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Archive for the ‘Life with Cats’ Category

The good news is that one mommy cat and two kittens have been adopted.

But five kitties are still looking for a home. I’ve been fostering them for a few weeks, since they took sick with the usual culprits that kittens are vulnerable to. But all are now in great shape and ready to move on.

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Prison Kittens

Two mommy cats and their six kittens have recently been released from an area prison, where they had been furtively fed by inmates, surviving on a diet of canned Vienna sausage, procured by inmates at the prison canteen.

Last sighted around the Cat Adoption Team facility, a Wilmington, NC cat rescue group, the cats are on the prowl again, looking for new homes. Area residents are warned these cats are armed with dangerous weapons to steal your heart, including extreme cuteness, loud purrs, and beseeching stares.

We are asking the public to come forth and adopt these cats and kittens in order to forestall any possibility they will end up in prison again.

To see the Prison Cats/Kittens, please send a message to catadoptionteam(at)earthlink.net.

To help raise money to spay/neuter these kittties, Cat Above is offering a coupon good for the purchase of any of its cat hammocks at www.catabove.com. When you use coupon R102 at checkout, you will get $5 off your purchase and the Cat Adoption Team will get a $5 donation.

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An explanation is in order for the long gap in blogging herein. The claim on my time comes from my business, which caters to cats, and as we know, cats come first, blogs a distant second.

Recently I launched a new cat product, the SnoozePal Cat Hammock in a Box, which is modeled here by Kippy. More information about the SnoozePal (and about Kippy) can be found at http://www.catabove.comSnoozePal Hammock no background S

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I volunteer at a cat adoption center. Though non-paying, the job has its perks (paid in otherwise non-adoptable cats) and satisfactions (The stitches from Freddie’s bite came out yesterday and the wound is no longer infected.)

I truly enjoy helping people find the perfect cat. “No, Freddie does not normally bite – he’s the sweetest kitty ever – but he lost it when we shoved him into a cage.” One thing though never ceases to bug me. It’s those clueless people who come looking for a cat that does not shed.

Well, people, cat hair comes with the cat. Usually attached, but often (daily) detached (for evolutionary reasons that I can’t fathom). So you either forget about a cat or get a cat and get over it. Every day is a bad hair day when you share your home with a cat (or a dog, or your children – they all shed!). That’s what vacuuming is for. Bear in mind that some (most) cat hair adheres with tenacity stronger than super glue, in which case vacuuming is counter productive. And unless your income is in the top 5% of US households, forget hair rollers, as you need three per day (with one cat) to maintain your home in it’s pre-cat hairless condition.

So if you’re interviewing for a job, it’s a must to keep a separate pristine set of clothes at your friend’s – I mean the friend who does not own a cat or a dog, or any other hair-shedding living thing. I’m giving you this advice from experience. Once a friend of mine went on a job interview for which she was eminently qualified – and this is a real story with sobering consequences. She was confident the job was hers because, well, she was the only candidate.

She didn’t get the job! We did a lengthy, tearful, post-mortem. Was it her curly hair (not professional)? Maybe the skirt was too short? Or – the unthinkable – her typing at 120 WPM too slow?

No, it was conspicuous cat hair on her black suit.

Moral of the story: (a) If you want a job at a law firm, you need to look dignified, and (b) if you’re going to a job interview in a black suit, you’d better own a black cat.

Final note, if you need that job real bad, Cat Adoption Team of Wilmington has plenty of black cats for adoption at PetSmart. Adoption hours: daily 5:00-7:00 PM and all day Saturday and Sunday.

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It was Saturday morning. I was at the computer applying pale peach nail polish to my fingernails. In the middle of doing that, I had an idea for a story and started writing. Kippy, one of my seven kitties, was lounging on the desk, helping the story along by alternately pushing the cap lock or tab keys as needed.

