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As you can see, the kittens are terribly intimidated by the dog.

More after the jump, including zombie kittens!

Continue Reading “All three together!”

Damn they move fast.  And the lighting in my room sucks to boot.  But I got 2 pics today!

They are so sweet.  Their personalities are definitely starting to emerge – Lily stops for attention before going off to conquer the universe and if Carmen is getting cuddled, she’s right there going, “What about ME?!”  She’s a leg climber and does a lovely impression of a parrot on my shoulder.  The minute she hears me coming in the room she’s off the top of the carrier and right there waiting when the door opens.  Carmen has already established her “waking up from a nap” routine.  There’s some rolling around on top of the carrier, then she slides off it, works on her nails on the little mat, then comes sauntering out to see what’s going on.  She’s figured out that the big wide world isn’t going anywhere, so she can take her time.

The minute I pick up either one, they start to purr.  Their incisions are really starting to heal nicely, thank you Dr. Alt, Clavamox and hydrogen peroxide.  This is a good thing because they’re getting more active every day and keeping them in check is getting very, very difficult.

Cat TV is awesome, they found yesterday’s episodes to be particularly compelling because of the wind – lots of leaves blowing around and the trees were moving.  Since I’ve shown them the windows, at night they look at them and look at me with this “Turn it back ON!” look.

Moxley is happy they are here, but doesn’t quite know what to make of them.  This morning Lily marched right up to him and headbutted him and then laid down right next to him.  I thought his head was going to explode.  But he stayed perfectly still, and didn’t even flinch when Lily went after his tail.  He did definitely want to go ahead and return to his station down on the couch after that.  Carmen will walk up to him and give him a, “Hey dog.” look but then goes on to patrol the master closet.  (She finds it quite interesting despite there being nothing she can get into in there.)

And on to the pics!  (Nope, didn’t make my bed this morning.)

And just in time to drop off their medical history at the vets office for their Monday appointment.

I have no new pics because the autofocus on my camera can’t keep up and I can’t get them to stay still.

The dilute tortie formerly known as San Diego is now: Carmen Sandiego.

AKA, Carmen, Carm, Carmela, Karmann Ghia, Carmelita Mamacita, Big Sis, and Dumbass.

The harlequin tortie formerly known as Sylvia is now: Lily Tomlin.

AKA, Lily, LilyCat, LilyLilyLily, Gila Monster, Little Sis, and Dingbat.

Mox had quite the adventure with them this morning, with Carmen deciding to take a swing at him (no contact, she had been batting at my hair and thought he looked fun) and then Lily doing that “kitten jump” thing straight at him, scaring the crap out of him.  (Target & Snoopy tolerated him very well, but didn’t actively approach him very often, so this is very new for him.)

I just missed 90% of the first period of the Caps season opener to cuddle with them.  (And be their human jungle gym.)  Still don’t really have names – San Diego’s name may stick as it seems to work somehow.  (Though Donald insists the full name must be Carmen Sandiego, then it will be an actual girl’s name.  This from the guy who was ready give Sylvia the name Harvey.)  San Diego is happy and sunny and looks like she stayed out on the beach too long and bleached out – the name could work well.  Sylvia is definitely NOT a Sylvia, but we can’t figure out what her name is yet.

Sylvia is a tiny bit more “in your face” than San Diego, but not by much.  I think she has decided that the e-collar makes her a badass.  Neither one has a lick of grace.  The number of times they have slid out of my lap is too many to count already.

They purr constantly.  It’s adorable – you can actually hear it on the other side of the bathroom door.

It has been 16 years since I have had kittens.  Though most everything else has changed, it is very nice that kittens are still kittens.

– They are exhausting.

– Trying to keep them quiet is a joke, but I try anyway.

– Put the crate in the bathroom.  They seemed pleased and happily tripped over themselves to get inside.  An hour later, they were sleeping on top of it.

– A random piece of cellophane is AWESOME.

– They try SO hard to stay awake because they don’t want to miss anything.  When they finally give in, they just tip over and zonk out wherever they are.

– They have no fear.  Sylvia has already figured out there is more on the other side of the bedroom door and WANTS TO SEE IT ALL.  (San Diego was more interested in what was under the bed at the time.)

– Tails are dangerous and must be subdued!

– Treats and fingers are interchangeable.  I have the kitten-tooth-pinpricks all over my fingers to prove it.

