Tag: Izzie

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?”

via GIPHY

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.

via GIPHY

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.

via GIPHY

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.

via GIPHY

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.

via GIPHY

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.

via GIPHY

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.

It Could Have Been Worse

It could have been worse.  Not everyone was thrilled with the camping experience, to be honest, but overall it was a good holiday.  And what were we expecting from two cats?

DAY 1

Teddy:  Thank Gawd we’ve stopped.  I need to pee.

Izzie:  That litterbox is mine and I’m not sharing.

Teddy:  So where am I supposed to go?

Izzie:  Don’t know, don’t care.

Once the trailer was leveled, we opened the door and were delighted to find there was no drama.  Teddy actually came out from under the bed almost immediately and Izzie wasn’t cursing and calling us names.  So, that went well.  We treated ourselves to several beers, directly after making it crystal clear that Teddy can use the litterbox.

DAY 2

Izzie:  It’s about time you got out of bed.  The water bowl is empty, and I can see the bottom of the food bowl.  I hope this isn’t an indication of how this debacle is going to proceed.  Also, Teddy pooped in the litter box and now I’m not going to use it.

Teddy had slept with us all night which was a little confusing because at home the bed is sacred ‘Izzie’ domain, whether she’s on it or not, and Teddy would never presume.  Could this be the beginning of a shift in power?

DAY 3

Teddy:  I’m bored.  If I can’t patrol the yard I may as well just eat.  No?  I’m disappointed, Mom.  Fine.  How about a handful of treats?

Izzie:  You’re going to get fatter.  I think I’ll just start the bullying now.

Teddy:  I’m not fat – it’s all muscle.  Just ask Slinky.

Izzie:  Your special relationship with Slinky isn’t exactly a Fight Club like mine though, is it?  So, don’t be bragging until you’ve gone 3 rounds with Baloshi.

Teddy:  If all your blood and scars are any indication, you aren’t doing all that good at winning in Fight Club, now are you?  I’m standing behind my muscles.

 

DAY 4

A precarious truce has developed.  Mostly because there is only one sofa that provides a good view outside*.  It’s so heartwarming to see them sitting side by side – if only this could last when we get home.

Izzie:  You are hogging the sofa.  Move over.

Teddy:  I’m not hogging anything.  Not a single hair is past the halfway point.

Izzie:  I didn’t say you were past the halfway point, I said you are hogging, which means you are too close to the halfway point.  Move over.

Teddy:  Nope!  I am well within my borders.

Izzie, erupting into a blizzard of slaps:  Move. Over. There!

Teddy, hitting her once on top of the head with a solid whack:  NO!

The Viking:  For fuck’s sake, Izzie!  Knock it off!

DAY 5

The Viking:  Teddy!!!  Your poop can’t possibly need to be buried halfway to China!  Stop digging in the litter box already!

Me:  Izzie!!  Stop digging in the litter!  We can’t hear the TV!

The Viking:  AGAIN?!  You were just in there 5 minutes ago!  Stop all the digging!

Me:  Now I know why their water bowl is always empty.

The Viking:  Look at all the litter on the floor!

Me:  It’s like Competitive Pee/Pooping!  They are going to wear out the bottom of the litterbox.

DAY 6

We had to go into town and buy a few groceries.  We left some windows open and hoped Izzie wouldn’t entertain other campers with her deafening yodels.  She can be very convincing when she screams.  We were deliriously happy when we got back and there wasn’t a crowd of people huddled around the trailer, calling PETA.

DAY 7

Me:  Where’s Teddy?  I haven’t seen him for a long time.  He’s not in our bed.

Teddy has staked out our bed as his own and is refusing to back down.  Izzie can sleep on the bed too, but as soon as she gets all bossy and angry, he kicks her off.

The Viking:  I don’t know.  Teddy!  Come here.

Me rattling the treat jug:  Teddy!

Izzie was sitting over by the litter box but as soon as she hears the treats rattling, she comes running, shouting her enthusiasm.  And then………Teddy comes out of the litter box.

Me:  For fuck’s sake, Izzie!  How long have you had him pinned inside the litterbox?!  No treats for you!!

DAY 8

I’m being lazy, laying in bed.  I’m not sleeping but not really ready to face the day just yet.  Until…..

The Viking:  Izzie!!  Stop chewing on those charging cords!

About five minutes later….

The Viking:  Izzie!!!  Stop clawing the sofa!

