2
How To Tell If A Teenager Has Fed Your Pet
Posted by Catherine, the redhead mom blogger on Jun 14, 2009 in Pets 101
Until next time -
C
Stumble Upon
Del.icio.us
Buzz
Here’s A Quick Way To Inherit A Pet
Posted by Catherine, the redhead mom blogger on Feb 24, 2009 in Pets 101
Dear Brian,
Boonie, your dog would like you to see the indignities she puts up with when you are away.
Upset as she was, I let her curl up on your favorite jeans you left in a heap on the floor.
She shook water near your open video games that have been laying there for a week.
I love you,
Mom
Until next time-
C
Video: How To Play Baseball With A Cat Up A Tree
Posted by Catherine, the redhead mom blogger on Jul 22, 2008 in Pets 101
Brian’s cat Shadow likes to play catch with Brian, either by batting the ball back, or catching it and throwing it back. Click on “MORE” below to see the video.
Only a boy who loves to play baseball could have a cat that likes to play catch. You just can’t make this shi* up. Now, this is our first attempt at video. Please feel free to make fun of us. Of course you should be warned that it can be dangerous to piss off a redhead.
Why do I sound like Charlie Brown when I am being recorded?
Until next time-
C
Who Else Wants To Read A Redheadism?
Posted by Catherine, the redhead mom blogger on Mar 28, 2008 in Pets 101
There is nothing more sad than a dog’s face in the morning when the boy of the house has left for school.
Until next time-
C
How To Get A Dog To Beg
Posted by Catherine, the redhead mom blogger on Mar 6, 2008 in Pets 101
“Brian! Please come in here and feed your dog.”
“BUT MOM! I just fed her yesterday!”
I think I should feed Brian by the same logic. What do you think?
Until next time-
C
Who Else Wants People To Stop When They Hit An Animal?
Posted by Catherine, the redhead mom blogger on Dec 26, 2007 in Pets 101
It seems Brian’s Christmas Eve magic continues from year to year as his new kitty was hit by a car on Christmas Eve, only to sustain a small cut on her forehead.
In Brian’s annual Christmas Eve wish he asked for his kitty to be fine … and she is.
I am amazed.
And yes, the car did hit the cat. The driver was speeding down our street and never stopped.
I, on the other hand survived with a glass of red wine while the kitty slept in my arms.
Merry Christmas Silver Oak.
Until next time-
C
The Cat Who Came Back Home For Christmas
Posted by Catherine, the redhead mom blogger on Dec 21, 2007 in Pets 101
Christmas Eve, the glorious night when Santa flashes across the night sky, children lay restless in their beds and parents spend the last waking hours wrapping, preparing, building and swearing.
And a time when wishes can come true.
In the year 2000, my son Brian and I moved out of our country home and into a tiny condo. The move was last minute, because dwellings were in high demand due to the Telecom boom in Sonoma County California. To ease the adjustment from country cats to city cats, I left Brian’s kitties for the last thing to move.
However, (the best laid plans of mice and men) in my delay to return to the house, the cats vanished. All the here kitty, kitty calls went unanswered. It was almost as if the cats never existed.
Brian was five; old enough to ask the difficult questions we parents wish children wouldn’t ask.
“Where is Annabelle? … Why did she leave? … Did someone take her? … Doesn’t she love us anymore? … Is she dead? … What about Black Kitty?”
And every time the weather turned bad I would hear, “Do you think our kitties are cold? … Are they homeless? … Do you think they are starving? … Do you think they hate us for leaving them?”
Over the next two years, I returned many times to our old country home. I’d stand in the field and call the kitties names without response. I’d check all the shelters and the paper. The cats are never there. Two years pass without a word about our missing kitties. I gave up all hope of ever seeing them again.
Enter Christmas 2002.
The 2002 year was a difficult one for Brian. It was a year filled with many unhappy adjustments to situations and personal disappointments. Rolling into Christmas Eve he still didn’t seem his usual happy Brian-self. I said a short silent prayer to God and knelt in front of Brian.
“Do you know what day this is boobello?”
“Yes. It’s the night that Santa comes.”
“That’s right. But it is also the night that special wishes come true.”
“Really?”
“Yes, and I have a special wish, but I need your help.”
“OK.”
“I want to wish that we find our lost kitties tonight, on Christmas Eve. Let’s close our eyes and think really hard and make a wish that our kitties come home.”
“OK”
Brian stands up in a flash, ready to try anything to get his kitties back. He squeezes his eyes so tight that I think they might disappear forever. I pray that God will forget my transgressions and bless this great kid with a miracle.
When Brian opens his eyes we gather our coats and get into the car.
“Will this really work Mom?” He asks in that tone of a child who has lost the hope and magic of Christmas. “Of course it will,” I answer as my throat goes dry. I silently tell myself that God will not let this great little boy down on Christmas over this small request. Something in my gut tells me it will be fine. We drive over to our old house. The sun is just beginning to set, and all the Christmas lights are starting to come alive. The country is beautiful, like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting.
