All this yoga has worn me out. Time for some more sleeping.
After all, it is what I do best. If you look very closely, my eyes are half open, but I am actually asleep. So asleep, in fact, that I didn't even notice Mum taking my picture, and that never happens.
I'm a big fat ginger sleepy cat.
This is the full frontal kitty stretch.
Come on kitties, work those paws!
I'm a big fat ginger stretched out kitty.
I got a kitty advent calendar!! Here it is.
You can see I was quite interested. It's got little doors that you open, and inside is a mixture of milk drops and catnip drops. I've never had either before. Now, I know you're wondering that it's a bit late to start an Advent Calendar on the 10th December, but there is a reason for that. One of Mum's friends bought it for her cat, but her cat isn't interested in Christmas, so she thought I'd like it. So it's a second-hand advent calendar really, but it hadn't been opened, so alls good. So, I checked it out thoroughly.
And had a good sniff round.
Then Mum opened the first door, and inside were milk drops. They were yummy! It's funny that I don't like milk, but I like milk drops!
I nade light work of those.
Mum's going to swap my Kitty Sticks for the Advent Calendar.
I really really really like Kitty Sticks, but I wolf them down so quickly that 10 minutes later they come right back up again, and Mum doesn't think it's right that she gives me stuff that makes me sick. She's probably right.
I'm a big fat ginger full of milk drops cat. Roll on tomorrow!
Sometimes, I get bored of sleeping on the bed, or on my cushion. So, I found a new bag.
Now, Dad gets a bit nervous when I get into a bag - I only pee'd in a bag twice, once when I was little and once when I had just come home from the Kitty Quarantine Spa and hadn't figured out where my box was - so think that can be excused and don't think there is any need to mention it again. It seems like a very nice bag.
I may stay here for some time.
I'm a big fat ginger kitty in a bag!
My Mum is crafty! She knew I wouldn't want to go into the PTU, so quietly bought it downstairs whilst I was asleep. In fact, I didn't even notice it until I was unceremoniously picked up and bundled into it - yes, she's quick too!!
Then, they put me in the boot! Seems the little green car has run away to live with someone else, so they went in Dad's car. Don't panic, it wasn't really the boot, but it's a kind of hatchback thing, but I wasn't best pleased, and showed my displeasure by howling all the way.
At the boat thing, it didn't improve. It was cold. Dad made a lot of noise poking the black thing in the corner, which finally glowed orange and gave out some heat. When they had bought everything in, Mum let me out of the PTU, but I was desperate for a wee. I ran up and down, looking for my box, but couldn't find it anywhere. Finally, I found a bag of Dad's nicely ironed shirts - I have been known to pee in a bag once before - that I thought would do, but Mum caught me just as I was climbing in. Good job she knows me, as she quickly had the box out!.
I did try to sleep on the bed, but it was a bit cold, so spent most of the night on the rug in front of the fire. I don't like sleeping in my own really. They took my cushion, but it wasn't the same as when it's at home. I also got a bit box obsessed, and spent lots of time digging and moving my cat litter about, which drove Dad nuts. Mum said it was because the box was too close to everyone, but It was really a cunning plan on my part!
Dad now thinks I would be happier left at home. Finally!!
Now, I know I am a lucky kitty. I was found in a cardboard box at the end of the street and my Mum & Dad took me in. I get big bowls of noms. I get to sleep on the bed. I've got the best cushion ever, lots of kitty friends and I know my Mum and Dad love me very much and will always look after me. I am a very lucky kitty. Some kitties are not so lucky.
Imagine what this poor sweet girl has gone through. First, her human up and leaves her for the Rainbow Bridge and then her brother had left her too. She’s 12 years young and is distraught about this turn of events. She is a kind soul who loves to love and be loved. She loves to have her gorgeous fur combed too.
Moosie has a Christmas wish. Moosie really, really, really would love to have a nice retirement home. She would be totally delighted. As a matter of fact, that is the ONLY THING on her Christmas list. She’s having a hard time believing in miracles these days, it just seems that nobody wants her. She’s hopeful that a Christmas miracle can happen. Will you help find Moosie a home for Christmas? Please post about her one more time, please tweet about her one more time, please put her on Facebook one more time. We’ve just got to come through for her. Let’s help that miracle happen for Moosie.
