Tag: 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?

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.

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.

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.

 

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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.”

 

It’s All Fun and Games Until a Viking Starts Cheating!

Since the weather was shit this weekend and we didn’t feel like sitting out in freezing temperatures and drizzle, we opted to amuse ourselves inside.  And what better way to amuse ourselves than engaging in Stabby Sports – Darts, for the less stabby people.

The Viking is far better at Stabbing than I am – it’s probably a Viking thing.  He’s so good that he gives me a substantial handicap to try to even up the odds – the first one to 301 points wins and the last stab has to be on a double.  Except for me…..I don’t need to hit a double because we both recognize that just hitting the dart board is an achievement.

So, I made myself a Lemon Gin and Tonic and he indulged in Beer with Clamato Juice and we picked up our darts.  I went first.

Me (throws darts):  Oooooo……that’s a 43!

The Viking (throws):  What the fuck?!  3?

Me (shaking imaginary Pom-Poms):  Oooooo….nice job!  Keep up the good work.

The Viking:  Just throw your darts.

Me:  Wow!  That’s a 47….best score so far!

The Viking (throws his darts):  For fucks sake!  9?

Me (dancing like a witch at the Spring Solstice celebrations):  YES!!

The Viking:  Pfft!

Me (throws):  WooHoo!  64!!  Has the student surpassed the Master?  (Evil laughter)

The Viking:  19 for fucksake!  And you had better watch out, Karma is going to get you.

Me (shrugging philosophically):  Of course it is.  It always gets you in the end, but I will dance with the Devil until it does.  Besides…..I prefer to celebrate my wins when I can because you know it only takes one throw and you’re on top again.

The Viking:  Throw your darts!

Me:  37!

The Viking (glaring at the dart board and then adjusting it):  This thing has moved to the right.  Why does it always do that?

The Viking (throws his darts):  113.

Me:  What the fuck?!  I find it highly suspicious that you suddenly throw 113 AFTER you adjusted the board.  I want to go to the Official for a decision.

The Viking:  What official?

Teddy wanders by.

Me:  Teddy!  The Viking is cheating!

Teddy:  Are you talking to me?

Me:  Yes!  The Viking is cheating.  He adjusted the dartboard and now he gets 113 points in a single turn.  I need you to sanction him by 100 points.

Teddy:  You don’t happen to have any treats, do you?  I find it difficult to make informed decisions when my stomach is rumbling.

Me (giving him treats):  Okay.  Now rule and force him to subtract 100 points as his penalty.

Teddy (licking lips):  I don’t really understand the rules so I’m just going outside to patrol the perimeter.

Me:  Turncoat.

Teddy (shrugging):  I bet you regret blaming that fart on me last night.

The Viking (singing):  Karrrrrmaaa

Me (throwing my darts):  15.  I blame you for this.  You ‘adjust’ the board and suddenly the whole game is rigged in your favour.  I’m pretty sure that’s against some sort of ‘Viking Code of Honour’.  Before we play again I’m going to install a proper Official.  One that you haven’t paid off.

The Viking (throws):  92

Me:  29

The Viking stepped up to the line, assumed his Dart-Throwing Stance and took aim.  And then………….. “Ouch!  What the fuck?!  Did you just stab my ass with your dart?!

Me (straight face):  I don’t know what you’re talking about.  Maybe someone has a VooDoo doll under her desk.  And even if she does, you deserve it for cheating.

The Viking:  I’m not cheating.  The board had moved.

The Viking assumes the Stance again and tries to aim but, clearly, he’s nervous because I’m petting one of my Darts and testing the sharpness of the point.  He tries again and then laughs when I kiss it ever so gently.

Finally…..

Me:  The unknown person, or persons, with the VooDoo doll is probably satisfied with just the one poke so you can relax.  Everyone knows it’s only funny once.

