Who needs prozac when they have purrzac?

We all know how in love I am with Emmy, my furchild.  She is the yin to my yang, my furry soul mate and the spice in my Szechuan-style shrimp.  She has been with me, literally, through thick and thin, feast and famine, hell and high water and I don't know how I would have survived the trials and tribulations of life without her.

I know that some day I won't have the benefit of  her love and affection (on her terms and in her time, of course), but until that time comes (and she's in excellent health), I am going to spend every possible minute with her that I can and that is one of the many MANY reasons I love being self-employed!  When she wants affection, I give it to her.  She gets the best treats and food available and to tend to  her health care needs, I have a vet (almost) on retainer.  The first thing I did when I came to visit my son was to ask the pet owners in the complex who the very best vet in the area was and after checking his references online, I have his phone number on speed dial and directions there in my navigational device.

 ~ long pause here because she draped herself across the keyboard making it impossible to type~

She has a cat tree, a heated cat bed, a ton of cat toys, a catio (think large, full sized window box that has been screened in and has two beds in it), and we are in the process of fully screening in the balcony at my son's house so she can really live it up in style while we are visiting in Denver. 

Of course, I'm not the only one that lets her have her way or dotes on her.  Here she is with my son's dear friend Salem.  She is helping him surf, as you can see.  

And here she is with most of the "gang".  I call this one The Cat and The Hats.

She is the life of the party, until she is tired.  Then she's just stick a fork in me done.

Fetching Balls

I woke up this morning to find one of my boots, for lack of a better word, shredded. Not just the laces, which is a common occurrence in my household, but the boot back and pull-on tab as well. I had heard the party noises coming from the living room last night but was too tired to get up and check out the commotion. I guess I should have.

And speaking of cats, most nights they only bother me a few times (per cat that is, and since there are 6…well you do the math), but last night I was apparently blocking the main thoroughfare in a highly traveled part of catworld. Not only did they run across me every few minutes, but they also did things like drop their fetching balls (do NOT take that in a naughty way) and cat-nip filled whales on top of me. They also attacked my appendages every time I so much as twitched. Oh the joys of being owned by a herd (Gaggle? Flock? Troupe?) of cats.

There were also mysteries afoot in the house of cats. This morning as I staggered to the kitchen for coffee, I noticed that the cat condo was tipped over. Nothing new there and I vowed to return it to its upright position when I had taken care of my first-thing-in-the-morning chores (i.e. turn on the computer, log in to my work and Google email, and look at the newspaper online). Usually this part of my morning is interrupted at least a dozen times by W Kitty, aka Orange Belly. She brings her fetching balls (ok, go ahead and laugh) to me and then digs her darling claws into my leg. I throw the ball, she brings it back, I throw the ball, she drops it and comes back empty mouthed expecting me to produce a ball out of thin air (which I am able to do because I keep a couple of spares on the computer desk).

This morning, no W Kitty. No claws digging into my thigh. No constant “Meowrrrrr”. My sleep-deprived brain vaguely registered this fact, assumed that she was still sleeping and went on to answer emails and drink stout coffee. I looked around the room and noticed that Mini Cat was staring intently at the cat condo, which was still lying on the floor. Thinking that she probably wanted to sit on it and look outside, I walked over, reached down and started to lift. Then I saw it…a little cat face peering out of the side of the condo. W Kitty jumped out, looked at me as if to say “what took you so frigging long” and then went to find one of her fetching balls.

She was obviously traumatized by the event.

Such is life in the cathouse.