The Life of Pye is about a cat. The cat who adopted me.
And this is a short, sporadically posted series about her. The first post is Pye has a foot fetish.
Pye is still quite pudgy.
She’s been on a diet for several months (1/2 cup of kibbles as per the instructions on the bag), but it’s having little effect. (Her blood levels were tested when she got fixed in November and came back normal.) She gets a lot of exercise, still racing around the RV a few times a day — she uses it like an obstacle course.
Pye needs excitement.
She gets bored or anxious or lonely when I’m gone and tears the place up. I recently read an ad selling dog vests in which it claimed the vests helped calm down anxious dogs. My thinking immediately substituted cat for dog, and harness for vest, with the hope that wearing a harness would help Pye calm down when I’m gone.
To keep her from getting bored, I sometimes take her outside on a leash and harness. No, she doesn’t really walk on the leash. But hope springs eternal so I keep trying. She kind of crouch-walks. And only where she wants to go. I’d really like to have a cat that walks on a leash like a dog. I know it can happen, I’ve seen other people “walking” their cats.
Drama Cat says, “I’m going to tear up the place the moment you leave and this harness won’t slow me . . . → But wait, there’s more! : The Life of Pye: 30 Hours Without Pye
The Life of Pye is about a cat.
Well, the movie titled The Life of Pi isn’t entirely about a cat. Ok, the movie isn’t really about a cat at all, it just has a cat in it. Whatever, we can’t be picky.
But this post is about a cat. It’s about the life, so far, of Pyewacket (aka “Pye”), the kitten who arrived on my doorstep adopted me in September of last year. This was originally going to be one Ten Things post, but she’s done so much goofy stuff I decided to make it a series. Lucky you.
Plus, her one year birthday has just passed. She showed up September 23, 2012 and she was probably around 5 or 6 months old at the time. I’ve decided to make her birthday March 23rd. It’s a rough guess, but she deserves an actual birthday.
A rare moment of calm in February. She’s curled up, upside down, along my side and arm. We’re napping in a black “faux mink” throw blanket.
Here’s some of what’s happened in the last six months… (more posts to follow)
Pye has a foot fetish. No, really – and I’m beginning to get concerned. She loves my stinky shoes. She attacks my feet and ankles almost constantly. Sometimes she licks them, or just puts her own paws on my feet. She likes to do this most by laying behind my feet and placing all her paws on the edge of my foot when I’m trying to cook.
If you . . . → But wait, there’s more! : The Life of Pye: Pye Has a Foot Fetish
This is another post about my cat. If you don’t have pets, or never had pets, you probably won’t get this. In fact, you may decide to never get a pet, ever. But they’re totally worth it.
I went to visit my friends Ben and Jo in Rockport, Texas over the weekend. The following are snippets from a conversation I had with Jo.
Conversation with my friend Jo about Pyewacket, my newish kitten:
Me: Pyewacket is getting pudgy and is now on diet. I used to call her Princess Pye, but now I’m calling her Pumpkin Pye.
Jo: *laughs* Maybe she’s not getting enough exercise?
Me: Oh, no. The little Tasmanian Devil of a kitten gets plenty of exercise. Everything in the house is a toy. My house is probably being shredded as we speak. All boxes that enter, packing materials included, are immediately claimed by Pye. It doesn’t matter if she’s too big to fit in the box, it’s still hers. She races up and down the RV in the morning and in the evening. When I’m trying to sleep she attacks my feet and legs. (Yes, Bluzdude, I have been trying your suggestion of ‘sail cat’. She thinks it’s part of the game.)
Me: I’m pretty sure she thinks her name is “No” because I’m always telling her to stop attacking or scratching something. And then there are my showers. I can’t take a shower alone anymore!
Me: The day after Pye first showed up on my doorstep, I . . . → But wait, there’s more! : Cat-butt-tongue Water
Like a song you can’t stop singing, this famous one-liner from Frankenstein is stuck in my head: “It’s ALIVE!!”