I am sad that Moosie can't come and live with me, but we are in the wrong country. Someone somewhere must be able to help. If you can, follow the link behind the picture to Brian's Home, and he can put you in contact with the right people.
I'm a big fat ginger keeping my paws crossed for Moosie cat.
Much excitement in our house this morning, as we received a communique from the Aide de Camp advising that I have been bestowed the honour of Centurian Pussimuss.
"The Universal shining light that is Maximus Spittimus has requested that I thank you for your request to join his Centurion Army.
Maximus hereby confers on you the right to be known as Pussimuss and has stated that your picture and Centurion Rank will appear on http://maximusspittimus.blogspot.com shortly.
He is also particularly delighted that one of his new Centurions is a handsome Ginger! (Obviously not as handsome as the Great Maximus of course)...;-)
You are hereby granted immortality and extra fishy food.
Oh hail the great Maximus Spttimuss!
After all that, I need a lie down!
I'm a big fat ginger Pussimuss Cat.
Firstly, happy Thanksgiving to all my American Friends!
Blogging has been a bit slow in our house this week due to other things. There is good news and bad news.
The good news is that Dad has fixed my kitty condo (actually, he did that a couple of weeks ago, but I forgot to tell you).
He did quite a good job, well, as best as he can, although the side still looks a bit iffy! I have given it a bit of stick though, so can't really complain.
The bad news is the boaty thing. This is the boaty thing.
Mum and Dad went away last weekend and moved the boaty thing - Dad wasn't best pleased when he got home. Apparently the current was too strong, it was freezing cold, dark, and someone threw a brick at them at Worcester. That doesn't sound good to me at all. I stayed home in the warm and spent the whole weekend on my cushion, which was much more fun.
Anyway, now the boaty thing is moved and is a lot easier to get to, apparently when they go for the weekend I have go with them, as they think I don't like being left home alone That means going in the Prisoner Transport Unit and in the car!! What about my cushion? What about my noms? I is going to hide under the sofa and hope they don't notice me!
I is not a happy big fat ginger kitty!!
Now, that doesn't rhyme, does it?
Anyway, I spent a bit of time on the stairs, and Mum used the flashy box to capture it for all posterity.
Ho hum, more yellow flashy eyes.
I quite like it on the stairs, cos I can keep an eye on everything.
See how my head just fits in the gap?
Can I just point out this wasn't my idea.
I'm a big fat ginger on the stairs cat.
Sometimes, I can't trust Mum to keep things up to date on the blogging front, so I need to keep a check on her.
She still hasn't fixed that yellow eye thing yet though!!
I'm a big fat ginger keeping a check on my blog cat.
Now, you all remember my cushion disappeared? Well, as mysteriously as it vanished, it has returned!
I know you were all worried about it going into the washing machine, and how it would come back without any kitty fur or kitty smells on it. To be honest, I like a nice clean cushion, in the same way I like to sleep on the ironing, or whatever outfit Mum has laid out on the bed ready for work. Thing's are just not the same unless there's a layer of kitty hair all over it.
Anyway, here's my cushion, back safe and sound. Of course, I was straight onto it, to make sure it had been washed correctly.
Seems I have turned into a yellow eyed monster! There's no option for yellow eye removal on iPhoto, apparently. I'll just carry on re-furring my cushion.
I'm a big fat ginger cat who's clad to see the return of his cushion.
In other news, someone has vandalised my Kitty Condo. Just look at the damage.
and here.
I don't think it was Next Door Kitty, as has been mentioned previously, she always eats and runs. Dad won't be very happy, as he'll have to stick it all down again.
Don't worry Dad, I'll keep watch for kitty condo vandalising introoders.
I'm a big fat ginger keeping watch for vandalisators kitty.
When I came back in from checking the perimeter this morning, I strolled across the living rom, only to notice out of the corner of my eye that something terrible has happened. Can you guess what it is?
