Confession #10: And, Suddenly, I'm a Money-Loving City Girl

Ever wake up one morning and nearly everything in your life has changed?

As of my last blog post (here) I was on a farm in the middle-of-nowhere-Kentucky, unemployed, broke, and living with the dog, the cat, the cat, the cat, and the cat....

Now, I'm in an apartment in the city, employed, slightly less broke, and living with the dog and the cat. I could only take one cat.

Which cat?

Myrtle, of course. Myrtle wins everything.

The other cats are at the farm with Mom and Dad. I miss them. A lot. They are transitioning to full-time outdoor/barn kitties. . .unless any of you want one of these semi-famous, adorably cute, kind of neurotic cats. . .

Anyhow, we're all settling in. City life is different. But I go where the money is. I love money. You know, so I can buy fun things. Like food. And shelter.


Charlie, who is the most perfect angel dog, has adjusted pretty well to apartment living. Mostly. He misses being able to run free on the farm, but we live in a lovely area and take lots of walks. There are two things we've had to work on, though:

1) I've shared before (here) that Charlie does a fantastic James Earl Jones impression when strangers pass by our door in hotel rooms- a low, imposing rumble. And now, our apartment- every time our neighbors pass by. E.v.e.r.y.t.i.m.e. Sometimes, if the neighbors walk a little too close to our door, Charlie breaks out his pretty darn convincing Cujo.
He does that with the cats, too. But always feels ashamed afterwards.

2) Charlie has a beautiful singing voice. He used to howl along with the occasional siren of passing fire trucks. We now live near a hospital. . .
After several weeks, he now understands that his howls are terrifying to others- and LOUD, the echoes bouncing off the other apartment building as Charlie serenades them from our balcony. So he has learned to ignore them, or sometimes he just softly croons. He has learned the art of dimenuendo.

Myrtle has done surprisingly well. Mostly.

She has me a little worried, though.

Of course, I did my due diligence as I was apartment hunting. When I was checking out my current apartment, I responsibly checked the plumbing, light fixtures, and opened the fridge to make sure there was no Zuul.

But ever since we moved in, Myrtle has been doing some..........creepy...........things.

Everyday, Myrtle spends some time staring at my walk-in closet door. Intently. Completely still. Expectantly.

I hope and pray that it's just Narnia on the other side.

And then there's this:

Last week Myrtle started jumping on the headboard of my bed. In the middle of the night. Right above my head. And stares. And makes a low, guttural sound- not quite a growl, not quite a hiss.

I don't even know what to hope and pray for here.

But most of the time she now pretends to be a real (cat food commercial) cat. All affectionate and cuddly-like. We cozy up all together in front of the fireplace all the time now- I read my book and they snooze.

It's a wonderful life. Change is good. The cat lady continues to be a cat lady. Just a little more catless. For now.

Confession #5: I Kidnapped Ronald Weasley

I never took him across state lines, though. And really, I feel there was no wrong-doing on my part.

However, there does seem to be some disagreement regarding the exact circumstances.

I'll let you decide. 

My Version:

Last summer, my sister and her family went on a longish road trip and asked me to watch their pets. A dog, Dixie, who later became known only as "Idiot", and a cat, Ronald Weasley, who happens to be Severus's littermate. Having mooched resided in their basement rent-free for several months the year before, I owed them big-time. So I said no problem.

I stopped by their house a few hours after they had left to pick up the animals and add two more to the zoo at home. 

Ronald is not what you would call a good traveler. Every time Ronald gets into the car, terrible things happen. Terrible, terrible things. My sister told me to give Ronald some Benedryl.  I got a little plate and dumped some Fancy Feast onto it and shoved the pill into the middle. Normally, it would have been gone in seconds. Ronald refused to even sniff it. Now I'd have to get a little hands on. I've found butter helps pills slide down cat gullets a little easier. So, I buttered it up, held Ronald, and then I don't really remember what happened next. I didn't know where the pill went. I just knew where it wasn't. So, we drove off undrugged. Terrible, terrible things occurred.

When we pulled into the garage, I decided to re-introduce Dixie and Charlie before taking care of Ronald and his terribleness. Things went pretty well between Dixie, Charlie, and my cats. I brought Ronald in and set his carrier down on the floor and left to prepare a nice, relaxing bath. However, Ronald didn't seem to enjoy it at all. Some cats just don't appreciate amenities.

