Celia has taken to sitting in the window or at the door, growling. She’s protecting us from the evil that lurks outside. You know: stray cats and opossums. Maybe even the odd person walking by. It’s really pretty cute. She takes her work quite seriously. However, it does come with its downside. The window next to my chair is currently open a bit and that is a beacon to her. She sits on the arm of the chair, long furry tail in my face or on the computer keyboard, balancing precariously on the window ledge. That’s where my pen and notebook, my water bottle, cell phone, earrings, hair accessories, and other things reside. I have everything in reach. But she knocks it down while she’s up there. And the tail in my face tickles. So, I keep trying to redirect her attentions elsewhere. It takes nothing short of ten lift and relocations to get her to let up. (She really is very dedicated to her job.)
I’ve also closed the other window she guards enough so that she still gets fresh air but can’t get too feisty and push the screen out. I opened two other windows on that same side of the house the same little amount so that we still benefit from the breeze (which we need as it’s been rather warm [we actually had THE hottest temp in the country on Sunday]).
Right now, Celia is perched, again precariously, on the tiny bit of space in front of the TV. Fletch has done this a few times, but never Celia. Apparently she likes General Hospital. Or maybe it’s just part of her night-time “crazies”. (I don’t know what else to call them. She only gets into things and gets goofy late at night.)
Fletch, my little darling, he is snoozing on the sofa. Resting his head on what has become his pillow. But, of course, he’s sensed that I’m blogging about him and moved closer to where I am. He does this. He always knows when I’m writing about him. My smart little furball.
>^..^<
About a week ago, our friends came over with their 11-month-old daughter. We didn’t know how things would go with her and the cats, but there was only one way to find out. So, we introduced her to Fletch and let her pet him. We also had her pet Celia once she came out of hiding (she pretty much walked away after and ignored us the rest of the night). But Fletch! Savannah crawled around in the kitchen and Fletch would play peekaboo with her. She would crawl after him for a bit and then get tired and stop. Then he’d come crawling after her for a bit. They’d peek around the corners at each other. They kept their eyes on each other. And they both seemed to have a really fun time of it. It was not only cute, it was quite sweet. Oh, and when Savannah saw the catfood on the floor by their bowls (we collectively held our breath), she would pick it up and put it back in the bowl, looking up at us with a big ol’ grin, as if to say, “I’m a good helper, aren’t I?”
>^..^<
We took the cats to the vet last week. What a fucking adventure that was! It was stressful getting them into their carriers. On them and on us. I walked out of the house looking as though I was part cat myself; covered head to toe in copious amounts of cat fur, I even coughed up a hairball.
At the vet’s, we found out that Fletch is weighing in at about 13 pounds. Lovely Celia is a mere 6 pounds. Frankly, I was surprised she weighed that much! She’s really very light. Picking her up is like cradling a bubble in your hands.
Celia freaked out and hid under the sink in the office. There was just enough room for her climb through the opening above the cabinet door. Fletch later tried the same thing but failed, 1) because he’s too damn big to get through the same opening, and 2) because he’s not exactly adept at gracefully scaling certain surfaces. To that end, he also managed to bring down the cat tree at home as he was attempting to scale it. He got up to the top by digging his claws into the rope-covered posts once before, but on his second attempt, he went slower and the entire thing just fell over on him. Why he couldn’t climb up from the couch, I don’t know. He just had to do it his way. (He goes up to the top from the couch now, though.)
Back to the vet story.
The vet fell in love with Fletch. I even heard her saying (through a closed door) “if they don’t want that little orange tabby, I’ll take him. He’s just such a sweet boy!” No way, Doc. You’re really nice and all, but he’s OUR sweet boy! We love him way too much to ever want to be without him. Surprisingly, Celia, who normally goes through stress-induced whacko scratching with people she doesn’t know, was sweet as hell whenever anyone picked her up. She was even very good during her blood draw and pet-i-cure and teeth exam, stool sample, temperature taking, etc. However, by the time she got back into the room, she was quite shaken. She sat on the floor, making herself as small as possible, and trembled. (Fletch had already been through it all and was back to his curious and somewhat uber-chill self.) I picked her up and cuddled and calmed her as much as I could. Finally, seeing Fletch stretched out on the floor — in the corner under the exam table, but still…being chill — I said, “Celia, why don’t you go lay down with your brother? You two can comfort each other.” Honest to God, she walked over to him and laid down with him! It was almost as cute as the two cats out in the adoption center who were curled up together, the one with his paws around the other’s neck. Almost that cute. Surprising as hell, because she tends to keep her distance from Fletch, except when we’re not paying attention and then they sleep together.
After all was said and done, cats went back into their carriers (much easier at that point because they were just wiped out!), vaccinated, examed stem to stern, swabbed, probed, and pet-i-cured and we began the check out process. It took ages, but we finally got out of there, arms loaded with cats, food, treats, five containers of medication, instructions, and a stack of paperwork from the visit.
Both cats have to go back to have their ears rechecked after we finish two weeks of ear drops and flushes. Their ears were infected and filthy like you wouldn’t believe! Twice a day we piss them off by swabbing the upper outer ear and then deposit three drops per ear per cat. If we don’t spell out (literally) what we’re going to do, Celia runs and hides, making it quite the chase and crazy ordeal to get her over to the meds. Fletch, well, we just walk up to him and scoop him up. Sometimes I can do it all by myself. Other times, it’s a two-person operation. Afterwards, they both look at us with murder in their eyes. Or at least, on Fletch’s part, great derision. He gets over it very quickly, though. She holds a grudge. In the morning, she will go lie under the rocking chair for a few hours, glaring at us in between naps. Otherwise, they’ve been fairly cooperative and fun to have around.
Celia’s post-vet behavior change has made her seek more loves from us and she is almost always on the chair with me (when she isn’t at the window or door protecting us from the world). Fletch has become even bolder in just about every other way. He always did like to check out the shower when I was getting in, but he now has actually allowed me to gently run water down his back and tail. Before long, I imagine him simply taking a full shower with me.
They’re weird cats, but they’re OUR weird cats. And we wouldn’t have it any other way.