Moxley is hilarious with them.  He studies them intently as long as they are not looking at him.  If they look at him, he averts his gaze.  I can only imagine he worries they will jump on his head if he makes eye contact.  (Which is certainly a possibility, eye contact or not.)

Cause that’s when these two darlings will be coming home:

and

The picture quality isn’t spectacular cause it’s a scan off the adoption contract, their pics have already been taken off the website.

For the moment, their names are San Diego and Sylvia – but we’ll be watching and seeing what they name themselves.  (Even the shelter folks said, “You don’t have to keep the names!” and agreed that they do tend to name themselves.)  They are about 2 months old and were bottle-fed fosters and are totally socialized and even like dogs already.  And Sylvia doesn’t look as angry as she does in her picture.

I realized that I was well beyond ready for cats again and to the point of NEEDING them around the house – it’s been over a year since Target went off to his great kitty reward.  So the other day I headed over to the Fairfax County Animal Shelter and started looking.  I wanted young cats since I figured they’d have a better chance at adapting to a dog, and I wanted two of them – I really figured this would take a while, cause they had lots of singles, or “doesn’t like other cats” or “doesn’t like dogs”.  But when I walked in on Tuesday, there was a sign on one of the kitty condos for the volunteers to keep it empty since there would be four fosters coming in on Wednesday.  Went in yesterday and they hadn’t arrived yet.  Damn!  Checked the website last night and they had been added.  You can bet I was there today at noon sharp when they opened.

Went in and saw they were there and fussed all over them and went back to the desk and filled out the “I live here and don’t have a landlord” slip so I could play with them loose in the visit room.  The volunteer had some fun with me when I came back in and said,
“You’re on the ball and so are others – two are already gone!”
*blink*blink*
“You’re kidding!”
“I am, I already put two in the visiting room and getting the other two so you can all play.”

OMG, talk about cute overload.  They were a little wary at first coming out of their cozy condo into the big visiting room.  (Let’s face it, when you’re 2 pounds anything bigger than a bathroom is HUGE.)  But they were quick to explore and start playing and next thing I know San Diego is sitting in my lap looking up at me as if to say, “OK, when are we going home?”  Well, one decision made.

Sylvia wasn’t quite as quick in sensing a sucker when she saw one but decided after not very long that I was OK and came over for scratches and pettings every time I called, and was quite happy to play with the feather-on-a-stick game with me, and headbutt me for attention.  Shirley and Skyler are both awesome, too, and will be snapped up soon if they haven’t been already.  They’re on the website, and it’s updated every hour.

Off to sign adoption papers!  Things have changed a bit since the last time I got a cat from the county shelter.  (1992-ish?)  It used to be that you paid some kind of spay deposit that I think either turned into a discount depending on the vet you used, or you got a refund when you brought the spay certificate in.  But you took the cat home that day and it was up to you to get them fixed when they were old enough.

Well, it seems that too many people can’t be trusted to actually go get it done.  (Which doesn’t shock me.)  Now, they go from the shelter to the vet they use and get their heath checkup and spay and you pick them up from the vet.  So, Sunday night they’ll head over to the vet, Monday is the surgery and Tuesday I can go get them!

I’m going to be a basketcase this weekend.

Hit the pool for the dog day again this year and a good time was had by all.  Mox is not even slightly interested in the water, but there’s grass to run on and his adoring fan base of kids was there.

The kids, they do love Moxley.

Given that Fairfax’s county fair has long since been nothing more than a massive trade show and concert venue, the fact that we have enough interested kids in the county to support a 4H club and a fair is nothing short of a miracle.

It was at Frying Pan Park/Kidwell Farm, which is a gorgeous little spot.  I totally LOVE these fairs – just wish there had been more animal exhibits.  (Either they didn’t have enough people for chickens and other poultry, or it was yesterday.)  They had botanical exhibits, livestock handling and a bunch o’ bunnies.

The rest of the pics are here.

But damned if I know what it is. I can say with a fair amount of confidence that Timmy isn’t stuck in a well anywhere, so that’s something.

However, given the wide range of “sitting up with paws folded” cuteness posistions can mean, I really have no idea. It can mean any of the following:

Let’s go play ball!! It’s the middle of the night and the light-up balls have disappeared in the backyard.
I’m hungry! Except that he’s gotten multiple treats since I got home.
Rub my tummy! Did that and it made no difference.
Just sit on the floor with me! Did that, too. Still getting the ‘dog imitating a meerkat’ routine.

