Kitty Door Part 2

Tonight I attempted phase 2 of Operation New Kitty Door. It was... interesting.

Earlier this week I moved one of the cat boxes into the new room so that the girls could start getting used to their "bathroom" being in a new place. I left the closet door open so that they wouldn't have to worry with the kitty door yet. Then tonight I moved the 2nd box into the new room so that their "bathroom" was officially in a new place. They checked it out and walked around, generally unimpressed. So I decided now was the time to try to use the kitty door again. Previously they had come through the door but only with me holding it open. This time I locked them both inside and walked away to the living room, determined to see if they could get out on their own. From my spot on the couch I could see into the kitchen and had a good view of the kitty door. I watched TV for a few minutes, stealing glances every now and then to see if my little troublemakers could figure out how to get out. I look over and see Gabby poking her paws underneath the closet door. Great. Totally missing the point. About a minute later, Gabby pokes her way out of the kitty door and comes sailing into the living room (meowing the whole way, reminiscent of the kid who breaks away from the pack and wins the race) and jumps onto the couch demanding praise. Way to go, Gabs!! Super proud of you!! I walk over to the kitchen and see poor Izzy, her shadow moving back and forth in front of the door, wondering how to get out. Sigh.

I get out her favorite treats. I shake them. I call to her. I shake the treats. I get her favorite toy with the bell on it and shake shake shake. I can see her through the kitty door (it is clear plastic) and every 30 seconds or so she will move into the hole all the way to put her face against the plastic and look out... and I say 'come on Izzy, come on!' and then she backs away. Repeat this about 3847 times. Meanwhile Gabby is practically performing a circus act at my feet because I am dangling a toy and her treats in the air in front of her and paying no attention to her whatsoever. I decided Gabby should help Izzy out, and show her how it's done since she was such an A+ student tonight (finally, A+ at something!) so I put her back in there with Izzy. About 2.5 seconds later she pops out through the kitty door again. Smart girl! Way to go Gabs! She gets another treat. Now back to coaxing Izzy. I shake her treats. I shake her toy. Shake shake shake. And again, she gets veryclosetothedoor and backs away. All the while meowing the saddest little kitty meow you've ever heard. More shaking of the treats and toy. And then BAM Gabby is in my lap with each one of her claws in my legs. I guess someone was getting tired of being ignored. I decided it was time for her to help again, so I put her back into the closet to show Izzy again how to get out. And again she comes out in 2.5 seconds. Come on Izzy! You're so close! Don't be scared! I try to show Gabby that she can also go in the closet by way of the kitty door, and gently push her head through so she can see how to do it. And miraculously she goes on through! TWO A+'s for Gabby tonight! Yowza! And she immediately came right back out, but still! And there's Izzy, still pacing back and forth and meowing like she's in a torture chamber.

Finally I decide to get something I know she can't resist. Canned food. I get the can and a spoon and start tap tap tapping the lid. Well this about sends Gabby into orbit because I'm basically dancing it in front of her. Izzy's meowing intensified; good, she knows what it is. Maybe this will do the trick. I crack it open a bit and put it through the door for her to smell. Tap tap tap. Come on Izzy! Meanwhile Gabby has realized that some juice is leaking out of the top so she's all in my lap trying to lick the can. I realize Izzy is just not going to push this door open herself, after watching her get thisclose 293874 times without doing it. So I hold it open ever so slightly, planning to let go as soon as she gets close enough to hold it with her head. I do, and she runs away. It's like scary plastic door apparently. We do this about 3 more times before finally, finally, she doesn't run away and pushes herself the rest of the way through. But right as she starts doing that Gabby picks that time to rub against the plastic door, effectively pushing against Izzy. Nooooo! Luckily I shove Gabby out of the way with my knee (and manage not to spill canned food all over the floor) and Izzy comes out. Finally! 45 minutes later! Sigh. Now they are both going nuts for me to open the canned food already. I guess they earned it.