Because It’s Alive. All. The. Time.
And because I’m losing sleep.
[I suppose I should provide an update to Pyewacket's peeing problem for those who may have missed it. A trip to the vet confirmed her peeing outside of the box was not "creative thinking" on her part, but was behavioral in nature. The vet suggested I keep doing what I started the night before: sequestering her in a small room with only her food, water, bed, and litter box until she learned to use ONLY the litter box. After every couple days without any "creative peeing", I expanded her territory to include some of the areas and items once peed-on (but now cleaned). After a successful week she was given full access again.
It's been a couple weeks since the visit to the vet, and one whole week out of kitty confinement, and all seems well. In fact, the sequestering seems to enhanced her already sweet disposition, she's even more cuddly than before.]
Now to explain why the phrase “It’s ALIVE!” is running incessantly through my head…
At night when it’s time to go to sleep and I snuggle in bed, Pyewacket thinks this is A: The Time of The Great Grooming, and B: The Time of The Attack of The Bed Sheets
While both of those titles are a bit self-explanatory, I feel the need to further elaborate.
The Time of The Great . . . → But wait, there’s more! : It’s ALIVE! or How Pyewacket is like the Energizer Bunny.
She adopted me. Really.
I say the park stray kitten adopted me because she showed up at my doorstep, spent a couple days checking me out, and then moved in.
Now she doesn’t want to go outside. Ever.
The Rangers and I first noticed her in the park about four days earlier. I tried a few times to coax her over to me, but she would have none of it.
Last weekend I dreamed about Checkers for the first time since her passing, if ever. It was a good dream, I got to hold her, she was happy and sitting in her favorite spot in the RV.
The next morning I went outside to empty the holding tanks (so I could take a shower without the water coming up the drain), when I see the stray kitten dart under my car. I look underneath the car, but don’t see her.
Then the chassis started meowing.
So I meowed back. What was I supposed to do? Don’t pretend you wouldn’t have meowed to the chassis, too.
Again the chassis meowed. So, again, I meowed in return.
This meowing back and forth went on for a while. I put out food, she came down from inside the chassis and ate her weight in cat food. While she ate, I went to take that shower (before my odor could scare her off). At that time she was hiding up in the RV chassis.
When I came outside an hour later, she was napping on my doorstep.
The first . . . → But wait, there’s more! : I’ve been adopted by a cat named Pyewacket
It’s in town because I made the Squirrel Circus here. No, this isn’t another story about that ex-boyfriend who went off to join the circus. You’re welcome.
This really is about squirrels I got to jump through hoops, sort of. It’s more like running through tubes and boxes than jumping through hoops, but close enough.
At the state park I’m camped at, my volunteer job (in exchange for free RV parking) is to sell permits, help customers, stock shelves, tidy up the place, etc. In the down time I started building a Squirrel Obstacle Course.
When Park Officials come to check how the park is doing, I tell them it’s our Squirrel Enrichment Program.
One asked if I had a degree in Animal Psychology.
The squirrel acrobats are: PeeWee (a tame-ish female, currently pregnant again, and mother of at least one of the following squirrels), Jr. (aka “Hangin’” <— The name the Rangers gave him. I would *never* refer to a squirrel by his well-endowed status. Yeah, right.), Rocky (a male, very skittish, not well-endowed), and Cinnamon (a female, also very skittish).
The Squirrel Obstacle Course/Habitrail is perched on a picnic table, right in front of the office entrance. You can’t miss it when you walk in.
The Squirrel Obstacle Course in an early phase. That’s a squirrel in the cantilevered tube on the right.
As you can see it’s made from used drink bottles and cardboard boxes. And a LOT of tape.
It’s my pride and joy.
If . . . → But wait, there’s more! : The Squirrel Circus is in town.
This is a sad post, but I feel I owe it to you all to let you know.
My raison d’etre doing what she loved best.
Checkers, my loving and faithful companion of 18 years, passed away today. I always knew this day would come, but that doesn’t make it easier. (If you need to catch up on the adventures of Checkers, the RV Copilot and World’s Best Kitty, start here: Kernut is selling a kidney.)
