May 30, 2014

Hey. I was *GOOD*

Okay, so I've told you about the meal rule here, right? If the people have cooked for themselves and I'm very good and don't beg or jump on the table, I get a tiny taste when they're done.

So this afternoon I smelled cooking things and heard cooking things going on, and even though it seemed awfully early, I figured I better get my asterisk into the kitchen to be sure I got a tiny taste.

So I rolled off of a perfectly comfy bed and stretched--because one should always stretch right after a nap--and made my way to the table, where they were already scarfing down the noms.

I did what a good kitty does. I sat on the floor for a few minutes, and then I jumped onto a chair, but I did not beg and I never even tried to get on the table.

"It's pancakes, Big Guy," the Woman said.


The rule doesn't apply to WHAT they're eating, it applies to how *I* behave.

"You won't like it."

I should at least be offered some, right? And the Man even said to make me my very own tiny pancake, and she said I would like to lick a bunch of butter off of it, but did she actually MAKE that pancake for me?


The rules are the rules, and they broke the rules. I should punish them by ignoring them the rest of the day, and while the Woman is sleeping tonight I should sit by her head and sing my little heart out.

In fact, I think that's what I'll do.


May 25, 2014

Take a tissue first...

A long time ago I told a story about how a dog named Stoner got his people to adopt a puppy they named Tank. Stoner was an awesome dog, and he spent a couple of years teaching Tank the things he would need to know in order to be standup kind of woofy, one he would be proud of and comfortable leaving his people with.

Now, Tank was not the brightest bulb in the pack—a couple of times his Mom Lady said (in a not mean way) that he was dumber than a box of rocks—but he was very sweet and everyone loved him a lot. He was goofy and funny and sweet, and that made up for not being especially bright. So when Stoner left for the Bridge, he was content with the idea that while Tank would never really grasp a lot of the commands he had hoped, he was the dog they needed.

Tank was very happy being the family goofball. He got along with the cats, and when a new kitten came along, one the kids found outside when it was freezing cold, he didn’t even try to eat it. He just lumbered along in life, happy and content, even when his people put him through the M-Word in a major way. He didn’t have to spend days in a car to get where they were going, but he did have to ride in an airplane for a long time, and he had to behave the entire way.

In the new place, things looked different and smelled different, and even the people around them sounded different. He didn’t mind; he had his people and his cats, and a very nice garden to roll around in. He even met the cat from next door, who came into his garden every day to nap in the sun puddles and lap up water from Tank’s bowl.

Tank did not mind sharing his water, but there was something about this kitty that was not like the kitties that lived inside his house. It looked a lot like Weezer, the rescued kitten, but it was scrawny and its fur was not pretty. Its eyes were cloudy, and frequently it walked around with eyes closed, as if seeing where one goes is not very important.

It didn’t take long for the youngest of the people to notice that the neighbor’s kitty came over every day. And it didn’t take long for him to notice that there was no water in any dish in the kitty’s yard, even though the kitty was outside all day long, every day. He didn’t see a food dish, either, so he brought out some cat food, picked the kitty up—decided it was a she—and put her down in front of the dish.

She gobbled it down like she hadn’t eaten in a very long time. Tank stayed right by her while she ate, and waited while the Boy went to get the Very Tall Guy, who then stomped over to the neighbor’s front door to confront him about the lack of care he was giving his cat, but the neighbor didn’t really care. It was just a cat after all, and if it was hungry it could hunt.

But that cat can’t see, the Very Tall Guy argued. She’s blind.

Well, a blind cat isn’t much good. Nature will take care of her.

The Very Tall Guy did not like that, not one bit. So he did something he would advise against in most circumstances, because what he did is not very nice in most circumstances.

He stole the neighbor’s cat.

When he went home, Tank was still in the garden with the kitty, and he scooped her up and took her inside, where the Mom Lady snuggled her and checked her over, and declared this kitty needs to see a stabby guy. Now, Tank was alarmed, because the stabby guy is no fun, and this new one sounded funny and thought the people should let their cats play outside in the garden. But he didn’t argue, because that girl kitty really needed some help.

So he waited patiently by the door while they took her to the stabby guy, and when they came home a lot of her fur had been shaved off, and he could see just how very tiny she really was. The Very Tall Guy let Tank sniff her, but he didn’t put her down right away. He wanted to see how the other cats would react, so the kids rounded them up and brought them to the living room, where they took one look at her…and then sat back to lick themselves.

The Mom Lady told the kids they had to be gentle with her; she had not been getting nearly enough food for a very long time, so she was fragile. She was as blind as the Very Tall Guy thought she might be, and her breathing was loud. She wasn’t sick, she was just very tired, and every breath was hard work. She was also very old; the stabby guy thought she was between 18 and 20 years old.

“She sounds like Darth Vader” the youngest person said, so that’s what her name became.


She never wanted to go back out into the garden; she was happy inside, where there was always food and water and someone to pet her. A few months later the people needed to move again, and they were very worried about how she would take to a new place; she got around their house so well they were sure she had spent a lot of time in it before they moved in, and moving meant a strange, totally new house, one she wouldn’t be familiar enough with to get around.

But they moved anyway, because people have to do what people have to do.

Tank remembered the lessons Stoner taught him, and one of those lessons was to always be gentle, and to always try to help. So when they got to the new house, he made it his job to be near Vader and to help her find everything she needed.