So have we made progress? A little. Gabby can certainly get out. Whether or not she'll go in on her own is yet to be seen. And Izzy... well Izzy is just scared to death bless her heart. Maybe she had a terrible experience with a plastic kitty door sometime during the short time she was living on the streets as a kitten? Unlikely. What it really comes down to is that nothing is easy with these two!

Are you smarter than a Kitty Door?

Recently I had a new addition built in my house. I needed closet/storage space on the garage end of the house so we built a new closet that extends into the garage space (I assure you the term “we” does not include me as far as the actual building part). This is also going to function as my new “cat room” so that I can move the litter boxes out of the study and finally convert that room into a 2^nd guest bedroom. So I am feeling all “HGTV” lately thinking of all the possibilities for the new rooms (see, I do the mental labor).

Anyway, one function of the new “closet” is that there would be kitty door for the cats to use so that the main door could remain closed. Very good idea in theory, but I think we all know that theory doesn’t really apply to my cats. First of all, it took weeks to actually get the right kitty door that would fit for the space. Dad told me I just needed to “get a kitty door”, no special kind, etc. So I went to the pet store and purchased a kitty door that looked big enough for Gabby’s big self to fit through. Dad opens it, says “eh, actually we need a bigger one that extends to cover the space in the wall.” No special kind huh? Right. So I go back to said pet store, return the kitty door, and purchase a 2^nd one per his specifications. Dad opens this one, says “eh this still doesn’t work.” SERIOUSLY.

So we call the company help line to give exact dimensions of the hole (already cut in the wall) and asked what product we needed. And of course what I needed wasn’t sold in stores. Per their instruction, I ordered a different kitty door plus a tunnel extender to cover the space between the walls, that oh by the way would arrive in 7-10 days. Seven-to-ten days?? Does anything take that long to ship anymore?? Oh yes, it does. Eight days on the money. So now I have my 3^rd kitty door plus extra tunnel extender in my hot little hands. Dad opens it and puts it into place. I’m sure you’re thinking it fits, that there’s no way it couldn’t given that we told them exact measurements that we needed it to fit into. Nope, it only covered 4 inches and we had 4 ½ to cover. One half of an inch people. So I call the company help line again. Sit on hold for 20 minutes. Talk to some girl who sounds like she’s chewing gum and has her hair in a ponytail bobbing back and forth. She asks me sweetly if she can put me on hold to “figure out what she needs to tell me to do.” And the line goes dead. SERIOUSLY. I call back AGAIN. Sit on hold for 15 minutes. Angrily tell new lady (who sounds more mature and chewing gum-less) that I was cut off. She doesn’t care. Resist urge to hang up but remember that would leave me still without a kitty door that fits and inevitably require calling back and sitting on hold again. So I order another full tunnel extender that will have to be cut in order to use just ½ an inch. And wait 7-10 days for it to arrive. Finally, after 4 tries, we finally had enough stupid plastic to fit in the stupid hole this past weekend Dad successfully installed the kitty door in the wall. Hurray!

Then comes the daunting task of actually training the cats to use it. Using the word ‘training’ is basically an oxymoron in reference to cats. If you have ever met a cat in your life you know they do as they damn well please, let alone how my cats act. I decided to tackle this job on Sunday evening. I caught Izzy and carried her into the new closet. My plan was to put them in there, shut the door, and then try to coax them out. Well this must have caused repressed memories of antibiotics-in-the-bathroom-torture-chamber because she started squirming the moment she realized I was taking her in there and shutting the door. Luckily she did not bust out the kung fu karate chops on me and I was able to put her down and leave the room without harm. The of course, being her normal nosy self, Gabby came over to investigate. I opened the door and she walked right in. I saw that Izzy had jumped on top of the butcher block and was refusing to explore the floor of the closet. Ok fine, we'll start with Gabby. 

