Today, Cleo officially became a killer. She brought home her prey, a bushtit which she'd caught in the midst of a slogging downpour. And then brought it inside. I have birdie chunks on the dining room carpet.
There is no way to keep her inside. There is no way to keep her from hunting. Sorry, birdies. Rats and mousies...take note.
Did she bring it home for you to eat, seeing as you are inept at hunting and are therefore likely to die from starvation if she doesn't feed you?
She is one of those cats who DEMANDS access to the outdoors. If she does not get it, she will make your life miserable. She can be very obnoxious. Then, if you don't relent, you have to close her in another room just to exit yourself, or she'll be out the door the moment you open it to leave. She is a rugshark/yardshark, always on the move.
Once I knew what I had in Cleo, I took down my hummingbird feeders. I still put up tallow for the birds in hanging cages and the scratch I provide my hens attracts the likes of towhees and other seed eaters.
Murray, on the other hand, could not care less. Well, he could, but he doesn't. Murray is basically a bedlump. He just goes along because it might be interesting. He returns fast and hangs out on his tower at the front window. He can see the back door from there and decide from the comfort of his tray whether he wishes to expose himself the elements.
I love the strip. I can identify entirely, just replace the executive with a simpering petulant teen royalty female and we're there. The comment is spot on.
We have been having some stupendously unusual sunny and warm winter weather here in Puddle City. Of course, the cats have been spending more time outdoors...until this week. First we noticed Cleo not demanding to go out an hour before dawn. She'd malinger and it was Murray who was actually asking, with his crackly squeeky little voice, to go out. Then Mary caught sight of neighbor tutored tom, Zuko...aka 'Spot Nose'...chasing Murray across the yard and through the hole in the fence. It was not a friendly chase. Swimmer chased Zuko off and Murray made his way back and indoors.
My two seem to have been accepted by Siddhartha, the big tuxedo Maine coon who lives next door and has a reputation east down the block as 'badass'. When he is out, Zuko is scarce. My two have no fear of Sid and Sid sleeps in one of my hen's nesting baskets on the garden shed porch. Yesterday we got the good news for our two fuzzwads...Zuko's humans are moving. So, this spring and summer promises a lot more latitude in roaming the immediate neighborhood.
Murray is rapidly approaching what we were told is maturity for Manx...18 months (come April). He is distictly much larger than Cleo and Cleo just weighed out at 10 pounds on the vet's scale. Generally, he is the reticent and reluctant one while Cleo is the curious, nosy and noisy one. She has finally accepted me and works to schmooze me up to open doors. She can open cupboard doors and regularly checks the backs of the lower ones. She is still a 'tightrope walker', perpetually attempting narrow defiles for walkways. Murray, on the other hand, has "Bedlump" for a middle name and it fits perfectly. He has distinct places where he likes to flop his carcase: his tower, the upstairs overstuffed, the arm of Swimmer's recliner, the middle of the bed (both main and guest bedrooms), and the Bukhara rug in the main entry. He spreads out, or goes all monorail, when he relaxes. Cleo, on the other hand, even though she seems to be on the move most of the time, when she does her down time, she curls up in a tight ball in one of the fleece donuts, a chair cushion, or her bassinette basket. She sleeps ON Swimmer. Murray sleeps next to Swimmer and between the two of us, often on his back. Indeed, Murray seems to prefer to lean up against something a really prizes the 'husband' bed pillows with arms because he gets maximum back contact. He also snores.
Cleo has now had her vet visit for the year. Swimmer told me she almost had Murray, but he pushed his way out the the cardboard carrier before she could secure the top. She has since obtained a rigid carrier with both end and top access doors. Murray, because of his feral background, has what we call 'kitty PTSD'. He has been, and to a much lesser extent still is, edgy about sudden movements, sudden or strange noises, and loomin' hoomins. He is skittish and has a very retentive memory. He does NOT like to be handled by humans...that is, no picking up of Murray. I tried it once and ended up with the nice set of temporary scars. Any contact must be on his terms. This makes Murray a challenge to get to the vet. So...the new cage is open on all doors in the front room, next to the sofa and across the room from Swimmer's recliner. Little Miss Nosyparker Cleo has already been in it, on it, around it. Murray, when he saw it, left the room.