Shortly after Ronald's bath, the dogs had to go outside. After a few minutes, Dixie slipped out of his collar and proceeded to run down the sidewalk. Being an intelligent dog owner, I knew not to chase him or yell at him, but to try and catch his attention by making him think I'm doing something much more fun and interesting. And it was working. He came right up to me and I got his collar on and then, out of the blue, he had a major freak out. He started biting and scratching and peed all over  himself.......and me. That was the point at which he became "Idiot." So, two more baths were in order. 

The rest of the week and a half went much more smoothly. There was much hissing between the cats, but otherwise peaceful. With one exception. Mrs. Weasley was still just a lil thing and super playful. Her favorite game was "Sneak Attack!" She's a wee ginger ninja. And her favorite target became Ronald. Probably because of his extreme over-reaction. He's kind of a drama queen. He would jump about a foot in the air, and then get this look of hurt outrage while shouting, "Why????????????? WHY would you DO such a thing???? To ME????"

Oh, and there was the nightly mrowing outside my door. But living with Myrtle, one learns to sleep through that kind of thing.

Dixie Idiot developed a seriously annoying attachment to me. I guess peeing all over someone creates a deep feeling of adoration and adulation. The feeling was NOT mutual. 

All in all, I was very happy to return my sister's fur family at the end of their trip. And let them deal with Ronald's terrible, terrible travel aftermath. Life with a dog, a cat, a cat, a cat, a cat, a cat, and an idiot, was a bit much, even for me.

Ronald's Version (as transcribed from what he apparently thought was his video blog):

It is day 346 of my captivity. Or maybe it has only been an hour. I just don't even know. Because I am a cat. What I do know is a lady that sometimes comes over, came over. My People were not there to protect me. I now hate my People. This lady attempted to drug me. But I foiled her attempt. Twice. I am not Dog. You cannot trick me with your pills stuffed in Fancy Feast or butter. I hope my People slip on the buttered pill that I regurgitated on the floor...and die. Alas, my captor overpowered me and stuffed me into a small portable jail cell. Dog trotted along and hopped in the vehicle. Dog is an idiot.

As my captor drove off with us, I tried to soften her heart by singing the song of my people. It is a mournful dirge of 97 verses. She was unmoved. Enraged, I loosed many scathing epithets....and then....my bowels. I thought she would stop and then I would make my escape. She did not stop. My only consolation is that I made the remainder of the journey quite unpleasant for her. Dog did nothing but gaze eagerly out the window. Dog is an idiot.

We drove into a dark cavern. I was left alone for a moment as my captor took Dog somewhere. Then I felt myself being moved. I smelled much danger. She set me down. Immediately I felt a surge of hope. Ones like me surrounded my cell- surely to rescue me?

No, no. Fate is a cruel mistress. The Others hissed in mockery. Taunting. Baiting. I hate the Others. To make things worse, after the Others left Big Dog came sniffing around. But then, mercifully, my captor lifted me away. Little did I know she was about to subject me to an unspeakable hell.

Bath time.

I cannot describe the indignities. Suffice it to say, my suffering was great.

The next few hours or days or years are a blur. My captor has allowed me to wander the house...a false freedom...what with Big Dog and the Others constantly hunting me. The worst of them all is the smallest one, who, ironically, is a facsimile of myself during kittenhood. She is most vicious, employing guerrilla tactics and inducing near heart attacks at regular intervals. I continue to suffer most grievously.

One unexpected high point was when Dog showed surprising resourcefulness when he attempted an escape and viciously attacked our captor. Within hours, however, Dog succumbed to extreme Stockholm syndrome and now slavishly follows our captor about. Dog is an idiot.

I have nearly given up hope of being rescued and resign myself to a life of captivity for now. I while away the long hours of daylight hiding from my tormentors. The time is not wasted, though. I have composed a ballad of my suffering. Each night I pace the corridor of my captor's bedchamber and sing my lament.

Oh cat gods of Felinia, hear my plea!!! May my lament travel upon the Zephyr winds and reach the ears of my People.

They must save me. They must. They can leave Dog. Dog is an idiot.