You guessed it yet? That's right. My cushion has vanished! I sat on the rug for a while, not quite sure what a kitty with a lost cushion should do. This is actually the rug in the hall, which isn't very good for sitting on, but on the plus side it's near my noms.
Then Mum told me she'd put it in the washing machine. I don't know what a washing machine is, but it doesn't sound good. Apparently she's been trying to get it out from underneath me for ages, but I'm always sitting on it. Wednesday was a good opportunity, she says, because I always spend Wednesdays underneath the sofa hiding from the dustbin lorry. I wasn't very impressed with that at all.
So, what's a cushionless kitty to do? This:
This is Mum's spot on the sofa!! I'll just sit here until my cushion comes back.
I'm a big fat ginger cushionless cat.
Mum has a copy of the Dewey book that she's just finished. She got a bit teary at the end and I had to go and sit on her lap for a while. If anyone hasn't read it and would like it, just let me know. Mum would be happy to Paw it Forward.
Inigo is very poorly, and it is likely he will not get better. Please go visit and send your purrs and headbutts to Inigo, Rumbles, and of course, to Rumblemum and Rumbledad. They could really use your support right now.
Mum and I will be purring for them.
Now, you kitties all know that we have very important jobs to perform around the house. We have to check the perimeter every morning for introoders. We have to snoopervise the general day to day running, etc, etc. You kitties all know what I am talking about.
Today, I have two very important extra jobs. Firstly, rug guarding.
Now, you might think I'm asleep, but I'm not. Here's proof. You wouldn't catch me napping on the job.
Secondly, an even more important responsibility. Can you guess what it is?
Need a clue? Mum, what happened to the top of my head??
That's right. I'm the official remote control warmer!
Whenever they can't find the remote, Dad says "is it under the cat?" I take my responsibilities very seriously!
And another thing - less of the cranky pants!!!
I'm a big fat ginger responsible cat.
Now, I know some of you may think that I don't like Next Door Kitty, but actually, she's kinda cute. She has taken to just waltzing into the house, and I did get a bit upset yesterday when
a) she sat on my cushion, and
b) she tried to get into my Kitty Condo, and
c) she went upstairs in search of the bed.
I did get a bit upset about that, and we had to have words. Anyway, here's proof that I don't mind sharing with Next Door Kitty. Here we are treat sharing.
See how close together we are.
and she's off, in search of more noms I expect.
See, I am a nice kitty!
I'm a big fat ginger cat who quite likes Next Door Kitty.
Cushion time!
I might look asleep, but really I'm keeping one eye open for the Snorgle Monster!! You know who you are!
See the outstretched paw? I'm a coiled spring in disguise.
I'm a bit fat ginger pretending to be asleep on my cushion cat.
There I am, sitting on the floor, minding my own business when along comes the flashy box.
Actually, I look quite handsome from this angle. I'm a bit worried about Mum though, if she gets down here with her knees she might never get up again. I know she can't reach my noms from here.
I'm trying not to look too interested in what she's doing.
Are you finished now? There's a sunspot coming my way.
I'm a big fat ginger waiting for the sunspot cat.
Tober, the very famous Thorntown Library Cat, wrote recently that he was now even more famous as he had appeared in a video about a super-famous library cat, Dewey Readmore Books, who lived in the Library in Spencer, Indiana after having been posted through the book return slot in the freezing cold. Apparently he's even had real books written about him. You can read about Dewey and his story here, and watch the video here.
Dewey was undoubtedly a real cutie - unfortunately he is no longer with us, but he lived to a ripe old age of 19. He just looks famous, doesn't he.
It seems that Kitties will take over the World. This post is all a bit disjointed, but Mum was quite taken with Dewey's story, and the fact that there are cats living in libraries right across the globe. The lady who found Dewey has written a book about him, and here's an excerpt from that book - "Dewey, the small town library cat who touched the World".
Edited to add: I just saw on the Cat Blogosphere that Kimberly and Mr Jingles are running a contest where you can win a copy of the book. Just go to their blog for all the details.