I was prepared with their favorite treats and planned to lure them through the hole with the treats. Izzy, who normally comes flying into the kitchen from wherever she is in the house when I shake the treat container, wasn't buying it and didn't so much as blink an eye. Gabby is less enthusiastic about the treats normally and in this case didn't really care either. She was trying to figure out why they were in there and I was outside the door. I held open the kitty door and waved my hand inside, saying Look! Here's Mommy! Isn't this fun! And I got nothing. I peeked underneath the door to the closet and there is Gabby peeking back at me. She swipes her paw under the door like hey, let us out of here. Ok, so this is really not the way I saw this going. So I vigorously shake the treat container, and lay a few treats inside the tunnel to lead them through. Izzy of course is still sitting perched on top of the butcher block. But here comes Gabby, finally, to check out this hole in the wall. I think the look on her face says it all. 

After about 10 minutes of looking, and sniffing, and looking, and sniffing some more, she finally stuck her head in to eat the first treat. Then I was able to coax her all the way through the hole. Victory! Way to go Gabs! Don't pack on any more pounds because you barely fit through the hole! I give her another treat and then shut myself in the closet to try and coax Izzy out. I get her on the floor and try to show her that Gabby is outside and wouldn't she like to go through the hole and go see her? Meanwhile Gabby is swiping her paws underneath the door because we're shut up in a room away from her. I keep showing Izzy the treat, and when she takes a few tentative steps forward I move it a little closer to the kitty door (mind you, we started this little venture in the opposite corner of the closet farthest away from the kitty door... it took a while). Finally, after several times of poking her head in, thenoutreallyfast, and in, thenoutreallyfast, she sailed through the kitty door at light year speed and I was left alone in the closet. 

So after about an hour both girls had gone through the kitty door one time. Granted, I was holding it open for them the whole time, but still. Small victories. Next phase = learning to open the door yourself. Maybe I'll tackle that next week. 

Rambo Kitty: The Sequel

We came, we saw, we conquered. Well, sort of.

Gabby’s trip to the vet was a couple of weeks ago. Yes, I know I have taken forever to update on this. Bite me. I’ve been busy! Anyway, things went so much better this time! True, there was still arse showing and bleeding before it was all over, but Gabs definitely scored better than an F this trip. Yippee!

Once again I got the carrier out of the closet that morning so that she could spend all day exploring and getting used to it. I got home from work that evening, changed clothes, and prepared to play grab-the-kitty-with-ninja-quickness-and-shove-her-(gently)-in-the-crate. Even though I got her in the crate with ease last year, I was sure that since she had spent all day remembering the horrors that awaited her if she climbed in that crate that we were going to have a problem. Oddly enough, I picked her up and swooped her right into the crate, no ninja powers necessary. I said to myself, Self, that was easy! Maybe this trip will be so much better and we won’t get a big fat F for Failure and my Type A OCD over achieving self won’t have a nervous breakdown! Woo! With kitty lock down complete, I put her in the car and off we went.

Once again before we can get out of the driveway she starts attacking the crate that is holding her hostage. She slowly morphs into Rambo Kitty with each head bang into the door and pull of the door with her paws. I keep telling her to calm down, stop before you hurt yourself, it's okay, etc. She turns around to try her luck at the back of the crate, but quickly realizes this tactic is futile. Turning back around she begins to alternate between head bang, paw-pull, and the newly devised teeth-pull. None of which were successful of course, but Gabby is very stubborn and was not going to give up. If cats had theme music I would imagine Rocky music playing in her head as she fought with the crate (yes, she is Rambo kitty with Rocky music… but I don’t know the music for Rambo and it’s the same actor so it’s okay).

We arrive at the vet and check in, and thankfully they take us straight into a room. I open the crate and I’m fully prepared for the “hell no, we won’t go!” vibe, and that’s exactly what happened. If looks could kill, she would have shot me to the ground. She has turned around to the back, arse at the door, and turning around glaring at me. So I grab her rear end and pull. And pull. I think I moved her an inch. I resorted to grabbing her by the scruff, which I don’t like to do even though I know it doesn’t hurt them, and out she came. Did she really feel like she was falling off my lap and that is the reason she dug all four paws worth of claws into my legs? I doubt it, because I was sitting evenly on the chair. Okay Gabs, I get it, you’re pissed. She sits cowering in my lap for a few minutes before two girls come in for her initial exam. Cue the hissing. We sort of get her weight although I think my arm was part of the calculation because Gabby was hanging on for dear life like I was a tree branch and she was falling off a cliff. And two years in a row we do not get a temperature because SOMEone threw a fit and wouldn’t lift her butt off the table. So far this appointment is not going much better than last year.