He smoked me in that game.  And the next game.  I won the third game, purely by accident when I blundered into a triple 19 and two other high points.  That deserved a celebratory Turkey Dance!  In reality though, I couldn’t hit what I was aiming at to save my life.  If we ever had to defend ourselves against our Enemies* with nothing but darts, I could maybe hit the attacker but it’s anyone’s guess whether it would be with the pointy end or not.

So, it’s a good thing that I don’t take Stabbing very seriously.  I go in knowing the odds of winning are close to zero.  And that’s okay with me.

Besides, it’s all fun and games until a Viking starts cheating.

*Not that we have Enemies.  At least I don’t think we have Enemies, but who knows?  There might be someone out there with less than warm feelings for us but that just means we need to be careful about telling new people our real names and hope everyone else has forgotten already.  

Talk To My Back, Lady!

We tempted the Gawds with a road trip across provincial lines during the time of Plague.  And while the Gawds couldn’t be bothered with our trivial rebellion, Teddy had a differing opinion.

It’s The Viking’s fault, really.  He’s always wheeling and dealing, trading this thing for that thing.  I can’t keep up.  He is perpetually in the midst of several complicated barter agreements with shadowy people I may or may not know.  And it was one of these transactions, which involved a generator, some sundry motorcycle parts for the seller of said generator and $500.  Now that Weather has decided to indulge in Spring, The Viking wants to get Generator installed in Fifth Wheel Trailer in the slight hope that we might be able to take it camping this summer.

So, we got our shit together – hand sanitizer, disinfectant in a spray bottle, toilet paper*, and non-alcoholic (sadly) drinks.  It was 4 hours to get there, probably an hour waiting/chatting (with 6-foot social distancing of course), and another 4 hours back.  We’d be home for dinner.

And we were.  Right on time.  Izzie shouted** greetings at us but Teddy was nowhere to be seen.  I didn’t think about it much because he’s not the ‘rush-to-the-door’ kind of guy; he prefers to strike a dignified pose by the refrigerator and give me a chin nod and ‘love eyes’.  I just assumed he didn’t hear us come home and would show up on time for dinner.

That didn’t happen though.  The Viking quizzed Izzie….

“Where the fuck is Teddy?”

“Who cares?” was her response, and then, “I notice you haven’t fed me yet.  Tick, Tock!”

While The Viking was dishing out food, I called for Teddy.  “Suppertime, Teddy!”  That’s usually enough because food is extremely important after the year he spent living on the mean streets of Homelessness.

Eventually he wandered close to the back door, studiously refusing to look at me.  “Are you coming in?”  He just sat there looking at the neighbour’s house.  “Okay, fine!  I’m not standing here all night holding the door open.”

I still didn’t realize that Teddy was angry.  It was 3 hours later, when he sat down in the middle of the livingroom without looking at me that everything started to click into place.  His customary entrance in the evening is a chubby trot followed by a full body slam into my lap.

“Are you mad at me, Teddy?”  To be honest, I was a little shocked.  We named him Teddy Bear because that’s exactly what he is.  He’s sweet and gentle and lovey.  He’s the best cat on the planet.  Except for an itty-bitty, teeny-weeny streak of stubborn.

His answer was to deliberately turn his back on me.

I probably didn’t help matters when I started to laugh, but in my defense I’ve never seen him angry before.  “Oh, come on, Teddy Bear!  You can’t be mad at me.”  And yet, he was.

My previous cat would get angry with me but all it took was a cuddle and she couldn’t help herself but forgive me.   Apparently, Teddy is made of sterner stuff.

“We were only gone for 8 hours and 25 minutes!  You can’t be mad about that!”

……

“Seriously?  You aren’t going to talk to me because I was gone for a few hours?”

……

I picked him up and tried to give him a love.  He actually braced his front feet against my boobs and strained his head and shoulders away from me!!  “Oh, come on!  I’m sorry!”

……

I appealed to The Viking.  “He’s mad!  At me!”  The Viking was totally unhelpful and, most likely, secretly amused because the cats never blame me for anything – he’s always the ‘Fall Guy’.  As soon as I put Teddy down, he turned his back on me again but didn’t leave the room.  I suppose this was his version of a ‘lecture’ since I couldn’t help but see him with his back turned, full of indignation.

