Seven years ago, this klutzy kitten wandered into the yard, and to the amazement of all involved, Xena didn’t chase him away.
Later that day, completely unrelated to the arrival of the cat, terrible things happened. We had a vacancy. Obi braved the skeptical black cat and stepped into the breach. Read More
Last Sunday night, Xena and Gabby went off on another one of their infamous adventures. You know, the kind that cause me to lose sleep and what little hair I have left. They didn’t show up when I poured food in their food bowls Sunday night; only Gabby had come home by Monday night. Her behavior was very unusual – she was very depressed and wasn’t eating. That’s when the sinking feeling set in that something was terribly wrong. I’ve attempted to get Gabby to lead me to where she last saw Xena, but she either can’t go or just doesn’t know where she is.
It’s been five days now since we’ve seen her. The weather has been getting progressively worse – colder and rainier with a decent chance for sleet tonight – and there’s no sign of her. I think my old dog is gone. Read More
You may remember this photo from this post in 2007 – the “O” series:
From left to right, oldest to youngest: Othello, Oberon, Olivia.
The other day, I got this photo of the “P” series in the same window:
“O” cats = Othello and his trainees.
“P” cats = post-Othello: Puck and his trainee(s).
(this blog post typed with Portia sitting on the mousepad)
…than by adopting a new black cat?
Yesterday, Othello’s vet asked me to allow her to keep him and do an autopsy, more or less – she, like me, was disturbed by how suddenly we lost him, and wanted to find out what was going on.
She called me when she was done. What she found out has disturbed me a lot – and humbled me. You probably don’t want to read past this point if you don’t want to cry. Read More
This morning, during what seemed like it was just going to be a routine diaper change, darling son of mine unleashed an event that shall forever be known as the Poopocalypse. Now, I’ve hunted for poopapotamus in the suburbs around Poopopolis before, and I’ve read many times a passage of Dickens calling for decreasing the surplus poopulation, but this was a real game of poop goes the weasel. I’ll admit to having barely hung on to my own breakfast during this one, it was such a mess.
And now the pictures! (But not of that.) Let us speak no more of the Poopocalypse. Read More
We’re just innocent little kittens playing in the laundry. Oh yes we are. We’re not making anything dirty again. We promise. Read More