Before they leave the room they have me corner her on the table to try and calm her down. I guess they wanted her to stay on the table for when the vet came in. Well that lasted about 10 seconds before Gabby had wiggled her way back into my arms again, constantly searching for an escape route of course. After a few minutes of petting her (and her hissing at me) the vet comes in the room. He is speaking very calmly and quietly because he knows that she is a ‘caution kitty’ (ugh, kill me) and he doesn’t want to spook her any further. I like this guy already. The tech tries to take her from me to start the exam, and Gabby tries to climb me like a tree. Her Go-Go-Gadget Claws dig into my shoulder like the apocalypse is here and there is no tomorrow. I think she hit the bone. Ouch I scream silently in my head. When they peel her off of me he quickly gives her the vaccination shot and then talks to me while she is calming down (she has been hissing, growling, meowing, screaming, etc). Then, he begins to pet her. And examine her. And listen to her heart. I have now re-named him the Kitty Whisperer in my head. Mr. KW still has all of his limbs intact and is not bleeding. Then he goes to examine her face and teeth and I think to myself, Self, you are about to witness Mr. KW as he gets mauled by 11 lbs of flying furball furry. But he doesn’t. Gabby lets him examine her ears and her teeth. I am amazed. I am bewildered. I am waiting for the attack that I know is coming because my sweet Rambo Kitty just doesn’t tolerate this behavior. Now granted, she is growling a bit and meowing some but she’s just sitting there. And then I decide Mr. KW is really asking for it, as he picks her up. Like, in his arms. 5 inches from his face. He held her and petted her for a few minutes while he talked to me. I tried picking my jaw off the floor to answer his questions and talk to him but honestly I couldn’t pay attention to what he was saying because I was somewhere between shock/awe and oh-my-god-my-cat-is-about-to-kill-the-vet-I-wonder-if-my-insurance-covers-that-and-since-she-is-a-cat-does-that-mean-I-would-go-to-jail? Then she started growling a bit so he decided she had put up with enough and put her back in the crate. He told me that he has a cat that acts like Gabby when it comes to trips to the vet, and he just has a special way of handling them. I am thinking, whatever you say dude! You’re a magic man and my new hero!And I'm asking for you at every future appointment. Every. One.

We got home and I expected her to hide for the rest of the evening and ignore me. But she didn’t; instead, she ran through the house rubbing against everything (as if to say, ‘oh I’m so glad to be home! I never thought I’d see you again!’), meowed at me constantly to rub her, and sat in my lap all night. It was weird. I had asked the vet if her shot would make her not feel good, but he said ‘oh no, with her size I doubt she’ll even notice it!’. Hmmm. I asked if she was overweight and he said ‘just a little’. Oh good grief. Please don’t make me put her on a kitty diet. Can you imagine? She’s moody enough as it is.

So while there was still much arse showing, screaming, growling, hissing, and bleeding (but only me), I was so excited that Gabby did so well at this visit! And I am not measuring that success by the things I mentioned in the previous sentence, but by the fact that she actually got a physical exam this year and that she let Mr. KW pick her up and hold her. Wow! That is huge! I am happily giving this visit a C+; not where I want to be by any means, but still have to account for the arse showing, hissing, general all around bitchiness, etc. But still! From an F to a C+ in one year, think of where we might be next year! Oh that A+ is just within my reach, I just know it.

Doomsday Approaches

It's coming.

I thought I had another month. I thought it wasn't until February. But I was wrong.

It's coming.

I'm not prepared. Physically or mentally. Is this really happening?