“It’s not even my fault!  It’s The Viking’s fault!  He was the one that bartered himself into a road trip and forced me to go along.”

……

“I wanted to stay home.  With you.”

……

“I would have cuddled you all day long, but The Viking said it was more important for me to keep him company.”

……

“Honestly!  I cried all the way to Longview!”

……

“He tied me up so I couldn’t get away!”

……

“I was a hostage!”

……

“You’re going to hold a grudge against a Victim?!”

……

Sheesh!  You would think I had pinched his Airmiles Card!

He didn’t look directly at me for the entire evening.  Not a single ‘love eye’ or brush against my leg.  The Viking, on the other hand, was the surprised recipient of many ‘love eyes’ and even a body slam to his lap accompanied by deafening purrs.

I’m not sure who wanted me to notice more – the angry cat or the pleasantly surprised Viking.

 

*I decided to rely on rest area pit toilets and severe liquid rationing to limit my contact with any Plague Carriers.

**Shouting is her permanent speaking tone, with or without swearing and name-calling.

Enemy At the Cat Door

The Viking installed a Cat Door – a move to save my sanity as two cats badgered me relentlessly to open and close the door 179 times a day.  Overall, it’s been a mixed blessing.  The first couple weeks were wonderful as they came and went as they pleased.  Teddy was so happy with the arrangement he felt the need to bring me gifts:  a live bird, a live mouse, a dead mouse, a half-eaten dead mouse, another live bird, a dead bird, and a half-eaten dead bird.

After a year of gifting and slaughter, I have finally convinced both Teddy and Izzie that wildlife is not allowed in the house – dead or alive.  I am proud of them for their hunting prowess, but please leave all gifts on the back step where I can fully appreciate them without stepping on cadavers in the middle of the night as I stumble to pee.

I thought that was the end of negatives issues regarding the Cat Door but this morning I was proven wrong.

It’s a beautiful day, the sun shining brightly on our eastern-facing back door/cat door.  I was just happy to see the sun and didn’t realize there was a problem until I heard hissing.  Izzie hissing, to be exact.  I had my back to her and the door, checking Face Book, so turned around to see what was going on.

Izzie was staring hard at the Cat Door.  And there, just at the very bottom of the cat door, I saw two pointy shadows that I soon realized were Cat Ears slowly moving upwards.

Holy Shit!  There’s an Enemy at the Cat Door!! 

Then, because he must have heard Izzie hissing, Teddy came creeping through the kitchen, watching the cat door.

I sat down between the cats, in front of the cat door.

We sat in silence, watching the Cat Ear shadow rise and lower several times.  And then we had a discussion because this was a crisis that needed to be given careful consideration.

There was little doubt that the cat sitting on the other side of the Cat Door was Slinky – the crazy cat from next door.  Even his owners call him batshit crazy.

Once we decided who we were dealing with, we now considered what actions needed to be taken.  And action definitely needed to be taken or Slinky might misconstrue our lack of response as weakness and launch an invasion right into our home!

Cat Ear Shadow slowly rises.

I could beat on the door and scare Slinky away and hope he would never come back, but Slinky is crazy and who knows what goes on in that twisted mind.  Teddy and Izzie voted against that action anyway as it had a taint of cowardice in the face of aggression at our sovereign Cat Door.

Cat Ear shadow slowly lowered.

Or, we could wait until Slinky poked his head through the flap.  The physics of the Cat Door means that once you embark on a passage through the flap, you can’t change your mind, you’re fully committed.  If you try to back up, the flap lodges behind your head and effectively traps you.  Izzie liked the sound of that immediately.  Teddy, on the other hand, thought we might be flirting with Un-Sportsman-like Conduct and that’s not something to be taken lightly.  So the whole option was turfed before we even discussed what to do with the head once it was trapped – whether we spray it with the water bottle or mock it for not understanding the science involved in Cat Doors.

Cat Ear shadow rises.