Chapter 1 - The Coldest Morning
January 18, 1988, was a bitterly cold Iowa Monday. The night before, the temperature had reached minus fifteen degrees, and that didn't take into account the wind, which cut under your coat and squeezed your bones. It was a killing freeze, the kind that made it almost painful to breathe. The problem with flat land, as all of Iowa knows, is that there's nothing to stop the weather. It blows out of Canada, across the Dakotas, and straight into town. The first bridge in Spencer across the Little Sioux, built in the late 1800s, had to be taken down because the river became so jammed with ice everyone worried the pylons would collapse. When the town water tower burned down in 1893—the straw packing used to keep the riser pipe from freezing caught fire, and all the nearby fire hydrants were frozen solid—a two-foot-thick, ten-foot-wide circle of ice slid out the top of the tank, crushed the community recreation center, and shattered all over Grand Avenue. That's winter in Spencer for you.
I have never been a morning person, especially on a dark and cloudy January day, but I have always been dedicated. There were a few cars on the road at seven thirty, when I drove the ten blocks to work, but as usual mine was the first car in the parking lot. Across the street, the Spencer Public Library was dead—no lights, no movement, no sound until I flipped a switch and brought it to life. The heater switched on automatically during the night, but the library was still a freezer first thing in the morning. Whose idea was it to build a concrete and glass building in northern Iowa? I needed my coffee.
I went immediately to the library staff room—nothing more than a kitchenette with a microwave and a sink, a refrigerator too messy for most people's taste, a few chairs, and a phone for personal calls—hung up my coat, and started the coffee. Then I scanned the Saturday newspaper. Most local issues could affect, or could be affected by, the library. The local newspaper, the Spencer Daily Reporter, didn't publish on Sunday or Monday, so Monday was catch-up morning for the Saturday edition.
"Good morning, Vicki," said Jean Hollis Clark, the assistant library director, taking off her scarf and mittens. "It's a mean one out there."
"Good morning, Jean," I said, putting aside the paper.
In the center of the staff room, against the back wall, was a large metal box with a hinged lid. The box was two feet high and four feet square, about the size of a two-person kitchen table if you sawed the legs in half. A metal chute rose out of the top of the box, then disappeared into the wall. At the other end, in the alley behind the building, was a metal slot: the library's after-hours book return.
You find all kinds of things in a library drop box—garbage, rocks, snowballs, soda cans. Librarians don't talk about it, because it gives people ideas, but all libraries deal with it. Video stores probably have the same problem. Stick a slot in a wall and you're asking for trouble, especially if, as it did at the Spencer Public Library, the slot opened onto a back alley across the street from the town's middle school. Several times we had been startled in the middle of the afternoon by a loud pop from the drop box. Inside, we'd find a firecracker.
After the weekend, the drop box would also be full of books, so every Monday I loaded them onto one of our book carts so the clerks could process and shelve them later in the day. When I came back with the cart on this particular Monday morning, Jean was standing quietly in the middle of the room.
"I heard a noise."
"What kind of noise?"
"From the drop box. I think it's an animal."
"A what?"
"An animal. I think there's an animal in the drop box."
That was when I heard it, a low rumble from under the metal cover. It didn't sound like an animal. It sounded more like an old man struggling to clear his throat. But I doubted it was an old man. The opening at the top of the chute was only a few inches wide, so that would be quite a squeeze. It was an animal, I had little doubt of that, but what kind? I got down on my knees, reached over to the lid, and hoped for a chipmunk.
The first thing I felt was a blast of freezing air. Someone had jammed a book into the return slot, wedging it open. It was as cold in the box as it was outside; maybe colder, since the box was lined with metal. You could have kept frozen meat in there. I was still catching my breath when I saw the kitten.
It was huddled in the front left corner of the box, its head down, its legs tucked underneath it, trying to appear as small as possible. The books were piled haphazardly to the top of the box, partially hiding it from view. I lifted one gingerly for a better look. The kitten looked up at me, slowly and sadly. Then it lowered its head and sank down into its hole. It wasn't trying to appear tough. It wasn't trying to hide. I don't even think it was scared. It was just hoping to be saved.