It's coming. And there's nothing I can do to stop it.

I thought I had more time. But then I found a postcard in the mailbox today with 7 horrible, awful, stress invoking words:

"Gabby is due for her annual exam."

Nooooooooooooooooo! (Cue scary music, shrieks, screams, and other displays of utter insanity.)

(In case you don't recall, her last trip didn't go so well. You can read it here.)

I am already dreading the appointment. I went ahead and called as soon as I got home before I could chicken out. I have 2 weeks to prepare. Knowing what awaits me on that trip, the havoc that will ensue when I take her out of her carrier, and the utter humiliation of knowing she is labeled a 'caution kitty'. I've given up hope that Gabs will ever have an A+ trip to the vet, but I'll settle for at least a D+ this trip (guaranteed she'll show her arse but maybe she won't draw blood this time). Because last year was most definitely a big, fat, F for failure.

This, by the way, is what my loud mouth, arse showing, vet scratching rambo kitty was doing while I wrote this post. Very intimidating, yes? And she was snoring.

O Christmas Tree

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year…. With kids jingle bell-ing and everyone telling you 'be of good cheer'…”

More like “…When people are yelling while Black Friday shopping to get the best deal…”

Either way, Christmas time is here! I’ll admit that I put my tree up early this year, before Thanksgiving… which I’ve never done. But really, I didn’t decorate it until this week so it wasn’t technically ‘up’ it was just ‘there’. I decided I’d let the girls get used to it for a while before I hung shiny dangly things all over it that were sure to be quite tempting. So far though, I’ve been quite impressed. The small tree in my bedroom is still standing and with all of its ornaments intact. My large tree has been up and decorated in my living room for 48 hours now and is still standing with all ornaments intact. Strange… who are these kitties and what have they done with my havoc-wreaking furballs? I think it is the calm before the storm… I’m sure Hurricane Gabby and Tropical Storm Izzy will blow through eventually. After all, the tree skirt was only down about 12 hours before one of them threw up on it; I’m sure there is worse to come.

And don’t expect bows on my presents this year. I learned that lesson last year. In fact, I think it will just be gift bags all around this year. Remember this?

With it being Christmas and all, it is natural that I am starting to see Christmas trees everywhere. In parking lots, at the grocery store, through people’s windows, in the beds of pick up trucks…. It’s this last one that makes me nervous and honestly start to twitch a little bit. For the last week I have had eagle eyes on the lookout for Triple F’s (if you are new to my blog and don’t know about the dangers of a FFF, you can read about them here). Obviously I am sensitive to this issue, being a victim of a Triple F myself. I can still hear the sound in my head of that Triple FFF ripping off the underside of my car. Shudder. It also doesn’t help that anytime my family is driving past the scene of the crime (yes, whoever that jerk was that threw a tree in the road committed a CRIME in my book) they feel the need to call me and sing ‘O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree’. Good times. Anyway, as a service to myself and public service to others, I am committed to calling attention to the dangers of Triple F’s. I have my eyes peeled as I’m driving, constantly aware of my surroundings and always on the lookout for any sweet pine smelling trees of car death. Yesterday while driving home I passed a truck with a Christmas tree in the back, with the tailgate up. I honked my horn at him for a job well done. Good lookin’ out, sir! Keep fighting the good fight!

Okay. So maybe that last part was embellished for the sake of good story telling. If I had honked at him he probably would have thought I was crazy, and waved back at me with a half-hearted I-don’t-know-you-crazy-lady wave, in which case I would have been embarrassed and sped ahead of him to relieve said embarrassment, and inevitably gotten pulled for speeding. So, let’s just pretend I honked at him.

Next up for this weekend – wrapping some presents. Wish me luck!

The Kitty Saga: Breaking Kelly Part I

The girls are testing me lately. I thought that once they turned 2 years old things would calm down a little, because they would be out of their ‘kitten stage’.  But since Gabby and Izzy think they are humans (or at least human-like) anyway, it would make perfect sense that they are now in their terrible two’s rather than well on their way to laid-back kittyhood. Of course as I write this they are completely defying everything I am saying about them, as they sleep soundly curled up on the couch and living room floor, looking all innocent and sweet. Don’t be fooled. The witching hour is near.