Of late, we've been taste testing the various flavors of their catfood. It's an expensive brand of 'dry food' and we started out with 'chicken', then added 'salmon'. They preferred the salmon. Then, we introduced the 'duck' in comparison to the 'salmon'. They clearly prefer the 'duck', so now that they both qualify for adult food, we'll be obtaining a 'big bag' of the duck and allowing them to comparison taste test between the chicken and the salmon. Our cats are spoiled. We did trial them on the tinned 'wet foods', but they showed no interest at all. We've tried again once since, and they reacted the same way. They are not really interested; they've got perfectly good dry food. I think this is good and I'm willing to pay extra for 'expensive' dry food if I need not deal with the tinned foods. They don't really seem interested in table scraps, either. One thing though, is that Murray likes crumbs from Swimmer's morning bran muffin.
So...Cleo and Murray have made themselves a good home with compliant enthralled hoomin minions to serve their every overlord whim. The floor is still littered with cat toys, and Murray has a bedside tray full of fetching mousies, but Cleo is content with open bags, broad rubber bands, toilet paper tubes in the clawfoot tub, pulling down anything hung within her reach, making noise riffling through the corners of catalogs or rustling plastic bags, or 'singing' (yowling) in the shower surround. If anything goes bump in the night these days, I attribute it to Cleo.
I try to give my two Royal Canin, which is the top brand of dry here - I dunno what it is in the US. It's expensive but I figure that they're worth it. They don't like cheap dry food - Luthy will eat it but Pip will not unless he is on the verge of what he thinks is starvation - which most people would call a few hours after his last meal. The only thing Luthy flat out won't eat is King prawns. Other than that she has a very varied palate, for a mog.
I heard a bird cry, sharp and free. My name is Jordan.
I don't think your test will be conclusive. My Tybbe loves one flavour for a couple of weeks and then decides he wants another one and becomes a difficult eater (needs to be near hand fed >_<) when the bottom of the bag is far from in sight! Same happens when you switch to another flavour.
★ Friends are those rare people who ask how we are and then wait to hear the answer. ★
The Earth laughs in flowers ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson, "Hamatreya"...
Well...They'll be getting primarily duck for the duration, as Swimmer is about to buy 'the big bag'. We keep the other two flavors around, and available, as well.
We are feeding them Blue Buffalo's Wilderness line. Both cats' coats are wondrous soft, thick and have a nice sheen. Petting Cleo is like running your hand over finished silk, while petting Murray is soft and fluffy like well-washed flannel.
The typical drippy, drear weather has returned and they both went out this morning, but were soon desperately demanding to come back in, and are now doing wash up in respective nice comfy spots. I think I shall probably have a cat contingent arrayed on the bed for this afternoon's Super Bowl malinger. Outdoors has proven cold and icky for the duration.
Not particularly. They are fans of watching out the windows, though. Murray likes to watch the SQRLz in the tree out front and Cleo likes to watch the twitterbirds out the back window. They both like to watch the twitterbirds in the tree outside the second floor workbench window that I call the 'treevee'. Sports on television garners zero interest from either of my fuzzwads.
So, last Thursday, Murray had his forced foray to the veterinarian. He did not take kindly to it at all, according to Swimmer. She had managed to catch him unawares on his tower platform and scoop him in to the carrier. She felt the need to duck tape to top latches down because Murray went all 'Tazmanian Devil' in the carrier. He even drew blood on his claw trying to get out. Evidently once out of the cage at the vet's, he cowered. He weighed out at 13.5 lbs (that's slightly over one stone, right?), got his temperature taken, and got his three shots and the vet tech emerged unscathed, I was surprised to learn. Swimmer got to play the rescue role and bring him home, but he gave her plenty of room 'on suspicion' of having been complicit in his capture and aboose. I was welcomed when I got home from work that evening, but I had not been anywhere in the vicinity when the kittynapping took place.
Murray took about 24 hours to forgive Swimmer and he has returned to his normal self.
I always wish we could make them undestand why we sometimes have to capture them and take them to a building full of other animals and a nasty man or woman who wants to prod them all over and sometimes even inject things into them Just as we sometimes have to rub nasty smelling stuff onto the backs of their necks or put funny tasting stuff mashed up into their food
I heard a bird cry, sharp and free. My name is Jordan.
