Talk about anything else: your pets, your car, movies, celebrities, or other things you like. As a reminder, political and religious discussions do not belong in here, nor any other topics that may incite a heated debate! As always keep it clean, please.
I have recently been reading a lot of posts of people who have cats and interesting stories involving them. I thought it fun to have a string of any where we can not about all the silly things we have seen or done with our pets. And ok those who love dogs also may join to .
A story about my second cat Reckless
It is interesting how he even go his name. I wanted to name him tigger (from winnie the pooh) the rest of the family felt ehhh. He had a several names in that first week. When we finally let him go out side he finally got his name. When ever my step mom would come home from work she pulled her car into the garage. My cat would sit there by the side of the garage while my stepmom waited for the garage door to open. She could see the cat just sitting there not doing anything. Then as soon as she starts pulling her car into the garage (which is part of the house) the cat would race in front of the car to garage house door and wait there for her to let him in the house. That is how my cat got his name.
We currently have 2 cats, neutered 6 year old male littermates. One is a black and white tuxedo cat, Whiskers. Fairly often he chases his tail! Sometimes I ask him if he's getting dizzy, and then he stops and starts spinning around the OTHER way still chasing his tail.
We have a great little cat. She is what the Vet refers to as a DHC = domesticated house cat. She is gun metal gray and has the unfortunate name of MOUSE. As she gets older - she is becoming much bolder, kinda like some of us. When she wants to eat, she will let us and most of the neighborhood know with her meows!!
Deborah
First star to the right, then straight on 'till mornin!
We have 3 cats: Kang, Kodos, and Blackie. Kang is pretty much the clown prince. One of his more amusing behaviors occurs when he sees his reflection in a window pane: he starts slapping the glass with both paws, like he was running a treadmill.
My wife and I have had eight cats, including five who lived at roughly the same time. All were strays or direct offspring of strays. We always thought they would grow up, go to college, get married, and give us grandchildren, but it didn't work out that way. We are currently without any cats while we wait for some life situations become more certain. It's awful.
Christopher (the explorer) lived to be a ripe 18+ years old. We lost him about two years ago and it still hurts. His last 1 1/2 years were not pleasant for anyone (even him), and in some ways it was a relief, but when it was time (or way beyond time) to have him put down, nobody expected him to struggle - yet he did.
When he was young, on several occasions we saw him pretending to be a squirrel, successfully jumping from branch to branch of different trees, at least 40-50 feet up in the air! Neighbors told me they saw him leap 6 feet in the air to catch a bird in flight. One neighbor called the pound over some disturbed trash bags, and the pound came to investigate, and Christopher walked right up to the lady and "turned himself in". Without telling us first. For about two weeks we were sure he was just gone, killed or something, but I said "call the pound". SO, my wife called, and as soon as they answered, before she could really even begin her question, she re-phrased "Yes, you DO have our cat." The lady on the other end said "Boy are we glad you called. He has been driving us Crazy!". But after a $140 bill back in about 1988, Mr. Christopher was never again allowed outside on trash night. As part of his revenge, he marked the inside of one of our VCRs. Another $100 and it never worked right after that. A small price to pay for unconditional love.
Sometime after we started letting him out the cat decedided to climbe a large tree in the neighbors yard. He got pretty high then as all cats seam to do he started HOLWERING. My step-brother and I were just about to leave. I belive to go to school I am not sure. I saw my cat stuck up there and so I started clibming the tree. Lets just say getting up was the easy part getting down with a 5 pound fist of fur was not that great. I stuck him my shirt as I climbed back down. As we neared the bottom he popped his head out and looked down upon doing so he pulled back inside my shirt where we then put him back into the house. It was not until later I looked at my chest and saw all the claw marks.
Blackie, our little old tuxedo cat, likes to sleep next to me at night. A while back, the inevitable mishap occurred--I rolled over and sandwiched the cat between myself and the bed. -sqz- When I woke up and realized what had happened, I made some panicked attempts (worthy of a Warner Brothers cartoon, no doubt) to revive her. I wasn't fully awake at that point--who knows, I might even have made some attempt to reinflate her.