Sat down and cuddled with him one more time, and he just gave up. He’s now on his blankie on his side of the couch looking decidedly annoyed with my ability to read his mind.

Note to self: Find the light up balls so we can play catch at night…

Cause it’s much cooler than a bunny with a pancake on it’s head.

Yes, that is my dog.  On my pink yoga mat.  It’s really nice of him to share it with me…

Up to the pub for beer and SportsCenter this evening.  Nice time, and I come home, ready to curl up and nod off to dreamland on the couch – forget actually trekking upstairs, I’m freaking TIRED today for no good reason.  Come in, let Moxley out, apologize profusely for the fact that the backyard floodlight went out sometime in the past two hours and promise that I’ll get it replaced tomorrow.

Dog back in.  Dog out again.  Dog back in.  (We call it the in-out syndrome.)  Dog out one last time.  Dog back in, with what appears to be one of his stuffed animals in his mouth.

Except it’s a little on the large size for any of his toys.

Trots over to the middle of the living room while I am shutting the back door, drops it, and trots back to me, EXTREMELY proud of himself.

I get a better look at his gift to me.

A squirrel.  A very dead squirrel.  A very LARGE dead squirrel.

I am not horrified that he has brought me a squirrel.  He’s a dog.  Dogs do that.  I really wish he HADN’T brought it in, but not much I can do at this point, since I didn’t even see what he had until it was too late.  Given the amount of rigor and/or effects of deep freeze, I’m fairly certain the dog did not actually dispatch said squirrel himself and it had died of natural causes and fell out of a tree into the yard.  (Quite possibly on his head.)  Given his lifelong quest for keeping me safe from the squirrels via chasing and barking, I really do understand how pleased he is with himself over this spoil of his continuing war against Sciurus Carolinensis.

I am very rattled nonetheless, mainly because of my concern of this turning into some zombie squirrel movie where the damn thing comes back to life while I’m trying to get it out of my living room.  So of course, my first move is to call my brother.  Why?  I don’t know, but talking to someone seemed to be the logical thing to do next.  (OK, maybe not talking as much as freaking out in as even a tone as possible.)  It went something along the lines of “YOUR DOG brought a dead squirrel in the house.  YOU NEED TO TELL HIM NOT TO DO THAT ANYMORE.”

Needless to say at this point, I’m certainly not sleepy anymore as I look at the dog and tell him, “Take it back outside.  Please.  Seriously.  It’s like Mom always told me, ‘Wild things need to stay wild’ and I couldn’t bring frogs in the house, so you can’t bring squirrels in the house.  Take it back out, please!”

No, Mox is still sitting on the other side of the room, tail wagging, so very pleased with himself and not quite understanding why I am not as thrilled at this gift as he is.

OK, so the dog isn’t going to take the squirrel back out, and I’m not going to wait until my brother gets home because frankly, it could thaw and come back to life in that time, and the last thing I need is an undead squirrel running around the house.  First, I thank the dog for his present and give him a pat on the head and ask one more time if he would please take it back outside.  No need to get mad at him, cause he won’t understand anyway and he’s SO proud of himself.  Sure, I’m not thrilled with him at all, but scolding him isn’t going to do anything but confuse him.

OK, time to get the late, great, and damn large squirrel out.  The upside is that he appears to be near frozen solid, so there are no bits-o-squirrel scattered about the living room.  Really, nothing more than a trash bag needed.  But not the kitchen garbage bags.  The undead squirrel will leap to life, come right through them and kill me.  Nope, time for not one, but two of Costco’s super heavy duty 55 gallon contractor rated trash bags.  The environmental lobby can bitch all they want about waste, I am not going to have my obituary read, “Killed by an undead squirrel.”

Get the damn HUGE critter wrapped in one bag and deposited in the other one.  I know we have pretty porked out squirrels around here, but I never have been this close to one of them – my god, they are very well fed.

Out to the trash can and thanking my lucky stars that it will not get above freezing tonight, and that tomorrow is trash day.  I feel ZERO guilt for any noise in getting the bin out to the curb – it **was** a low volume trash week for us and I wasn’t even going to put it out for collection, but now that there is a dead mammal in it, all bets are off.

The dog keeps walking over to where he left the squirrel and looking and me wondering where his awesome find went.

I really need to get that floodlight replaced so I can see what the dog is bringing in before he brings it in.