It will be a joyous reunion. I shall ignore them for a while, to impress upon them my intense displeasure. But being a feline of generous nature, above pettiness, I shall, after a time, bestow upon them my forgiveness. In the form of a deceased bird. And there shall be much rejoicing and rubbing of ankles.

Now I must go. My captor is returning. She must not find me here.

If you are watching this, contact the authorities. Save me.

Please.

Confession #3: I Nearly Left Myrtle At a Motel 6 in Nebraska. On Purpose.

When last we met (refresh your memory here), it was an hour past departure. One cat was on the loose. Three cats were unmedicated. One human was a hot, bloody mess.

Luckily, Severus being a large-ish fellow, was not the master of camouflage he thought he was. Much of him was spilling out of his hiding place and I was able to snag him without much trouble. But putting him in his solo carrier? Suddenly he had eight legs made of unyielding, reinforced steel. I became sweatier and furrier by the second. To make matters worse, World War III had broken out in the large carrier. Stalincat, I mean, Myrtle, was busy establishing a kakistocracy.

By some miraculous feat, I managed to quickly exchange Severus for Myrtle without losing any other cats. Myrtle went into the smaller carrier without too much fuss. But with Severus in there, the large carrier was large no more. So I put together a spare carrier and put Mrs. Weasley in there and left Minerva with Severus. I didn't want to take up more room in the back seat, so I stacked the two smaller carriers on top of one another, strapping them together and securing them with bungees to the headrests in front and behind. Charlie jumped into the back seat and laid down. I pulled out of the garage at 2:00, and started down the road. I was so very impressed with my own cunning and creative problem solving. Don't worry, I got over my ego trip quickly.

Almost immediately the complaining began. But I was expecting that. I could put up with it. For now. What I wasn't expecting was the violent thrashing going on in the second story cat apartment in the back seat.

We made our first stop 5 minutes into the trip. When I pulled over and ran around to the back seat I found Charlie sitting up, his eyebrows doing his "what were you thinking???" dance. Mrs. Weasley was now toppled over in her carrier- right where Charlie's head had been.

So onto Plan........D......or......E.........possibly Z at this point. Poor Charlie had to squish over so that the carriers were side-by-side. But now we were all situated and ready to make some significant headway. We made it an hour and a half. The pitch and volume of the cats' cries had undulated unceasingly. I chose a scenic pullout for our first official stop. Charlie was eager to stretch, but I think I was even more anxious. Besides wanting a break from the cats, my tucchus was KILLING me. I'd fractured my coccyx a few months before, and sitting for more than 30 minutes was insanely uncomfortable. It was a delightful place to stretch out our respective limbs and tucchuses.

We got back into the car and started driving. The feline weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth resumed. Every few minutes a little paw would stretch out, beseechingly patting the empty air. It was truly pathetic. And although Mrs. Weasley was the only one successfully Benedryled, even she let out drowsy mrrrows of displeasure at random intervals- I'm assuming as a sign of cat solidarity. At some point horrible smells began wafting through the holes of the large carrier containing Minerva and Severus. But there was nothing to do but drive on. And on. And on. Until we reached Laramie, Wyoming around 10pm.

I was never so happy to see a Motel 6 in my entire life. I'd booked Motel 6 rooms the whole trip- being cheap and super pet friendly, they were my salvation. They didn't care how many cats I had. The room was decent, as Motel 6 rooms go. It was newly remodeled in the modern style the website had been proudly promoting, wood laminate flooring, fresh paint, etc. It took 5 trips to get everyone and their necessities into the room. I put the carriers in the bathroom and let Charlie hop on the bed.

Then I went back to the bathroom and closed the door to begin the cat extraction. Mrs. Weasley had fared well and happily popped out of the carrier and started to scope out the joint. Myrtle was still voicing her displeasure and slowly, suspiciously edged out, covered in shredded puppy pee pad. But it was dry and clean puppy pee pad. And then..............the large carrier. The one from whence the awful smells had been coming from for most of the drive. It was bad. BAD. B-A-D. Severus had emitted every disgusting thing that a cat could emit. It was emitted all over him. And all over the carrier. And all over his crate mate, poor, poor, poor Minerva. So, cat baths were in order. Amazingly, they were really cooperative and loved getting baths.

I'm lying.

It went as well as cat baths go.

All I wanted was to go to bed and sleep the sleep of the just. But it was not a restful night.

