Crazy Cat Lady

One of my colleagues at work enjoys teasing me by calling me the “Crazy Cat Lady.”  He means it in good fun, but I wouldn’t take
offense even if he didn’t, because I know I’m not.
First of all, I don’t think it counts when there are two
of us.  Second, we only live with six
cats, not thirty, and we haven’t added any to the fold since Elroy joined us in
2006.  Third, we have deep, personal relationships
with each of our cats—it’s not like we’re hoarders or anything.
And really, would a “Crazy Cat Lady” sing individualized
songs (in two-part harmony) with her husband to her cats
whenever it’s mush time? 
Would a “Crazy Cat Lady” take one of the cats out on a
harness to play on the swing set and slide down the slide like the other kids?
Would a “Crazy Cat Lady” drive back from a minor league
NBA basketball game to her house because she couldn’t remember if she’d blown
out a candle and what if Wanda jumped up and knocked it over and caught the
house on fire and none of the cats could get out because we were enjoying
ourselves at a basketball game?
Oh.  
Okay, maybe I am a Crazy Cat Lady.  I guess there are worse things to be.

Little Explorers

The first full day in the new house started off very similarly to the night before:  kitties under covers, kitties hiding behind things, one or two kitties looking out their very first full-length window.  

My parents, sister and nephew came over to visit, and walked around the house, asking where the buddies were.  Max went around the house and up to the deck and had a little conversation with Wanda through the door.  Finally, we all went traipsing upstairs to where the cats were all holed up in our room.  My sister, who has traditionally been wary of cats, was delighted that several of them were very accommodating lumps which could be petted with little more reaction than a plaintive murmur.  (Mister, in particular, got petted through the comforter, which was a first for my sister, and frankly, most other people.  Mister usually doesn’t go under the covers, but desperate times demand desperate measures, after all.)

This is is our first real two-story house.  Technically it’s a three-story house, but the finished room in the basement recently had the flooring removed, making it inhospitable for little cat paws, so as far as the cats know, there are just two stories.  (Well, as far as three of them know, but that’s another story–pun intended–too.)  We were making half-hearted bets about who would be the most adventuresome of the group.  My bet was on Wanda, but it turns out I was very, very wrong.  Not only was Wanda not the first one down the stairs, but I actually had to help her down the stairs because it seemed Wanda had developed a little touch of vertigo.  Reggie turned out to be the boldest one–and he had spent the past 24-hours practically living under the covers.  The others all gamely loped downstairs, tentatively checking out each new nook and cranny.  Downstairs, they encountered another full-length window, this one with a screen so they could smell what was outside and feel the considerable breeze.  Heaven!  

And then, after a few minutes, they all had to go check that they could still make it back upstairs to get back to the safety room–“home base,” if you will.  They came back down again quickly though, much more confidently than the first time.  They stick pretty close to us while we’re home, and spend a lot of time napping in our bedroom when we’re not, but I think they’re going to like it here.

Off to a New Adventure!

It’s been more than a month since I’ve written, but it’s been with good reason.  We moved again!  Between getting the other house ready for sale, packing, moving all our stuff across town, and now unpacking and trying to put everything where it belongs, it’s taken up a lot of my time.  And the time I’ve had, I’ve wanted to devote to da buddies.  

Let’s face it, moving is hard on anybody.  It’s particularly hard on cats.  Everyone always says that cats are so attached to a place that it is worse for them to lose their place than it would be to lose their humans.  That might be true with most cats, but luckily, it’s not the case with ours.  Which is not to say that they don’t need some time to adjust, and it’s certainly not to say that the transition is easy.  We always try to make it easier on them by putting them in a single room together and staying with them as much as we can during the move.  When we moved to our previous house, it was the finished room downstairs, so they could have the experience of getting to go up to explore the house rather than down.  We set up a futon down there and slept with them for a few days until they got used to the sounds and smells of the new house.  This time, we decided to put them in our bedroom upstairs, because it was the only room that made any sense in this house.   
We also made the difficult decision to bring Mango over separately, and keep her separated from the other cats, probably permanently, in the garage.  As hard as that is to admit out loud, the confrontations between the other cats and her were becoming increasingly frequent, and she seems to have reached a point where she’s no longer happy being part of our family.  (Not that she was ever particularly happy about it before, but it seems to have gotten worse.)  We decided it was the kindest thing for her to make her a little warm nest in the garage, keep her fed and watered and clean up her messes, but let her do it by herself.  More on that later.
We bundled them all into carriers the second day of our official move, once our bed and most of the bedroom furniture was over there, just to try to make it as “normal” as possible for them once they were over there.  We had planned to do it earlier in the day, but the day kept getting away from us, so the next thing we knew, it was 10pm on Friday night before we had them all loaded up.  Sean took Wanda, Otto, Elroy and Reggie and I took Mister, as well as the cleaned litter boxes, and other sundries.  Sean headed out before me, but he took a wrong turn in the dark and rain and I ended up beating him to the new house.  In a way, I was glad that Mister was getting the opportunity to be the first one there.  He’s done a lot of moving in his now sixteen years with me.  At last count, he’s lived in two different apartments and four different houses.  Now he was moving to his seventh abode, and I seriously hoped he would like it.  It seemed like the least I could do was let him decide this was his house before the other cats got here.
There were complications.  First of all, we have a bear.  Not, like, chained in the backyard or anything, but a bear who comes down from the mountain and regularly traverses our yard in search of tasty garbage can morsals.  The last time the bear had been seen was the week before in the rain, so you can bet I was looking over my shoulder as I let us into the house, hoping the bear didn’t consider this delivery food.  (Not that black bears would even eat a cat, but that’s where your brain goes when it’s dark and wet and you’re exhausted from moving for two days straight.)  Plus, we needed a litter box set up, which wasn’t done yet.  
As fast as I could, I got Mister up the stairs to our bedroom and got the litter box set up so he could use it.  A few minutes later, Sean showed up with the other four, and we trundled them all upstairs to join Mister.  Once everyone was in there and the door was closed, we started letting cats out.  We immediately had to clean off Reggie because he (you guessed it) pooped and vomited all over himself–again.  We hadn’t yet put our bed frame together, so we were sleeping on our mattress on the floor, which meant that nobody could dive under the bed.  Instead, they dove under the covers, sometimes on the bed, sometimes at the foot of the bed on the floor, where the covers fell over the side and could keep them hidden.  
Reggie seemed to be the most freaked out.  He mostly just stayed on the bed, trying to be small (quite a task for the FelineTick).  Wanda kept trying to look out the full-length glass doors leading out to the upper deck, but it was too dark and rainy for her to see anything.  Mister hid between the mattress and the wall, and the others were in varying stages of curiosity and mild terror.  Finally, the two Big Buddies piled into bed and discovered a mosh pit of kitties who were all very interested in cuddling that night.