Thursday, December 4, 2008

The Diva Makes Her Entrance...

I think Claris is getting a little too big for her britches. We have a nice, large dog-door that she can use to let herself in and out of the house anytime she wishes. Lately she has decided that this is not good enough for her, and is insisting that I let her in the front door. She will stand and bark at the door until I acquiesce and stop whatever I might be doing to let her in. At first I thought she was forgetting that she could let herself in via her own door, but I have found this to be false: If I do not get to the door before the fourth bark she will run to the back, blast through her door, rush up to me and give me a scathing look. I do believe this is her way of training me with negative reinforcement. Woof.

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

There's a hole in my cat...

Poor Morty. He scratched himself on the back of his head, and then got a big abscess despite my efforts to coat him with Neosporin. Getting that cat to the vet is a struggle worthy of epic poetry. I tried getting him to the Vet early Monday morning by the last method that worked: while wearing a pair of welding gloves I quickly grab him, pop him into a set of laundry baskets and seal them up with Velcro strips. He apparently is wise to this tactic now and shredded me like cabbage for coleslaw. I felt a little foolish as I put Neosporin on the scratches he gave me; it did not work for him, why would it work for me?

So, I went to Petsmart and looked for a nice, big crate with a top and side opening. As I perused the aisle for the perfect crate I was found by one of the very helpful Petsmart employees who asked me if I needed help finding something. I asked if they sold tranquilizer dart guns; he quietly skulked away...

Tuesday morning before work I learned a few things which might come in handy someday. I learned that a cat can sense when you are looking for them and hide in places you never thought they could fit into, and they know the exact length of your arms. Morty managed to evade me for an hour, moving from bed to closet with a speed that amazed me. Even when I cornered him in one room, he proved a wily adversary and kept just out of reach. If ever I need to evade capture, I will be sure to think like a cat.

I also found out that when furious I can bench-press a queen-sized bed over my head with one arm while grabbing a cat and shoving him into a crate. So if you ever find yourself stuck under a heavy object in need of rescue, just make me very angry and I will be able to get you out. Then, I might shove you into a box and take you to the doctor, too...

I drove the yowling Morty to the Tuckahoe Veterinary Hospital, and they took great care of him. They tell me he acts like a model patient and gave them no trouble whatsoever. I think that is because he had been worn down and demoralized by our battle and his subsequent capture. He has had half of the back of his head shaved, his wound cleaned (but left open to try and let it heal; they may stitch it up later after they are sure it has fully drained and is no longer infected), and he got a shot of an antibiotic that is supposed to stay in his system for 14 days (so no pills, which would have been a daily battle that I would have won but not without physical and emotional injuries to us both).

Morty is watching me carefully, but seems to have forgiven me. Hopefully with some coaxing I can get him to not hate the new crate. I have left it in "his space" (the laundry room), open with a nice blanket in it. I will start feeding him in it to make him want to go in there, and maybe by our long Christmas vacation I will be able to get him in there and take him to Floyd with us! Hope springs eternal...