiar with Izzie.  The worst cat on the planet.  Cranky, sarcastic, stabby, name-calling, cursing, shouting Izzie.  I’ve never had to work so hard to teach a cat not to murder me.  Or The Viking, but The Viking is a Viking and doesn’t really need me to fight his battles.

A couple weeks ago, I met a new couple who moved into the house at the end of our block, and immediately had to apologize because Izzie held them hostage, forcing them to escape through their front door.  Everyone on the block has offered the newbies advice on how to deal with Izzie which, at the end of the day, boils down to “Don’t Touch Izzie” and “Call Lori or The Viking”.

And then about 10 days ago, I noticed Izzie’s face was swollen up and a small bald spot on her nose.  I assumed she was stung by a bee – tis the season after all.  The following day, she wandered by and her nose was huge!  It looked like it was broken, and that one bald spot had multiplied to four or five.

“Izzie!  What the fuck?  Are you fighting?!”

She didn’t answer.  Apparently, the first rule of Fight Club is that you don’t talk about Fight Club.  The Viking and I tried to get a better look but that went about as well as you can imagine.  So, all we could do was keep an eye on her.

3 days ago, she came home in terrible shape.  Her poor nose!  She was exhausted and slept all day.  It was awful.  And like every good parent, we turned on Teddy.

“Who is she fighting with, Teddy?!  Don’t you know that you should be helping her?  Brothers don’t let their sisters get beaten up!”  Apparently, Teddy is aware of the rules of Fight Club too because he had nothing to say.  Izzie is quite a small cat – maybe 5 or 6 pounds – while Teddy is a big guy, probably 8 or 9 pounds.  He doesn’t have a scratch on him because he’s a lover, not a fighter.  And any wounds he has ever had came from Izzie.

2 days ago she came home even worse.  Night before last she must have taken a day off from Fight Club, but this morning she’s Rock Balboa.

“Who the hell are you fighting with, Izzie?!”  Geezus!  “Look at your poor face!  Fucksakes!”  It’s kind of heartbreaking to see her pretty little face mauled.  Also, her ‘love eyes’ usually look kind of terrifying but now…..well….it’s inspires one to pee themselves.  Not me or The Viking because we know her, but you definitely would consider peeing yourself.

We contemplated and quickly rejected that these might be bee stings but the only way these are bee stings is if she is willing to take it in the face over and over and over again because they taste so delicious.  I’m not buying it though – and bees sleep at night.

We can’t imagine a cat that has lived in the neighbourhood for the past 4+ years and has already come to an agreement with Izzie would suddenly become this combative.  There must to be a new element.  Enter the new cat at the end of the block – Baloshi.

After giving the situation some thought, I think I’ve figured it out.  Teddy is a home boy and he is the guardian of the yard.  Slinky, the crazy cat next door, frequently tests Teddy’s resolve by trespassing, but it’s mostly posturing and name-calling before Slinky retreats.

Izzie, on the other hand, is a free spirit and a wanderer.  The world is her oyster!  She visits everyone on the block, sometimes even beyond the block if something interesting catches her attention.  She watches a guy down the street work in his garden all afternoon.  He loves her.  She used to poop in Mark’s flower bed but once he put Cayenne Pepper in it she just sits and gives him The Stink Eye.  He loves her, too!  Even the traffic on the busy road at the end of the block stops for her.  Everyone loves the miserable little thing, including The Viking and I.  And she has managed to install herself as Queen of the World by bluster and bullying alone and no one has seriously called her bluff.  Ever.  Until now.  Baloshi.

The conflict is, most probably, about the Right of Passage.  Izzie doesn’t want to inhabit Baloshi’s yard, she just wants to wander through and maybe take a hostage or two when she’s bored, just as she’s always done.  But just try convincing her that there’s a new cat in that previously unoccupied yard who isn’t prepared to allow her access whenever the hell she feels like it.

She isn’t taking the news very well.  Queen’s don’t make exceptions for peasants.  We can’t stop her unless we lock her in the house and that’s just a recipe for disaster.  So, we inspect her face every morning in case she’s in need of emergency care and tell her in our most loving of voices…….

“Izzie, please stop using your face to hit Baloshi in the mouth.  You look like shit.  We love you but we will start calling you Rocky.  Now, go to bed.”