The cat ate my blog

How to Consume Shrimp in the Presence of a Cat

2006-10-18T21:55:00.000-04:00

As a responsible cat owner, there are many things to know. When they are truly hungry and when they're just playing mind games, the least annoying way to clean the kitty box, when they are really sick enough to need the vet, and so on. I never dreamed there would be a lesson centered around the human consumption of shrimp. But, yes, indeed, there is more to learn about responsible cat ownership than which brand of litter makes a bag that's least likely to tear in your car. Here is the Official Responsible Cat Owner Lesson on the Proper Consumption of Shrimp, as taught to us by Arwen. Yes, Arwen - the cat that actually has some manners. Well, at least when shrimp aren't involved.

Just because the cat can take or leave fresh tuna and yawns at salmon does not mean she won't risk her life AND yours for your steamed shrimp.
Shutting the cat in the basement will not result in a peaceful shrimp dinner. She will yowl and bodily throw herself at the door until you relent and release her (for fear of her breaking down the door, not injury to the cat).
Leaving two or three shrimp in the cat's food bowl will not serve to distract her. She would much rather follow you and claw up your leg to obtain your larger shrimp supply.
The cat can only be properly distracted from your shrimp supply by providing a plattered shrimp offering to Her Feline Highness at your feet in the dining room.
Do not bother to protect the area rug in your dining room against feline consumption of the shrimp offering. Shrimp offerings cannot be consumed on a hardwood floor, over the platter, or on newspaper. They must be carried and placed on an uncovered portion of the rug for elegant kitty eating.
Shrimp, even when cleaned, de-veined, steamed and peeled, are considered whole prey and must be thoroughly disemboweled (in other words, completely shredded with the hind claws) all over the unprotected portion of the rug before they can be eaten.
Shredded shrimp do NOT vacuum out of the rug.
Tails are the best part of the shrimp. Removing them from the kitty platter offering is considered extremely rude and will result in the cat disciplining its ignorant, ill-mannered human.
The little shrimp shreds you missed picking out of the rug by hand lend an interesting new aromatic ambience to your dining room the next morning.
Despite the new aromatic ambience, do not bother taking the rug out to a cleaner just yet. Wait until the cat has coughed up the hairball from licking up rug fibers while you were at work in an attempt to consume those last little shrimp shreds you missed picking out by hand. How do you know this hairball came from the dining room rug, and not normal kitty grooming? The unusual blue color is normally a good clue.

Alright, class. Any questions? Okay. Pop quiz time!

Q. How do you manage to eat a shrimp dinner when you own a cat?

A. Remember that tails are the best part of the shrimp. Therefore, before the cat can crawl up your leg, chomp down the first shrimp and toss her the tail. As long as you can eat shrimp faster than she can eat tails, your dinner is safe. If you fall behind... It's been nice knowing you.

Rowena and the cat flap

2006-08-07T20:56:00.000-04:00

Yes, another cat story. What else do you expect from a blog eaten by a cat?

I really have two cats, not just the Rowena of blog-eating fame. Our first cat is Arwen, a beautiful, regal, cattitude-filled blue and cream tortie. She's the very image of a perfect Victorian lady's cat.

Rowena isn't too happy about this rival for human attention and affection. Given half a chance, she'll harass Arwen and chase her down into the basement, where the humans rarely go. There may be a minor tussle at the door, but Rowena always wins and poor Arwen is left to sulk downstairs.

We installed a cat flap in the basement door the spring after we brought Arwen home. Her litter box is down there, and once the air conditioner was back in use for the warm season, we soon discovered keeping the basement door open did not help keep the house cool. Enter the cat flap - basement door stays closed, Arwen can get to her litter box, everyone's happy.

Except that Arwen could not figure out how to use the cat flap. I've trained her to sit, stay, beg, circle, jump up or down, and come when called. You'd think I could train her to push the flap open and walk through. Heck, no. That's real work. Did I mention she's a willful princess?

I tried luring her with catnip. She rolled and did her nip fit on the opposite side of the door. I tried cracking the flap open just enough so she could see me bait the floor on the opposite side with her favorite food, shrimp. That smart little furball whipped her paw under the door, scooped up the shrimp, and pulled them over to her side for a leisurely feast. Huh.

In the end, we decided to tie the flap open by looping twine around the flap and tying it to the door knob. Arwen gets free access, and the hole for cool air to escape the ground floor is much smaller. We can live with that.

Or so we though. We had no idea how smart cats really are. Foolish human mortals, us. Enter Rowena.

Rowena understands hinges. Rowena understands gravity. She understands that the string is all that holds up the silly little cat flap. She has never seen us put the string on or take it off. But she knows.... oh, she knows that after Arwen flees through her propped-open cat flap, a little hook of the paw and tug on the string, and BAM! Down comes the flap, and Arwen is trapped in the basement. You can almost hear the evil "Mwa ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Take that, you spoiled cat princess!" resounding in her fuzzy feline Einstein brain.