At this point, Teddy wondered if someone should go wake up The Viking.  This is kind of his area of expertise, is it not?  There’s nothing quite as terrifying as Vikings in the morning – just ask the Monks at Lindesfarne.  Teddy and I are peaceful Hippies, ill-equipped to deal with aggression, while Izzie is only mean from a distance when it comes to other cats and prefers name-calling and cursing rather than physical violence.  Unless……someone else is doing the violence, like a Viking that’s cranky for being woken up because our perimeters have been breached…..and then she’s all in.  With PomPoms.

Cat Ear shadow lowers.

I thought we should entertain less violent options before we bring in the big gun.

Cat Ear shadow rises.

We could just let Izzie shout derogatory insults – her specialty – through the Cat Door while Teddy and I cheer from the sidelines and hope Slinky doesn’t call our collective bluff.  Teddy asked if that was just a little too close to Bullying?  Fair question.  We don’t want that ugly reputation to stick; Izzie already has a reputation as a Home Invasion Expert and a prolific Car Jacker so we don’t really need more notoriety.

Cat Ear shadow lowers.

We considered barking madly like an insane Mastiff but neither cat wanted to stoop that low.  Because they have standards.  Unlike this turncoat….

By now we were beginning to entertain increasingly implausible defensive actions.  No one had a slingshot or a fishing net and, of course, I’m not allowed to have a Flame Thrower.  We were running out of options.  In the end, I was out-voted.  ME!  Without the slightest pang of conscience, both cats volunteered me to take one for the team.  I was to be sacrificed to the crazy hell that is Slinky.  And while I was arguing against the decision with all the fervor of Atticus Finch…….

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

As one, we turned our heads toward The Viking, standing there in his underpants holding a pair of socks.  We started explaining the crisis…..

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”  He whipped the back door open.

Apparently, Slinky either got tired of listening to our evil plans…..or…..got bored and went home.

 

Vengeance and Mayhem

Neighbourhood patrol.  Again.  I’m not in the best of moods because Mom is spitefully refusing to fix the weather and my feet are cold.  And why am I the one responsible for keeping the neighbourhood safe?  What would happen if I decided I didn’t feel like doing it anymore?  Rabbits!  That’s what would happen if I got lazy; the entire place would be overrun with rodents with ridiculous ears.  And the rabbits around here aren’t cute little bundles of soft fur.  No, around here we get Jack Rabbits that are only slightly prettier than Golum and about the same size!

What did these people do before I moved here?  It was a mess, I’m sure of that!  There had better be some treats when I get home and a pair of warm boobs to lay on.

Hey!  Don’t honk your horn at me, Buddy!  Just for that, I’m going to walk slowly while giving you the stink eye the entire time I’m crossing the street.  Dick.

Taunting the dogs across the alley – check

Walking on Floyd’s new car – check

Bullying the Bichon – check

Pooping in Mark’s garden – check

Dot’s yard is good, Marcel’s is okay but could really use some shoveling (aren’t my feet cold enough, Marcel?), Anne’s place is very tidy – I like it.

Hummm…..that’s a new smell.  I don’t usually check this yard, but I should find out what smells so delicious.  Well, will you look at that!  Chicken!  I love chicken.  Thank you very much Homeowner.

WHAT THE FUCK?!!  It’s a trap!  Let me out!  I am not liking this at all.  Ohhhh, whoever did this………just wait until I get out!  You are going to have my poop in your garden for the rest of your life!  That’s right.  I’m going to stop pooping in Mark’s garden and come here instead and the poops will be huge and smelly!  And every time I decide to fight with another cat it will happen right under your bedroom window in the middle of the night and I’m a screamer.  As a matter of fact, I think I’ll set up a Fight Club right here and invite every cat in the province!  I’m going to scare your children and mock your dogs!  I will pee on your car and every child’s toy you leave outside.  And you don’t even want to know what I’m going to do to that sandbox!  It will be disgusting and involve a lot of Hairballs!

LET ME OUT!!

LET ME OUT!!