13.5 is just under a stone (14 lb) but is still a jolly fine weight for a cat. I don't think either of mine are more than nine or ten tho Merry got quite hefty at one point
Yeah...He is quite the young hunk. It's all pretty sturdy muscle, despite his not moving too fast most of the time. He can swagger when he walks, though, when he's feeling smug. And he manages to shred the rugs with Cleo, who is fast, lithe and muscular at 10 pounds. That will probably be her top weight. We think he's not quite done 'filling out' in to his full mature size. He'll probably make one stone, I'd think. Maybe more.
Oh, and Murray may not be a 'lap cat', but he certainly qualifies as a 'doily cat' (aka 'monorail cat'). His favorite spots, other than his tower tray are the arm of Swimmer's recliner, or the back of the upstairs upholstered chair....anywhere that puts him in easy reach of any human who might want to pet him. The upstairs upholstered chair is across from the master bed, but, more importantly, it is on my way to my home computer workstation. So, when I go upstairs, he rushes ahead of me to splay himself like a doily across the top of the back of the chair and look as though he is in desperate need of attention. He has also found that the broad railing around the balcony places him at handy petting height.
He has also now selected a yarn ball, like the topknot pompom of a child's toque, as his current fave toy. He carries it around the house and plays with it when he is lounging. He even stashes it in hidden locations (like between the end of the bed mattress and the headboard) and comes back to dig it out when he feels like playing. This little ball is evidently even more fun than all his 'fetch mousies'.
The tree outside the window over my workbench has now lost its leaves. This means that all the little twitterbirds which come to the tree to roost can now be seen from inside on the workbench. The treevee season has begun! (Of course, Cleo just waltzed in, knocked over a paper bag full of paperwork, dragged stowed goods in it out on to the floor, and then left...."just tryin' to be hepfool.")
So...Two weeks in to retirement and I am getting the gist of what it is my purpose in life is to be.
Doorman for Cleo and massage therapist for Murray.
Cleo loves having a hoomin around to open doors for her to go in, or out, or stare out of pensively. I am now getting over-the-top obsequious ankle buffing upon her returns from out of doors, particularly if the weather is nasty.
Murray will go out, but takes much longer to decide to do so. Even once the door is open. He, however, seems to have grown to making relatively short trips outdoors in the morning and at nightfall. He is not pestering me all the time to open doors. The remainder of the time he tends to spend fulfilling his role of the household bedlump. Upstairs or downstairs, if there is a bed with a bedlump, it is probably Murray. He has gotten so attuned to the overlord privileges that he now rolls over to solicit tummy rubs from passing hoomins.
Our cat would sit on the doorstep for ages before deciding to go out. So, I started opening the door for five seconds and then shutting it. She would complain. I would open the door for five seconds and then shut it. Eventually she got the message and took the opportunity while it lasted.
Murray just came upstairs, took his turn at tearing up my furniture (an overstuffed he is allowed to use as a scratch post), and then came over to where I was seated at the computer and proceeded to solicit face palms, butt munches, and tummy rubs. He is so feral.
Scratches on his rear haunches, just ahead of his stub tail. If he's really cruising for attention, he'll take the opportunity to go in to 'down dogs', which usually leads to his flopping over on to his back to finish up with belly rubs.
Murray B. Stubb loves his butt munches. With two handed butt munches, he usually goes in to 'down dog overload', blissing out and often flopping to the floor. He is a big fan of 'face palms', too. That's where I place my palm over his face and ears and stroke back. It can be continued down his spine and off the tail, but most such strokes start behind the ears. Murray has been known to awaken me in the night (early morning) by pushing his face into the palm of a hand I happen to have left out from under the covers. Murray is addicted to his tummy rubs, too. Any time he gets focused attention from one of his minions, he will eventually end up on his back soliciting scratches and rubs of his tummy and chest. Of late, this overlord has been more demanding of his minions. I've spent well over an hour on his chair and he's waiting for me to come back and watch television, so he can snuggle up to me. This is my feral cat.
Cleo is outside enjoying the loverly warm spring day.