As my narrative suggests, Blackie came out of it alright, though her 9+ lives are probably 8+ or less and I'm a little more cautious about my tossing and turning . . .
Cat scratch fever? Yes, I have more scars than Mel Gibson and Rene Russo in the movie "Lethal weapon 3".
Our dear Mr. Thomas, an all-black cat except for one little white spot on his chest, who came to us a stray, one halloween evening, was stricken with Feline Leukemia the next spring. His last month, he spent every minute in our bedroom, albeit mostly for protection of the rest of the den (the three other cats). Tom was such a gentle and patient cat... the only time he ever bit anyone was one time when one of us rolled over on him in the middle of the night. He died in our arms. We cried for days. Golly, that was 20 years ago, this coming April 30. We still miss you, Tom!
OK, cats! I guess with three of them, I can comment. Before I moved here, I had a Tom name Tubbles. He would follow me all over and sleep at my feet. He got hit by a car and I went totally to pot. When we came to our new home, there was a yellow tabby sitting on our back step. She wouldn't go away and seemed to be starving, so naturally we fed her!! Several weeks later, she presented us with her four kittens which she had hidden in the woods. They were all wild but we did manage to catch the female as well as the mother and off to the vets they went. No more kittens.
Well, now I only have the mother and the female kitten. I am not sure what happened to the boys. I guess they left the nest wand went to sow their wild oats. The two left are Miss Kitty (original, isn't it?) and Patches.
Now, the addition. About a month ago, a male tabby came on the scene. I figured, don't feed him and he'll no back home. WRONG!! I think this cat would have preferred to starve rather than leave my back porch! So, I fed him. Now, I have three cats. The new one is Archie.
Anyone want a nice cat?
"The early bird catches the worm...But... It's the second mouse that gets the cheese"
From a peak of six cats ( ) a couple of years back, we're down to our current three--I guess you'd say were not exactly in the market. Like a lot of people, we don't exactly have to make an effort to get cats: they just have a way of showing up. We've got that "Feline Rescue Mission" mentality, it seems.
The stories about the cat in the bed remindes of a story of my first cat Zack (Zackoria for his full name I would have to do some searching)
Any how this was my guardian (in the trust sense) a year older than my self when I was small and we went camping we would take him along. He was so protective of me that there was an accorance where several dogs had wondered into our camp area and my cat placed him self in the middle of me and the dogs eventally scaring them off.
Ok that had nothing to do with the bed but I liked it here is the bed story. I used to use my cat as pillow and he (most of the time) never had any problems with that and I could have sworn that I could hear him talk to me threw the purrs that he made.
About seven years ago, I lived with my brother for a year in a house in a small town in British-Columbia. We had a huge backyard and a "Regular Jane" stray tabby made it a point to come around begging for scraps. We couldn't let her in on a more permanent basis as my little bro is highly allergic to cats.
One day, we noticed that she was pregnant and was trying to make a home for herself underneath our back balcony. My bro and I spent an afternoon clearing all the stuff under the boards there and set up a comfy, cozy spot for her to give birth (including a box and a heated blanket--this was in early spring and, therefore, still fairly cool outside). Well, before long, we heard the expected high-pitched squealings coming from below. We went to investigate; sure enough, there was a litter with half a dozen tiny, tiny, kitties, barely furred and eyes tightly closed. "Jane" was nowhere to be seen, though. Neither did she come back later that day. Nor the following morning. My brother and I assumed the worst: either Jane had been run over or she had abandoned the brood. We went searching throughout the neighbourhood, inquiring, hunting for Jane. We couldn't find her. So we decided to try to bring these kitties up by ourselves. Yes, it was very much a "Mittens Has Two Dads" type of situation.