Seriously. It was like being locked in the room with five sugared-up toddlers. The cats were literally bouncing off the walls (and me). Basically, blowing off steam from being in their crates so long. The alternative was to keep them in the bathroom, but they did NOT like that and the acoustics carried the sorrowful song of their people a little too beautifully. Charlie kept yelling at them to knock off all their running and leaping and skidding on the slippery floor. And whenever someone would walk by the room, Charlie would start muttering threats using his James Earl Jones voice.

Incidentally, the Wyoming moon is a beautiful sight to behold. At four a.m. While your dog with the gargantuan bladder pees majestically into the chilly dawn. For nearly ten minutes.

Catching the cats the next morning was another exercise in being sweaty and getting covered in cat hairs and scratches. They are the wiliest, scratchingest, tauntingest SOBs (Superior Overlord Beings). But I got them into their respective carriers by whatever means necessary. They were unhappy, to say the least.

They chose to punish me that day by remaining coldly silent for the entire drive. However, apparently I managed to display a suitable attitude of penitent humility, because they were quite forgiving and friendly once we settled into our hotel in Nebraska. I was hoping I would be able to offend them into silence the next day. It was ever so pleasant driving in the silence.

Charlie- after the initial worry that he was going to be left somewhere and have to Incredible Journey himself back to me- began to thoroughly enjoy our traveling adventure. He developed a passion for rest areas. He found them fascinating and couldn't wait to sightpee (he combined sight seeing with the necessary pit stops- he's a very efficient and practical dog). He also liked the fact that when I ate my packages of peanut butter crackers, he always got the last cracker.
It was a fun day.

That night at the motel was absolutely wonderful, too. We got in around six. Charlie sacked out on the bed right away. No messes in the carriers, the kitties were much more relaxed, and the room had plenty of shelves for the cats to perch on.

Minerva discovered that she could slither up under the bedspread and hide from everyone. It was so relaxing. There was a nice park-like area adjacent to the hotel and I took Charlie to for a longish walk before bed time. The only glitch in the evening was when we got back and Charlie was going into the hotel room, Mrs. Weasley made a break for it. Luckily, the rooms were interior. Unluckily, we were right next to a stairwell and she streaked up the stairs and down the second floor hallway. Luckily, no one caught me making my mad dash up the stairs and down the hallway, hissing cat swears I'd learned from Myrtle. Mrs. W. was hastily scooped up and we returned to our room well-exercised. We all slept soundly, and even got to sleep in a little the next morning.

I should have known things were going FAR too smoothly. I was congratulating myself because there was literally NOWHERE for the kitties to hide in this particular hotel room. It was a nice open room, without nooks or crannies- best of all, the bed was on a platform, so there could be no hiding there.

The first three cats were quite willing to go into their crates- it took me less than a minute. Myrtle, however...

Myrtle. She is the wiliest and most conniving of the cats. She's menace. I should rename her.

 In the 60 seconds I was preoccupied with the other cats, Myrtle found an inch and a half gap in one of the shelving units and slithered into it.

 This picture was taken by sliding my phone down the gap so I could figure out exactly where she was. Look at that SMUG smile. Jerk cat. Apparently, the bottom was just a nice hollow 18" x 24" box. And we all know how cats love boxes. So, she settled in for a nice, long nap. 

But first, she popped up for just a moment to gloat when I called her name. She wasn't in the least concerned.

She calmly, and smugly, lowered herself back down. There she stayed while I contemplated the rather awkward conversation I would soon have to have with hotel management.

"So........funny story........"


Or, I could simply walk away and leave her for the next guest. Everyone loves extra amenities.

But I knew that when Myrtle finally chose to slither out of the woodwork, she would probably cause some sort of coronary episode. I couldn't have that on my conscience.

And, ironically, Myrtle is my favorite. I fearlove her so much.

So, I studied the shelf a little closer. It appeared to be similar to a Sauder bookshelf. Do you know how many of those shoddy things I've put together over the years?

A little further poking and prodding confirmed my suspicions. A well-aimed kick to each corner was enough to loosen the thin backing so I could reach in and snag the closest bit of Myrtle.

She was rather....unhappy.

And so, Day Three began.



Stay tuned for the next post, in which Charlie is blessed by an old man and we have a delightful stay at Motel 666!