Please be aware that you need to download form RNBW-UNC-2009 from Change.gov, fully complete the form and return it to the White House, or your local chapter of the Democratic National Committee.

Bear in mind that these are live animals and can’t just be sent out willy-nilly across the country like a slew of tax stimulus checks.  There is also the issue that only so many unicorns can be fit in a standard USPS delivery truck, and trained animal handlers are still being dispatched to the regional post offices.  Delivery addresses need to be confirmed as well as verification that zoning laws allow unicorns in residences in your area.  If you rent your home, a note from your landlord indicating that unicorns are allowed as pets will be required as well.

Additionally, it has been brought to light that many people are planning on naming their unicorn “Hope” or “Change”…  You may wish to seriously consider alternate names, as you could end up with half a dozen unicorns at your back door when you go out to call “Hope” inside for the evening.

Finally, please do not be duped by those claiming that they can “expedite” your unicorn delivery for a “small administrative fee” – these are not legitimate government officials, and often can also be found selling “marijuana farming licenses” as well as “jackalope hunting permits”  Be aware!

Enjoy your unicorn, and be sure to follow the care and feeding instructions that will be provided at delivery.

I say Slinky Cat…

http://mfrost.typepad.com/cute_overload/2008/11/noodle-kitteh-i.html

Safe For Work.

So, I’m sitting here watching college hockey and enjoying a quiet Sunday afternoon when suddenly the dog goes NUTS barking at something.

I take a look outside – no dogs or cats or squirrels or moose.  Then I look up a bit and see it.

The neighbors directly across the street are on their roof cleaning out their gutters this afternoon.

Now, I’m not quite sure why this upsets my dog so greatly – I can only guess he’s concerned for their safety.  (He’s also a touch obsessed with them anyway, there is a fair amount of activity at the house in general and he likes to sit and watch through the window.)

Now, what I want to know is why he doesn’t really look out for ME?

– No!  Don’t try that recipe, it will be terrible!
– No!  Don’t answer the door, it’s political campaigners!
– No!  Don’t doze on the couch, you’ll get a crick in your neck!
– No!  Don’t wear that shirt, don’t you see where you spilled something on it earlier?

Tonight, we broke the rules.  “We” being myself and Moxley.

In season, dogs aren’t allowed on the beach in Southern Shores.  (One neighborhood north, they are allowed year round.)  I understand why – in any given population, there is X% that don’t clean up after their critters.  In the offseason, in real numbers, that percentage is tolerable.  During the season, it’s not tolerable as far as this neighborhood is concerned.

Well, when we got back from dinner this evening and I took the pup out for his evening sojourn, we headed for the dune deck to just take a look at the surf in the near full moon.  Mox was having none of this “watching” stuff and headed down the steps to the beach.  I gave a wide sweep with the maglite to see if we had company.  Well, we were alone and I had all the necessary accouterments should cleanup be necessary, so off we went.

I know, I know – we shouldn’t have, especially since the local gendarmes here already have my name on file.  But Mox doesn’t know the difference between on and off season and when he’s here off season, he is perfectly behaved on the beach and tonight was no different.  We chased a bunch of ghost crabs and had a lovely walk under the moon and left nothing but doggie footprints.  (Which seem to be around every morning on the beach. so I’m fairly certain we’re not the only miscreants about.)

Have to say, he’s a pretty good tracker.  He’d get a scent of a nearby crab and would go nose down into the sand and well, if you didn’t know he was following the track of a crab, you’d think he was drunk for all the weaving and figure 8’s as he followed the scent until he caught up with the crab, which of course would immediately head for the water.  Undaunted, he’d just start looking for the next one.

He’s a pretty good beach dog for being bred for the wilds of Tibet.

When the wildlife comes up and poses for you.

I was down on the beach, on my stomach & propped up on my elbows reading a book and minding my own business when something went skittering under my chest.  I sit up and find myself face to face with the biggest, boldest sand/ghost crab I have ever seen.  And he was rather insulted that I had abruptly taken away his shade.  He spent some time on the towel, then under my chair, then back up around to my book again as if to say, “Whatcha reading?”

Couple more pics:

Continue Reading “Wildlife photography is easy!”

Best Cat Ever.  Couldn’t have asked for a better 15 years from my furry friend.

What do you do with a piglet who is afraid of mud? Why get her a set of wellies, courtesy of a Paddington Bear doll.