I know melting can be a cliché, but I think that's what actually happened to me at that moment: I lost every bone in my body. I am not a mushy person. I'm a single mother and a farm girl who has steered her life through hard times, but this was so, so . . . unexpected.
I lifted the kitten out of the box. My hands nearly swallowed it. We found out later it was eight weeks old, but it looked no more than eight days old, if that. It was so thin I could see every rib. I could feel its heart beating, its lungs pumping. The poor kitten was so weak it could barely hold up its head, and it was shaking uncontrollably. It opened its mouth, but the sound, which came two seconds later, was weak and ragged.
And cold. That's what I remember most, because I couldn't believe a living animal could be so cold. It felt like there was no warmth at all. So I cradled the kitten in my arms to share my heat. It didn't fight. Instead, it snuggled into my chest, then laid its head against my heart.
"Oh, my golly," said Jean. "The poor baby," I said, squeezing tighter. "It's adorable."
Neither of us said anything for a while. We were just staring at the kitten. Finally Jean said, "How do you think it got in there?"
I wasn't thinking about last night. I was only thinking about right now. It was too early to call the veterinarian, who wouldn't be in for an hour. But the kitten was so cold. Even in the warmth of my arms, I could feel it shaking.
"We've got to do something," I said. Jean grabbed a towel, and we wrapped the little fellow up until only its nose was sticking out, its huge eyes staring from the shadows in disbelief. "Let's give it a warm bath," I said. "Maybe that will stop the shivering."
I filled the staff room sink with warm water, testing it with my elbow as I clutched the kitten in my arms. It slid into the sink like a block of ice. Jean found some shampoo in the art closet, and I rubbed the kitten slowly and lovingly, almost petting it. As the water turned grayer and grayer, the kitten's wild shivering turned to soft purring. I smiled. This kitten was tough. But it was so very young. When I finally lifted it out of the sink, it looked like a newborn: huge lidded eyes and big ears sticking out from a tiny head and an even smaller body. Wet, defenseless, and meowing quietly for its mother.
We dried it with the blow dryer we used for drying glue at craft time. Within thirty seconds, I was holding a beautiful, long-haired orange tabby. The kitten had been so filthy, I had thought it was gray.
By this time Doris and Kim had arrived, and there were four people in the staff room, each cooing over the kitten. Eight hands touched it, seemingly at once. The other three staffers talked over one another while I stood silently cradling the kitten like a baby and rocking back and forth from foot to foot.
"Where did it come from?"
"The drop box."
"No!"
"Is it a boy or a girl?"
I glanced up. They were all looking at me. "A boy," I said.
"He's beautiful."
"How old is he?"
"How did he get in the box?"
I wasn't listening. I only had eyes for the kitten.
"It's so cold."
"Bitterly cold."
"The coldest morning of the year."
A pause, then:
"Someone must have put him in the box."
"That's awful."
"Maybe they were trying to save him. From the cold."
"I don't know . . . he's so helpless."
"He's so young."
"He's so beautiful. Oh, he's breaking my heart."
I put him down on the table. The poor kitten could barely stand. The pads on all four of his paws were frostbitten, and over the next week they would turn white and peel off. And yet the kitten managed to do something truly amazing. He steadied himself on the table and slowly looked up into each face. Then he began to hobble. As each person reached to pet him, he rubbed his tiny head against her hand and purred. Forget the horrible events in his young life. Forget the cruel person who shoved him down that library drop box. It was as if, from that moment on, he wanted to personally thank every person he ever met for saving his life.
By now it had been twenty minutes since I pulled the kitten out of the drop box, and I'd had plenty of time to think through a few things—the once common practice of keeping library cats, my ongoing plan to make the library more friendly and appealing, the logistics of bowls and food and cat litter, the trusting expression on the kitten's face when he burrowed into my chest and looked up into my eyes. So I was more than prepared when someone finally asked,
"What should we do with him?"
"Well," I said, as if the thought had just occurred to me, "maybe we can keep him."