LET ME OUT!!

Well, it’s about damned time, Mister!  Open this fucking door right now!  No…don’t touch me!  No touchy!  Stop…..Geezus!!  You’re not allowed to touch me!  Put me down!  That’s my Lady Parts!  Hashtag MeToo!!

Oh!  You want to see my collar tag?  Why didn’t you say that to begin with?  Yes, I’m Izzie and yes, that’s my phone number.  Call my Mom.  She is soooo going to fuck you up, Mister!  You have no idea what she is capable of – I’m her Princess.  You should start running right now.  She can make a Viking cry, so just imagine what she will do to you!

Hey!!  What the hell?  I don’t want to be in your garage.  Just let me go.  Seriously, dude, I promise I won’t say a thing.  No one will ever know you trapped me in a Cat Trap.  I am great at keeping secrets.  Honestly!  I’ve never told anyone Teddy’s deepest secret and if there is a secret that should be told, it’s what Teddy wants to do with his stuffed alligator toy.  Please, I promise I won’t poop in your garden.  I was just blowing off steam, I didn’t mean any of it.  No, wait!  Come back!

……

……

……

……

Is this how my life ends?  In a dark, smelly garage, alone and unloved?  Forgotten by humanity?  I wasn’t done living yet.  So many things I still wanted to do.  I wonder if Mom and The Viking will miss me?  Sure, I’m a pain in the ass, but I’m adorable, too.  And Teddy….who’s going to bully him?  Without me, he’ll relax and become fat and lazy.  He’ll sleep with Mom every night.  I can’t believe this is my end – it’s so boring.  I wanted to go out with a bang, something memorable like taking Hostages in an armed standoff, something every cat will tell stories about.  I wanted to become a Legend!

What was that?  Is that Mom?  Wishful thinking?  Am I saved?  I’m not taking any chances – my Lady Parts are still uncomfortable.  I’m hiding in case it’s a ruse for another round of Pattycake.

IT IS MOM!!

Mom!!  I’m coming Mom!!  You won’t believe what happened!  This guy….he has a Cat Trap and he caught me!  I’m so happy to see you.  I love you so much.

Pick me up so I can give him the stink eye.  I told him you would fuck him up,  so go ahead.   Hit him!!  Just smack him one!  Right in the lips.  Or the throat!  Yeah….the throat!  I want to see him writhe in pain and despair and wish he was never born.  I want to see blood.  Lots and lots of blood.

Why are you being so nice to this Monster?!  You are supposed to avenge my mistreatment, not thank him for calling!  What kind of a Savior are you?!  Geezus!  Where’s The Viking?  He’d smack this guy.  Probably several times.  He understands vengeance, it’s in his DNA.  Mayhem is second nature to him, and I bet he’ll come and open a Can of Whoop Ass on this guy.

What?  We’re just leaving?  Without even cursing him?  That’s the least you could do, you know.  Curse his children at a bare minimum.

Well, shit.  I’m walking home.  No, I don’t want to ride in the car, Traitor.  I’m telling The Viking that you’re useless – he should know what kind of person he’s married too.  Benedict Arnold.

Oh!  And don’t you whisper a word of this to Teddy.  Seriously.  I’ll have to kill him if you do.

Geezus.  What a fucking night!

 

Note:  So…..the family lost their cat and decided to try to catch it with a Cat Trap.  Yes.  A Cat Trap.  I don’t even know where to start with that so I’m just going to let it go.  On the other hand, they did brave life and limb to read Izzie’s tag and give us a call.  Thank Gawd.  Also, this is the best scenario for Izzie’s first – and hopefully last – experience with a Cat Trap.  Generally speaking, Cat Traps are a death sentence to animals caught in them because that’s the main purpose of them.  She’s a smart girl though so maybe she’ll be more suspicious of free food from now on.

She wouldn’t ride in the car, but I rolled the car window down and called her and she followed it all the way home.  She was pretty scared and hasn’t left my side for the past three days, however today, she’s back to bullying Teddy so I think she’s getting over it.