Checkers was my raison d’etre.
I’ve had her since she was six weeks old. It’s been almost 18 years to the day since I got her from the Humane Society. She lived with me longer than any of my relatives (parents and sibling). She outlasted boyfriends – even one who foolishly thought I would get rid of her when he asked. (You’ll notice he is looong gone.) She got me through more than one nasty breakup and she got me through some very dark times. I owe her more than I could ever repay.
I know she’s still with me in spirit. I’ve saved a lock of her fur for when I go see the Largest Ball of Twine. I think she would have liked it.
May the angels keep you and bless you and guide you home. xoxo
I Love You People!
If you don’t share this story, zombies will get you. (Just a . . . → But wait, there’s more! : In Loving Memory of the World’s Best Companion and RV Copilot
So, this is a guest post by Checkers. Yes, the cat.
The Kibble and Tribble Wrangler Cat. The protagonist in Cat-ass-trophe. Author of the Holiday Letter From Da Kitteh. The RV Copilot Who Can’t Read Maps.
Yes, that cat.
THE BEST CAT IN THE WORLD.
Your fearless blogger and Queen of the Zombies has decided to turn her blog over to a Higher Being – just this once, to see how it goes.
Actually, that’s not true. She’s not here and I’m all by myself. This post shouldn’t be here. Don’t tell her, okay? I’m not allowed to touch the computer or play with the mouse. (I don’t get that one… it’s a mouse and I’m a cat. I’m supposed to play with mice, right?)
I haven’t been well lately.
If you don’t share this story, zombies will get you. (Just a . . . → But wait, there’s more! : Kernut is selling a kidney
As if, AS IF, I don’t already have a full house, what with Checkers the RV Copilot, the varmint squirrel, Bugzilla the Well-groomed and Giant Cockroach, and Sparky the Bird, there is now a mouse in my RV.
I have a cat. I shouldn’t have a mouse.
Let’s review: My cat/RV copilot can’t read maps, and doesn’t deter rodents. This is just wrong.
In her defense, at the ripe old age of 18 she probably can’t hear the mouse chewing up the inside of my kitchen drawers.
How Do I Know There’s A Mouse?
The other morning I opened the silverware drawer to see one of those crushed red pepper packets you get when you order pizza broken open, contents spilling out. Upon closer inspection, I noticed the packet wasn’t broken, but chewed open. Little bits of paper and bits of the drawer lining lay in a small pile.
Poos in the silverware drawer.
Poos in the utensil drawer below.
Poos in the dishtowel drawer below that.
I bleached the drawers and contents, and washed the dish towels so I don’t get Hantavirus. You know, that life-threatening disease spread by mice.
From the US Library of medicine:
If you don’t share this story, zombies will get you. (Just a . . . → But wait, there’s more! : And now there’s a mouse in the house, err, RV.
My wonderful feline copilot turned 18 years old today.
I may look pissed, but I just don't like having my picture taken.
I couldn’t have asked for a better companion these past 18 years. I can not adequately express how much she has meant to me, often bringing me out of those dark times when I felt hopeless about life. I owe her more than I can ever repay. Rest assured, she is spoiled and pampered.
While searching for one cat, I found another.
A previous cat of mine, Eggo (so named because she once stole a bite of my strawberry-jam-topped Eggo waffle), had gone missing so I went to the humane shelter every three days to look for her. After about a month or so, I first saw Checkers sitting in one of the cages. She was a five-week old kitten and the runt of the litter. She was so small she could sit in the palm of my hand.
About a week later I adopted her. She was – and still is – so full of energy. She used to race about the living room in a circuit that included running across the length of the vertical back of the couch. Her small size defied gravity.
Checkers has been catnapped twice in her life.
If you don’t share this story, zombies will get you. (Just a . . . → But wait, there’s more! : Happy Birthday! Checkers, the RV copilot, turned 18 today.