Seriously, click it – it is TOO ADORABLE!!

Absolutely adorable baby monkey at the London Zoo – with video.

And it’s about damn time…  The awesome folks at Burke Automotive were able to take care of things right away and in the time it took me to walk over to the shopping center, grab some lunch and walk back, I had a repaired tire.  $35.  Nice.

Had to pop over to the vet and pick up flea & tick stuff, and met the newest member of Dr. Alt’s family – an adorable beagle/basset/cocker mix puppy named “Jill”- she had been hit by a car and her leg was broken, someone brought her in and no owners could be located.  (How you could not miss this darling pup is beyond me.)  So, she now belongs to him.  Well, the little one couldn’t have landed in better hands for a forever home.  Her leg seems to have healed up quite well and she LOVES to make new friends.  (Much to Moxley’s dismay when I returned home and smelled like another dog.)

Hundreds of villagers have flocked to a remote Indian village to see a baby girl who was saved by stray dogs after she was abandoned in a mound of mud by her mother, officials said on Tuesday.

Once again, I’m more impressed with animals than people.

OK, he’s a dog, he pretty much loves everyone. But her REALLY loves me right now.

In the course of making some nachos for dinner, not only did some refried beans hit the floor, but some taco filling and cheese to boot.

He’s a happy little critter right now.

Trying to get some alone time… (SFW)

Now that I have my critters back.  They also got nice report cards for their stay at the kennel.

Mox pretty well destroyed his green froggie toy I sent along with him – gutted it nicely.

Target yowled the entire way home.  The lady that tended to him remembered Snoopy from this summer and asked about him – I felt so bad having to tell her that he had passed away.  She said that Target seemed a little sad at times.  (I’m glad I signed him up for extra cuddle time.)  He looks like he lost a bit of weight, so operation “fatten up the kitty” starts today.  I am sure he’ll be amenable to some extra treats and goodies with his food.  Since he normally free-feeds, trying to get him to eat on a schedule doesn’t always work.

But they’re home and they’re happy and I’m happy.

It’s 45 degrees with 20 mph winds – of COURSE the dog is outside and absolutely refuses to come in. I do not understand his “wild dog of the north” complex he gets when it’s windy outside, but he LOVES it. Makes us look like we’re abusing him and locking him out in this weather, but he knows he can come inside whenever he wants, and if I open the door and ask him if he wants in, he looks at me like I have lost my mind.

The wind is bad enough that it blew the back door open while little bro & I went off to run an errand, so upon returning it was time to play the “find the cat” game. Searched the house, outside, shook the treat bag, called and yelled and nothing – and then out of nowhere he just appeared in the upstairs hallway with this look on his face of “WTF is with all the yelling? I’m trying to nap here.” I still have no idea where he hides out upstairs when he’s not snoozing on the bed.

Yes, you read that right – because today, Moxley is certainly not MY dog. Little bugger has been driving me up the wall today.

I just now got him to come inside after being out for about six and a half hours. (Today’s high: 46 degrees.) Today’s trick was to come to the door, sit and look pathetic and then when I would go to let him in – RUN AWAY!!!!!!! WOOHOO!! Let me just tell you, that gets old after a bit.

In the morning he gets biscuits after he goes out. Since he didn’t want to come in, I just set the biscuits on the floor inside so he could get them when he finally came in. Well, the cat comes downstairs and is sitting too close to said biscuits – so, what does the little dingbat do? Barks at the cat – through the back door – but won’t come in because said cat is blocking his path. The cat that is about 10 pounds to his 30. Of course, the cat sees no need to move since the dog isn’t actually coming inside, and the dog won’t come inside because the cat won’t move.

I know the cat enjoyed that little episode.

The dog is already asking to go out again.

Little bro liked the turkey and had no arguments when I informed him that the leftovers were allllllllllllll his.

Other than the rolls being a touch *too* golden brown, everything was good.

Target, who normally doesn’t pay a bit of attention to any kind of human food, was rather perplexed. I lost count of how many times he walked into the kitchen, head high smelling the turkey, and then ate his food and looked at me as if to say, “Why doesn’t this taste like the rest of the kitchen smells??” At one point I had to put the roasting pan on “his” counter for a moment, and it’s a good thing it was only a moment, cause he was ready to take a header right into it. So, he got a tiny bit of turkey with his dinner and was a VERY happy cat.