At the local vet's, we were given instructions on how to feed animals so young. Off we went to the toy store for a couple of plastic baby doll bottles for warmed up formula (yes, there is such a thing as kitten formula!). We gave them names (which I don't remember now, except for "Runt"--for obvious reasons). In turn, we'd cradle them in the palm of our hands, tilt them back, and feed them as we would a baby. I still have pix of this. Several days later, we started them on solid food; it was a little early still, but the vet said we'd increase their chance of survival if we did so as early as possible. We had to feed Runt separately from his littermates for they kept pushing him away from the bowls. Of course, by now we kept them inside, but in the kitchen only (many a mess we've had to clean up!).
After a couple of weeks, it became clear that Runt wasn't going to make it. My allergic brother had gotten into the habit of carrying the listless, shivering kitty around the house against his chest; Runt stopped breathing one night as he lay on my brother's chest while we were watching television. My brother turned to me and said, "I think he's dead." He was. My brother cried for the rest of the evening. So did I, a little bit. We'd grown attached.
After about seven weeks (still a little early for weaning), we took them down, at the vet's suggestion, to the S.P.C.A. in Victoria, where they examined them, found them healthy (if a little young), and put them up for adoption. Taking care of these little lives was quite an experience for both of us--it certainly changed me in many ways. Perhaps, this is the closest I'll ever come to being a mother. It was deeply satisfying.
Epilogue: three days after having taken the little ones down to Victoria, Jane, their wayward mother, showed up at our back door, looking none the worse for wear. We hadn't seen her in two months. The temptation was great to "scold" her, but what could we do or say? We just put out some food and a bit of milk. We figured life goes on, eh?
My grandmother has a soft spot in her heart for abandoned kittens (come to think of it, I'd be a little afraid of anyone who didn't). She's rescued quite a few litters of kittens in her time, CJ.
Kang and Kodos have just refreshed my memory of another of their quirks: they're feline foot-fetishists. When I come home from work, they fawn over my feet and wallow in my shoes. They do it some in the morning, too, but mostly in the evening. It might have something to do with the fact that I take my shoes off as soon as I get to the office and don't put them back on until I leave--unfamiliar scent, perhaps. Still, Blackie never does this, and Kang and Kodos don't exactly wallow in the clothing I wear to the office.
Soon after we got reckless (from the shelter) and he was old enough I would walk around with him lying on shoulders. Now for the first also we bought a cat tree (which I still) for this cat. Anyways when ever I would walk buy it and had reckless on my shoulders he would make that 3 to 5 leep from my shoulder to the cat tree. I was amazed at every time he did it and I can not rememmber ever once of him not grabbing hold of the top platform where he spent a lot of time (it was also in the window where got a wester sunset).
We currently have a black cat (20+ yrs old) Princess, and a red Aussie (Australian Shepherd 8 yrs old), Bonnie.
Princess, was one of several born to a gray tabby. My daughter kept it and its brother (Scamp) a Siamese. The mother got around one night for sure!
Princess used to be very independent, snobbish, but will now wait on the front stoop and when we park in the drive will walk out to the car to greet us home. Worst sratch I got from her was one night, she lept into bed and landed on my leg, claws out of course, and startled in my sleep, I swung my leg.
Bonnie is very smart and can even say "hello." She can't do it as well as the Sheltie (Duncan) we had, as her 'voice' is lower than his was.
I used to have Duncan say hello to the neighbors kids so they would quit being afraid of dogs. He loved to 'sing' when I played my harmonica. He scared away a burglar the first week we moved in our new house back in '85.
As I posted in another thread, Bonnie saved our house from burning when he alerted our son to an overheating Black&Decker toaster oven. She is definitely one of the best Anniversary presents I bought my wife.
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We are currently without any cats while we wait for some life situations become more certain. It's awful. 
I wasn't fully awake at that point--who knows, I might even have made some attempt to reinflate her. 
Several weeks later, she presented us with her four kittens which she had hidden in the woods. They were all wild but we did manage to catch the female as well as the mother and off to the vets they went. No more kittens.
The two left are Miss Kitty (original, isn't it?) and Patches. 
So, I fed him. 
Like a lot of people, we don't exactly have to make an effort to get cats: they just have a way of showing up. 
We've got that "Feline Rescue Mission" mentality, it seems. 