We get out of the car and walk right out into our old field. We hold hands as I instruct Brian to wait a minute before we began calling for the cats, so the Christmas eve magic has a chance to work. We take a deep breath and call to our kitties.
Nothing.
We call a second time.
Nothing.
The silence tears at my soul.
Brian looks up at me with that face which says, See! Christmas doesn’t love us after all!
Just at that moment I hear a faint meow. The meow is so faint that I almost think I am loosing my mind (this happens often to me). I call out to the cats again, and this time Brian hears a meow too.
“Mom? Did you hear that?”
“Yes!”
We walk quickly forward through the tall grass now yelling their names. The meow now approaches us, as if answering “I’m coming! I’m coming!”
Out from behind a tree appears a very skinny, much older Annabelle – Brian’s favorite kitty. I stand frozen, as I am sure she can’t be real. Brian screams and starts umping up and down, “It’s our Annabelle! It’s our Annabelle!”
I walk up to Annabelle, bend down and scoop her up. She immediately begins to purr. Her eyes look at me as if to say “I’ve been waiting – where have you been?” Brian is still jumping up and down yelling her name.
I am stunned that my plan as worked.
God lord, our wish has come true. We place our Annabelle in the car and continue to call for Black Kitty. He does not respond. Brian hardly notices, as he is too preoccupied with Annabelle. He wants to hurry and get her back to our condo.
I make a few last calls for Black Kitty before leaving to return home. Brian carries Annabelle so tightly into our home that I am afraid her head will explode. I have to nag Brian to put her down and let her explore the condo. I dig through the cupboards and find some tuna. Annabelle eats then drinks some water. She heads straight for Brian’s room – just like she often did when we were in the country. She curls up on Brian’s pillow and falls fast asleep.
“Mom” Brian whispers as he stares bright-eyed at Annabelle, “I love Christmas Eve magic.”
“Me too, son.”
It was the best Christmas.
Annabelle, our Christmas Eve kitty stayed with us until she died of old age.
Black kitty was discovered years later living with a real estate neighbor friend who adores him. Black Kitty made it clear to us that he preferred his new owners posh digs to us. Brian was OK with it – he had his Annabelle.
Brian and I still make Christmas Eve wishes.
Merry Christmas to all of you - may your Christmas wishes come true too.
Until next time-
C
Is Your Cat Sick From Her Thyroid Too
Posted by Catherine, the redhead mom blogger on Jan 15, 2006 in Pets 101
I am nursing a very sick kitty, cleaning house, and playing with Brian. Our Annabel kitty has thyroid disease.
Even though thyroid diseases can be hereditary, it is an autoimmune disease, which means that something happens to the immune system – it turns on itself and begins to attack organs. In Annabel’s case it is her heart, then liver. Which makes me wonder if we have been exposed to something in our environment that has compromised our immune systems.
A year ago the bathtub and tiles were replaced due to water leaking around the old ties and getting behind to the wood within the walls. When the tile was removed, black mold was thriving within the wall. A contractor came to replace the shower, and he cleaned and treated the interior walls and joints. The smell of the mold is something I will never forget.
As soon as he had pulled the old shower and tile out, the smell was over-whelming. It gave me an extreme headache, and I never get headaches.
We live at the bottom of a hill that is an oak forest, it is always damp.
I don’t know… I just don’t know.
And I am also bone exhausted so who knows how clear my thinking is. I am afraad my son’s kitty is going to die.
Until next time -
C
How Annabel The Cat Makes Me Cry
Posted by Catherine, the redhead mom blogger on Jan 10, 2006 in Pets 101
As busy as our lives can be, sometimes objects of our affection become sick right before our very eyes, leaving us wondering how, and when it started to happen.
It happened for my mother, who witnessed my dad’s upset stomach for years before finding out it was esophagus cancer, with an extremely high mortality rate. She was so used to saving people. It was difficult to understand how this could happen in her own home, right under her nose.
When did he get so sick?
In the Spring of 1992, my ex-husband and I stopped at a local heath fair while enjoying a relaxing Sunday afternoon. As we approached the entrance there was a woman with a calico tabby cat in a cage and a sign, which read, “Free To the Right Owner”. She was interviewing candidates for this cute calico cat. My ex-husband (who could rescue every animal in the free world if he could) naturally stopped out of curiosity. I hung back because once I touch an available animal, I own it.
Thus how I got married to my ex-husband.
This free cat stretched her paw out of the cage and hooked the sleeve of my ex’s shirt – holding on for dear life. The cat owner spins around, smiles and says, “She wants you!” “Oh good lord,” I thought, as 15 other people shoot my ex and I dirty looks. He comes to me, “Want a cat?” “We have a dog,” I respond.
As it was, I was the one walking the dog every night, feeding and bathing her even though he had brought the dog into our relationship. “Louise (the dog) loves cats!” he answers. ‘Really?’ I thought. Louise the dog loves to attempt to kill skunks, moles, birds, possums, and raccoons with great zeal so I can’t imagine her loving a cat.