It is Saturday morning. The forecast has said fifty percent chance of rain and the sky is a flawless blue. She is sitting at the kitchen table, her fingers spread in front of her, waiting for the pale peach nail polish to dry. The window panes are projecting sharp sun-yellow rectangles on the butcher block. She looks at the pattern of light, regular, repeating, until it cascades off the table onto the linoleum floor. She is irritated, but she doesn’t know why. Her daughter is in the living room at the piano, playing Bach. The rhythm lurches forward and stumbles, corrected wrong notes punctuating the music with randomly placed exclamation marks. Hell, thinks Carla in her irritation, the girl has lead fingers, tin ears. She wonders why she has been paying Mrs. Kramski for piano lessons the past six years, why Heather continues doggedly to practice, practice, practice, without the thrill of accomplishment, without hope. She remembers the old joke: How do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice, practice, practice, and she sneers.

She thinks she has pinpointed the source of her discontent, until her eyes focus on what she has been staring at absentmindedly all along: the bottle of nail polish, bathed in the yellow light. “Why on earth did I buy pale peach?” she thinks.

The doorbell rings, mercifully suspending the piano playing in mid-phrase. The bell also distracts Carla from her irritation and she is unhappy. Carla likes to wallow in her moods undisturbed, likes to travel through the nuances of her feelings, as a befuddled tourist would navigate through a foreign city without a map, trying to decipher the unfamiliar landscape.

The doorbell rang. I stopped writing and got up to answer the door. When I returned, there was an overturned nail polish bottle on my desk and a lovely pail peach paw print on the black keyboard. I am irritated and I do know why.

Filed under: Cats help life imitate art.
Alternative filing: Fiction writing with cat-assist.

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I found Kippy when she was a four-week old motherless kitten. Four years later, Kippy is about to become a published celebrity.

She has been chosen to appear in the I Can Has Cheezburger (www.icanhascheezburger.com) book titled I Can Has Cheezburger?: Lolcats Teach U How To Take Over Teh Wurld, due for publication in September, 2009.

Earlier, her first encounter with fame occurred when she became the website mascot of my online cat products store (www.catabove.com).

Here is Kippy’s photo for the book.
kippy-on-quilt-006-e

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So you have a home office – and that is your only office. And you commute regularly from your bedroom to the aforementioned office. You don’t even need to get dressed until 8:00 PM when you remember that you haven’t had breakfast yet (not to mention lunch and dinner) and when you open the refrigerator, you’re looking at an expanse of glass shelves covered by hints of meals past but nothing indicating possibilities for breakfast, lunch or dinner now.

You finally cast off what you slept in (was this also what I wore to the office yesterday?), throw on something to cover the lower half and something else to cover the top half of your body, hoping the two parts make a coherent assemblage, or at least meet in the middle to cover your midriff, which used to be presentable several decades ago, but at this hour of the night you’d rather not scare the college kids you’ll encounter at the supermarket purchasing their daily quota of alcohol, because what your midriff is saying is “this is what happens after 44,000 snacks,” since while you tend to forget about breakfast, lunch, and sometimes dinner, snacks are entirely a different matter.

To make a short story long, one day I realized that I had spent the last six months circling between the bedroom, office, and kitchen and other than talking on the phone to disembodied voices, I was chatting face-to-face only with my cats. My extended trips were to the supermarket and to the pet store. Didn’t even get near the mall, because who needs clothes when you commute from one room to another?

Clearly it was time to take a trip. I mean a real trip, to Laos, Vietnam, or Alaska. I settled on Amsterdam, where my cousin had an apartment I could use for a whole week while he was away. The only stipulation was that I look after his precious cat Zelda. He said Zelda should never go out. He failed to mention that Zelda didn’t know that and the first thing that Zelda did when I opened the door was dart out. I spent my first five days in Amsterdam searching for the cat. Got to know that little suburb of Amsterdam quite well, including backyards and the pet store where I bought lots of smelly canned cat food at exorbitant prices. Had some explaining to do to the police called by suspicious neighbors who saw me prowling among the bushes at night. But in the end I did spend two wonderful days exploring Amsterdam. And those last two nights I also had a good face-to-face chat with my cousin’s cat.

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