I'm afraid she might try to take over the world next week. Our only hope is that absolute rule would interfere with her afternoon naps and evening play sessions.

I have a photo gallery!

2006-04-18T19:35:00.000-04:00

I am a photography addict. Yes, I have lens lust. At least I put them to frequent use!

Now the cat ate my keys...

2006-03-24T18:12:00.000-05:00

I swore my third blog article would not be about cats. I have many hobbies—horseback riding, creative writing, rubber stamping, music. Surely there was something else to write about. Sure enough there is, but once again I suspect the blog-eating cat is involved.

So here I am, stuck at work on a Friday evening until my darling husband can pick me up. Not because I didn't get everything done, not because of a major office crisis, but because I don't have a car.

Well, that's not entirely true. It's because I don't have car keys. I had them when I got home late last night. As of this morning at 8:17am, they were missing, and not just on any day. It had to be the day where a celebratory department luncheon—the one that took six weeks to schedule to make sure everyone could attend—is taking place.

So... my boss, the wonderful, kind-hearted soul that he is, came and picked me up at 10:00am this morning so I wouldn't miss out. It's more than just a favor—it's forty-five miles round trip. I think I'll need to be his lunch-fetching servant for the next two weeks just to repay him. That's no small return kindness, trust me. The cafeteria is two buildings, an outdoor jaunt and three flights of stairs away.

This happened to me once before—the missing keys. I even had to call into work to say I'd be slaving from home for the day, because I was missing one critical item for the commute. I eventually found the keys at lunchtime. Where? In the linen closet. WHERE?

Yup, that's the linen closet. It took me a while to piece together what really happened.

You see, when I was getting out of the shower that morning, I heard Rowena, the blog-eating cat, batting something across the hardwood floor in the hall. Something that made a lot of noise, which she loves. I didn't think a thing of it, because she has tons of cat toys that rattle.

Later, when I had gotten dressed and was coming out of the bedroom, I saw her trying to reach under the closed door of the linen closet. It seemed to be where she had managed to lose her fun toy. Poor kitty—but she has dozens of toys, trust me, and I was in a hurry to leave. Until I found the keys were missing.

Gee—those missing keys were the very same ones I discovered later in the linen closet, where Rowena had been hunting for her fun noisy rattling toy... hmmmm....

So, yes, the cat ate my keys back then. If she ate them again today, she'll be damned lucky she's too cute to kill!

Major cat rescue makes the regional news!

2006-03-24T18:07:00.000-05:00

Here, Kitty Kitty, the cat adoption group that gave me Rowena (yes, the very cat who ate my blog), did their first major rescue this year, pulling nearly thirty cats from an abuse situation. Here's the article.

Yes, the cat ate my blog

2006-02-21T21:47:00.000-05:00

She did. Really. She is the cat that curiosity will kill. She must investigate and attack, eat, or play-to-death with anything that takes the human attention away from her. Or anything that moves. Or anything that amuses. Or makes noise. Or anything that just... is.

That's why she ate my blog. Just like she ate my peanut butter sandwich, tomato soup, and the paper towels.

Rowena is mischief incarnate in a cute furry little package. She has to investigate and get into everything. Ribbon? Cat toy. Paper? Cat toy. Bottle cap? Cat toy. Paper clip? Cat toy. Security badge for work? Cat toy. Keys? Cat toy. Jewelry? Cat toy. Plastic bag? Yup... you've got it. Cat toy. Although, in a pinch, it can double as a noisy bed.

Now I can see which of you out there are cat owners. You're smiling, you're even chuckling. "Foolish mortal," you say. "That's what kittens do. She'll grow out of it."

Uh huh. She's six years old. She's not a kitten, she's a full-grown puppy cat.

She really does think she's a dog. After drinking water, she'll shake like a dog. She follows me everywhere around the house, like a dog. She constantly demands attention, like a dog. She's got this ragamuffin, just-came-in-from-playing-in-the-dirt look to her, even though she's an indoor-only cat who is groomed daily. She'll cock her head sideways and give you that soulful, doggy stare of affection. She's even got a kick spot.

It's the puppy cat that made me fall in love with her—like when she gently taps my leg for attention or a lift into my lap; when she rolls onto her back and paws the air in her "I'm too cute!" pose; when she calls me to come play with her; when she hears my alarm go off in the morning, and she tears into the bedroom to jump up on the quilt and snuggle with me for those ten minutes before I'm conscious enough to roll out of bed.

So, I adore her anyway, even through the shredded ribbon and the "stolen" paperclips and the blogs that don't get written because she wants to play with me. Wouldn't you?