I tell him we need to talk about it since I don’t like making snap judgments, so we walked away to enter the fair. I said, “If she is there when we leave – it was meant that we take her home with us.” I was sure she would go to one of the people in the crowd that gave us evil looks. Cat people are weird.
My ex-husband never hurried through so many booths in his life. Upon leaving (which I swear was no more than 10 minutes), the cat was still there. The woman was contemplating giving her away at the moment as my ex-husband shouts, “We will take her!”
People turn, as the owner smiles with delight and answers “She is yours.” Cat people are glaring. I want to yell, “IT’S JUST A CAT PEOPLE!” Instead, I cuddle Annabel the kitty up in my arms and smile. She was as soft as a cloud with a LOUD purr. She sounds like a hot rod engine.
This is how Annabel came into our lives.
Annabel the kitty entered our home when she was just over a year old. The woman gave us food, a bed and a carrying cage. She wanted to find Annabel a home where she could roam outside. We just happened to live in a cottage in the country . . .
When Brian was born, Annabel changed to sleeping under his crib, as if protecting him through the night. If he started to fuss, she would get up, come into our bedroom and meow telling us we needed to wake up and tend to Brian. As Brian became a toddler, he would often carry her butt side up. Her hot rod purr would play, as if to say, “It’s ok, he’s just my boy.”
In the most painful times of my divorce, Annabel often crawled into my arms as if to say, “I know your heart hurts” and would purr loudly until I forgot my troubled thoughts. She likes to sleep with Brian, always wanting to protect him through the night.
After my divorce, when I could no longer afford the cottage in the country, it was time to move Brian in town so he could have more of a city life with friends. My ex-husband agreed to retrieve Annabel while I moved and set up the new place. I never thought moving would upset Annabel. When he went back to the cottage to retrieve her, Annabel disappeared. We tried for weeks to find her, leaving food out – even to the point of setting traps, but all we ever caught were raccoons.
One Christmas Eve came and I had a strange gut feeling. Christmas Eve has always been a magical night for me for as long as I can remember. I told Brian, “Did you know that Santa grants wishes on Christmas Eve?” “He does?” Brian asks, wide-eyed. “Oh yes Brian, he does. Let’s close our eyes really hard and wish for Annabel to come back home to us for Christmas.” We closed our eyes, made our wish, and at sunset got into my truck and drove over to the cottage. We got out and called and called her. I began to think that I may have set Brian up for an awful Christmas Eve disappointment, and was about to become his great Christmas liar mom, when out from the field comes this thin version of our Annabel.
I cautioned Brian, as she had not seen us for a year and I wasn’t sure if she turned wild, so I gently approached her, but she would not come to me. Instead, she went to Brian who scooped her up, kissed her, and she started to drool. We brought her home on Christmas Eve, back where she belonged.
Ever since Christmas Eve those 5 years ago, Annabel has been happily making friends with everyone who comes to visit this little complex we now all call home. Different neighbors feed her treats; others give her loving pats and some even let her into their home. We have called her the ambassador, because she never lets anyone leave the complex without a meow and some love.
But lately our Annabel has become very thin, thinner than is normal for a pet that always has food available. She is 14 years old, but is looking 18. I had to sit down this week and really watch her. To my shock (with all her loving, acting much the same, going in and out) while examining her close I can see she is painfully thin. Her breathing is heavy and her purr sounds like an asthma attack. I have been through this enough to know…
Our Annabel is dying.
I told Brian that I feel Annabel is very ill. Brian cried, and I explained that Annabel has lived a long and wonderful life. I called my ex and told him my thoughts and asked him to come examine her. He came over this morning after Brian was in school and we watched Annabel together. Her breathing is heavy and hard. She is so thin that the act of breathing makes it appear that her ribs might break with every breath. This doesn’t stop her from getting up on his lap and drooling her love all over him.
My ex looks up at me as he feels her body, “Damn she is so thin.” “I know.” I am feeding her three times a day, but it changes nothing. He looks me in the eye “I think our Annabel is very, very ill” I nod as tears roll down my face. I have seen this before with the pets I grew up with. “Have you prepared Brian that she might be dying?” he asks, holding back his own tears. “Yes, and I told him we need to take her to the vet to see what is wrong – and sometimes they don’t come back home from the vet. Brian wants to be a part of the decision.”
If the Vet says that she has to go I hope we can bring her home and bury her in the garden, where she loves to lie amongst the burial memorials of the dead goldfish, tadpoles, hermit crabs we tried to raise without success. It is under this little clearing where the flowered branches meet, next to my pink rose bush, just under Brian’s bedroom window. There is a Celtic cross statue that sits toward the back, against a flowering lily of the valley. The afternoon sun warms this spot upon the ground and Annabel loves to curl up there like a rounded rock in the garden. Of course the bird bath is not far to the left as she dreams of a bird wandering into her paws, but not motivated enough to actually hunt them.
I am still not able to wrap my head around the idea that we may have to decide to put her down. I have never thought of Annabel leaving us. She is a cat who has reinvented her life several times now, and most of all,
She’s family.
Until next time-
C
The Mom