Not even 5 minutes later…..

The Viking:  Izzie!!  Stop slapping Teddy!

It’s obvious that Izzie needs some attention – being cooped up in the trailer day after day is starting to get to her.  We decide to pull out the harness and leash and take her outside.  Getting the harness on her is a two-person job and a bit of a rodeo but we managed.

Outside, she lays down on the outdoor rug in front of our chairs and things appear to be going well.  And then someone comes out of the laundry building about 25 meters from our site and she totally loses shit!  She bolts to the trailer door, climbs the screen all the way to the top of the door and when she runs out of room she vaults off the screen to the ground, hitting the stairs in the process.  It all happened so fast we didn’t have time to react.  I grabbed her when she hit the ground and took her inside.  She didn’t appear to be in pain, so I gave her and Teddy some treats and left her alone to recover.

Teddy:  Who’s the ‘fraidy cat now?

DAY 9

We were forced to break out the cat toys.  Izzie is becoming unruly.  Teddy just lays around, looking out the windows, napping on our bed.  He’s a fucking joy!  Izzie is the exact opposite and her Feral Side is starting to show.  We have a fishing pole toy and a wand toy.  Guess which one Teddy got?  That’s right.  Neither.  I even took Teddy into the bedroom and closed the door.  Thirty seconds later, she was outside the door shouting death threats while she was chewing on the fishing pole toy that she got away from The Viking.  Teddy couldn’t concentrate and who could blame him?  Sigh.

DAY 10

Me:  Teddy!  Quit clawing the carpet!

I forgot his cardboard scratch board at home.

Izzie, chasing him down to rain hellfire slaps on his head:  Don’t. Claw. The. Carpet. Dumbass!

Me:  Izzie!  I don’t need any help from you!!

The Viking takes Teddy to the Cat Tree and gives a thorough demonstration on how to scratch it rather than the carpet.

DAY 11

It’s totally dark.  I’m guessing somewhere around 3:00 in the morning.  The trailer is rocked by two huge thumps followed by a hair-raising, high-velocity sound that could be a torpedo launched from the living room to the bedroom.  The Viking and I bolt upright in bed, shocked out of sleep.  There are screams – most likely from Izzie because she’s a Screamer – and a long, high-pitched ‘No..No..No..No..’– probably from Teddy because somehow he has learned how to talk.  Despite getting catapulted from sleep, we both become instant cheerleaders.

The Viking:  Get her Teddy!

Me:  Slap her harder, Teddy!

The Viking:  Good boy, Teddy!  Don’t take any more of her shit!

Me:  Stop screaming Izzie – you’ve had this coming for days!

Does this make us bad Cat Parents?  Probably.  But any jury of our Cat Parent peers who have met Izzie would exonerate us in a nano-second.

DAY 12

A rainstorm rumbles by and drops a fairly substantial amount of rain.  Izzie loses her shit.  Again.  Oddly enough, Teddy is just chilling, completely unaffected by the downpour.  After giving it some thought, we decide it’s because when it’s raining at home, Teddy invariably has to shelter in place – not by choice, mind you, but because Izzie sits at the cat door refusing to let him inside – so the sound of rain pelting the vehicles and trailer is nothing new.  For Izzie though, this is her first experience of the deafening sound that heavy rain makes on the trailer roof.

She ends up under the bed.

Teddy:  ‘Fraidy Cat, again?

DAY 13

The Viking and I are pre-packing for our departure tomorrow morning.  We want to fall out of bed and be on the road in half an hour.  Teddy is suspicious and uneasy.  He doesn’t like change and keeps giving me huge, sad eyes, like he’s going to his own execution.  We reassure him but he knows something is up.  Izzie doesn’t give a shit.

DAY 14

7:00am – Zoom!  Zoom!!  Izzie is flying from the bedroom to the living room, getting impressive airtime from the stairs in the bedroom.  Zoom, zoom, zoom, zoom!!  Back and forth over and over and over again.

The Viking:  For fucksake, Izzie!!  We’re trying to get shit done, here!

 

So.  We’re home.  Both cats disappeared for hours, probably doing their rounds, sizing up the situation after two weeks gone.  The Viking and I have Vacation Hangover.

 

*There are various other places they can lay down and watch outside, but it seems the sofa is the premium observation place.