Most people this time of year are making Christmas lists; I am making a list of things to kitty-proof my home. Toddlers, anyone? I have decided to get those baby cabinet-locker-outers because Gabby will not stay out of my cabinets. Kitchen cabinets, bathroom cabinets, she doesn’t have a preference. Mainly if it’s closed, she’s going to open it. Except she can’t get it open on the first try. So I hear thump, thump, thump, thump, as she pulls it open a few inches and it shuts, over and over and over, thump, thump, thump. I have come to the conclusion that she does this for no reason other than because she can, because she has no problem getting it open wide enough to get her fat tail inside after the 15^th try. I come home from work and it looks like invisible people have been rifling through my kitchen cabinets, 2 or 3 left open here and there (because she doesn’t close them after she rifles through them of course). She prefers to go through my bathroom cabinets at precisely the time I’m good and settled under the covers and about to drift off to sleep. Maybe she thinks I like hearing the gentle thump, thump, thump as she tries to open the door. Sigh. I realize in the grand scheme of life this is not a big deal. But in the grand scheme that is dealing with my ‘children’ it is annoying to say the least.

It sounds like all of my complaining is about Gabby (sorry Gabs). So what has Izzy done lately? Well, as I’m being invaded by ladybugs she is being a little too inquisitive about chasing them. Like, sitting on the back of the couch ready to jump on top of my curio cabinet that is by the way holding my handmade in Italy glassware that we won’t even talk about how much I paid for. Uh, yeah. Heart attack. So ladybugs, please move on. Judging by the claw marks on the wall at the same height as the top of the window, she can jump that high and you aren’t safe on the ceiling.

I got out my Christmas decorations this past weekend, planning to decorate a little at a time so that I could take my time with it. In reality it is probably so that I do not overwhelm Mo and Curly with the sudden display of what I’m sure they see as ‘new things to knock over and destroy play with’. I started out with my little Christmas tree for my room, it is about 2 or 3 feet tall so not very big. I put it up last night so today was the first day they were alone in the house with the new temptation decoration. I got home from work today, expecting to evidence of their destruction strewn all the way to the kitchen. No ornaments in sight, and I was feeling pretty confident. Way to go girls! Then I get back to my bedroom, and the tree is teetering eversoclose to the edge of the table, and there is an ornament on the floor. Ah-ha! So they were tempted. Still, everything was mostly still in tact so I was sort of impressed. I moved the tree back in to place, gave a pointless speech to Gabby and Izzy about leaving the tree alone, and left to go to church. I returned a few hours later to find the tree in the exact same balancing-on-the-edge-of-destruction spot as before. Hmm. I think I’ll have to start closing my bedroom door while I’m gone.

On sort of a more positive note, they have reminded me lately of how sweet they can be. My Granny Sarah passed away recently, and it was very sudden. As anyone who has lost a loved one knows, it leaves such a hole in your heart. I think pets are very sensitive to how we are feeling, especially when we are feeling bad. And that is saying a lot for cats, because they are quite self-centered and proud of it. They have both been particularly snuggly lately, and that has been comforting. A few days ago I brought home Granny Sarah’s rocking chair from her living room and the girls quickly laid claim to it. I think Granny Sarah would be pleased; a love for cats is something she and I always had in common. 

Simon's Cat

Here is another somewhat lazy blog, but I found these to be hilarious and wanted to share. I had seen this first video before (posted again here in case you missed my facebook post) and it so reminds me of Gabby. Who knew there were tons MORE videos like this?!? I think they're funny, and hopefully you'll get a laugh or two out of it.

Gabby, by the way, woke me up yesterday morning by jumping on top of my chest of drawers (which she is not supposed to do) and then trying to pull a picture off the wall with both paws. Really?