When he thought she needed food, he walked with her to the kitchen, letting her lean on his leg as he moved slowly. When she looked for the litter box, he nudged her toward it. When she had a hard time finding her nip toys, he brought them to her.

Tank became her guide dog, and was very protective of her.

Vader’s fur grew back out to a lovely, shiny black. Her breathing became normal. She still could not see but she was so happy and content that she didn’t seem to mind having to change houses. Tank was her dog, and the other cats played with her gently when she wanted but seemed to understand she wanted to be left alone a lot of the time.

“They treat her like a queen,” their Mom Lady told the Woman.

Over the last couple of months, Tank’s people realized he was sticking very, very close to Vader, more than usual. And the other cats groomed her. She still seemed very happy and healthy, but she was very old for a kitty, especially a kitty who had been starved for a long time, and they knew that.

Still, they watched her closely, and at the first sign of trouble they intended to take her to the new stabby person.

Then on Wednesday, as they sat in their living room, reading books and newspapers, with everyone there, Vader came into the room and stood in the middle of the sun puddle that poured in through the window. She sat there with her face turned toward the sun, with her eyes closed, and it was like she was soaking in every little bit of it she could. She was practically smiling, and as the Mom Lady watched, she could see the dust motes floating above Vader’s content face, and thought it was very beautiful.

Tank was nearby, as he always was, and he lay down on the floor, watching her. He whined once, but it was not a sad whine; the Mom Lady said later it sounded more like, “Ok. It’s ok.”

Vader curled up there in the sun puddle and went to sleep, napping in the warmth of the sun, with all her people around her and her dog close by, and she stayed there as her breathing slowed, until it stopped.

When she was gone, on her way to the Bridge to meet Stoner for the first time, Tank got up and licked her head, and then went to the back door to be let out. He needed to be alone, and they let him have his space, because even a dog needs his own way to say goodbye.

“When we bring her ashes home,” their Mom Lady told the Woman, “we’ll let him sniff them. And we bought an urn big enough for him, when the time comes.”

Until that day, which everyone hopes is many years away because Tank is only six years old, Vader will share a special spot on the mantel, right next to Stoner.

And I think Stoner would be very proud of Tank, who might have never understood all the commands that he had been able to, but who was able to figure out what was really important.

And sometimes…well, sometimes getting your people to steal the neighbor’s cat is important.

RIP, Vader. I’m glad you got the happily ever after you deserved, and I’ll see you on the flipside.

May 23, 2014


Guys, this is Sugar and one of her people, Jeanette.

Like the Woman and a bunch of other of our friends, Jeanette has been walking for boobies for a long time.

A year ago in January, Sugar was diagnosed with feline mammary cancer.


Breast cancer.

The very thing her person walked against.

Yesterday Sugar lost her fight and made her way to the Bridge. She had a great life and was so well loved, that I'm pretty sure she was okay with it being time to go. After all, what more can a kitty ask for? She had a home any kitty would want, and her people fought hard for her. They loved her as hard as they fought for her.

Sugar leaves a heck of a legacy behind. Her people started an organization in her name, Sugar Rub, to educate pet owners about breast cancer in animals and there is a research group founded in her name at the University of Pennsylvania Veterinary School. The work being done in her name will go on and on, long after you and I are gone, and that makes me happy.

In July, the Woman is walking in the Avon Breast Cancer Walk along with Sugar's mom and a bunch of other ladies. Now, the Woman already has her funds raised for that, but if you're looking for a way to help the boobies AND have a tax deductible donation, please consider donating to one of her team mates.  They each have to raise at least $1800 to walk.

You can also donate to the Sugar Rub! Feline Mammary Cancer Fund.

But mostly, think good thoughts for Sugar's people, because they are 163 kinds of sad right now, missing their furry kid. 

May 19, 2014

Hop on over to Ask Max Monday
Today at Ask Max Monday, I asked a question instead of answering's all about canned cat food, and I want your opinions.

Mainly...I need a change in food, and want to know what you like and why. So pop on over and leave comments there instead of here--if you comment there, you might be helping a lot of kitties with food issues and not just me.

Oh and apparently as much as I would like it, steak every night is not an option. :/

May 14, 2014

That kitty deserves an award

Heck, I would give him an entire box of Twinkies AND a whole bag of real live fresh dead shrimp. If you haven't seen it, watch the video. There's no sound because it's security camera footage, but it's amazing.

I have to admit, I'm not sure I would be as brave as that kitty.I would want to save my people--I've saved them from the burning-up fan and the fireplace thingy that got left on--but I'm not comfortable with the outdoors so I might run and hide.

Buddah just might help the dog.

Okay, probably not, but I'm not sure he would stop to think there was something wrong. He still hasn't figured out it's a bad idea to bite the people with the thumbs that open the cans that contain the gooshy foods he loves so much.

I really don't want to think about what will happen to the dog; it probably won't be a happy ending, so I don't want to ponder it, but I really do want to give that cat major props for having giant, clanking steel gonads, even if he's been nootered.

Doods...let's give him a round of applause.

Farking AMAZING!

May 05, 2014

Seriously, doods

No matter what the People try to say, I was not crying because my fountain was not working. I was informing. No water was being spit forth, so I sat there and told the Man about it. And when he looked, I said "Fix it, please."

Oh yeah, I was freaking polite about it.

But I did not cry.