 

Belly Rubs and Death Threats

We are finally taking some holidays.  It’s been a while.  Like 2 years already.  That’s what happens when you run your own business – when the work is there, you get it done because you don’t know what will happen around the corner.  We’re biting the bullet though, because we need it.  And since we’re so excited, we hoped the cats would be as well.

Me:  Hey guys!!  We booked a campground!  We are loading up the trailer and leaving on Saturday.

Teddy:  What?!  When you say ‘Trailer’, do you mean that huge monstrosity sitting in the driveway?  The thing you made me stay in a couple of months ago?  THAT thing?!

Me:  Yes!  I’m so excited!  It will be so relaxing and peaceful.

Teddy:  No.  I’m not going.

Me:  Oh, come on, Teddy.  It’s not that bad.  Izzie didn’t mind.  In fact, I’m pretty sure she enjoyed it.

Izzie:  I did!  It was cozy.  Hygge!

Teddy:  Says the Succubus from Hell.

Me:  If you bothered to come out from under the bed you would have enjoyed the peace and quiet.

Izzie:  Yeah, Teddy.

Teddy:  Shut up, Izzie!  You’re the one who threatened death if I did come out.

Izzie:  Hahahahaha!!

Me:  That’s not funny, Izzie and if you do it again, you’ll be banished to the cat carrier.

Teddy:  HA!  We all know that’s not going to happen because she’ll scream the leaves from the trees, the birds from the sky and the bugs from the ground.  Nothing can survive when she gets going!

Me:  Okay, you have a point.  We would probably get thrown out of the campground.  Still, if you stood up to her from time to time maybe she wouldn’t be such a bully.

Teddy:  Have you seen her face?  She started a Fight Club for fuck’s sake!

 

Me:  Okay, you have a point, again.  Going camping will give her face time to heal though.  So, there is that.

Izzie:  I don’t want it to heal!  I’m enjoying the notoriety.  Orange Charlie is terrified, as are Ross’s dogs.

Me:  Sigh.  Why do you have to be so miserable, Izzie?  Geez!  And Teddy, there are worse things than taking you camping.  Do you remember when we left you home for a day and a half?  You literally wouldn’t speak to me for almost a week.

Teddy:  That’s because you didn’t inform me of your plans before you just left.  I thought you were dead and then you show up all happy and sparkly without the slightest concern for my worries.

Me:  I’ve apologised for that a million times already!  That’s why we’re taking you camping.  You just have to get over it.

Teddy:  I think you might have missed what I said earlier – I. AM. NOT. GOING. IN. THAT. DEATH. TRAP. EVER. AGAIN!

Me:  Okay, look.  We can’t leave you home alone for so long.

Teddy:  Exactly.  You shouldn’t be going at all.  Stay home like other normal people.  It’s totally irresponsible as a Cat Parent to traumatize your Cat Children.

Me:  Sigh.  Just give it a chance, Teddy.  The Viking and I will make sure Izzie behaves herself.  It will be fine.

Izzie:  HEY!!  You’re not the boss of me!  If I want to make death threats, I’ll make death threats and there is nothing you can do about it!

Me:  Actually, I am your boss.  And fine.  New plan.  We’ll leave Izzie home and take Teddy with us.  That would work, wouldn’t it?  Izzie doesn’t care if we’re here or not as long as there is food and Teddy will have the trailer all to himself.

Teddy/Izzie:  NOOO!  NOPE! NADA!  That plan sucks!

Teddy:  I used to love you, you know.  I thought you were the best Mom ever.  Obviously, I was wrong.

Me:  Teddy, you still love me.  You can’t help yourself, because you love the belly rub.

Teddy:  Curses!!  The belly rub is my kryptonite!

Me:  You are both coming camping!  We will have toys and treats and we have a harness and leash for each of you so you can hang out with us outside.

Izzie:  A leash?!  What kind of fuckery is that?!  I don’t do leashes OR harnesses.  I thought we settle that debate 3 years ago!

Me:  You can’t wander around the campground on your own.  It’s either the harness and leash or you stay in the trailer.

Izzie:  Then, I’m not going now.

Me:   YOU ARE BOTH COMING CAMPING!!  AND IZZIE WILL BEHAVE HERSELF AND TEDDY WILL COME OUT FROM UNDER THE DAMNED BED!!  PERIOD!

 

So.  Wish us luck.  I have a feeling that we’re going to need all the luck we can get.

 

Leave a comment – I answer every one of them.
Also….pass it on.

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?