A Grasshopper Story

So…I have this very, very naughty cat. No, not that one.

He’s a good boy.

Not that one either.

She doesn’t have wicked bone in her fluffy little body.

Yeaaaah. That one. She knows her name.

Little Miss Chili Naughty Pants.

I know. She looks all innocent and sweet now  but believe me, it’s just a façade. Any minute, she will disappear out the kitty door only to reappear in 3 minutes time with a live, fully functioning GRASSHOPPER in her mouth!!

She used to play with it for awhile, till it was half dead or all the way dead, as I scurried around the room looking for a way to get the creepy thing out of my house, without…you know…having to…touch it. Gag.

Well, little Miss Naughtyness got so used to me chasing her prize around the place, that she decided to help me skip a few steps. NOW she just runs in,  finds me and plops the nasty critter right at my feet, or ON my feet– anywhere that her treasure can be fully appreciated.  Bless her.

If I’m at my desk, she’s content to drop it on the floor behind me so that it will hop right up on the computer screen–or better yet–on my BACK, which it has done right in the middle of a Zoom class…twicein. front. of. people. 

Oh, yeah–class gets REALLY good sometimes…

especially when someone is uncontrollably screeching like a six year old.

Then we could talk about the ones that we don’t find…

until later.

Cat for sale…cheap.

Inquire within.


A Particularly Private Kitty

So, I come into my room, minding my own business, thinking that I’ll just plop down on my bed. But wait…

Who flipped my pillow upside down?

What the…?

Apparently, this girl kitty has found a way to turn my pillow sham into her own private sleeping bag hide away.

Good grief.

She’s just lucky I didn’t dive right on top of her.

Silly thing. Let me just tip toe back out, so as not to disturb Queen Jiff.

Why do I get the feeling that she thinks she sharing this room with me–instead of the other way around?

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Monkey Biz

100 Happy Days #14

001Our littles are really enjoying the Curious George cartoons that are on Netflix these days. It is a soft, gentle, sometimes even a bit mushy show and I like it much more than I thought I would. But I confess–I love Miss Chompy’s picture of little George even more. A ton more, in fact.

Tell me, if you can, that this doesn’t make you happy too?


Late Last Night~

in our front yard…


I was called to the window to see…


this sweet thing.


We were stunned.


This has never happened before because we live just off the main drag and a good 2 miles from the mountains.


Not to mention the big lighted car lot that this pretty thing had to cross to nibble our grass…


or crab apples…


or pine cones…


or whatever it was.


But she left while we were watching and then–from the footprints, we could tell she came back again before morning.


We loved it.


Felt kinda magical.


My Poor Kitty

So, do you remember me telling you weeks ago that we thought Beany had a dislocated hip and there was really nothing we could do?

Well the other day, I was looking at his foot because all of a sudden he started walking really weird, not just with a slight limp, but like he couldn’t bend his foot–at all.

On closer inspection, and to my horror, the top of his foot was swollen up like a golf ball. We got him in to our vet, Dr. Degering as quickly as we could. In fact, I couldn’t even find the cat carrier to take him in so I just held the poor guy on my lap. I thought at first that he would go nuts, but he just sat there and let me hold him. I think sometimes animals just know when we really are trying to help them.

Anyway, Dr. Degering examined him thoroughly and said his hip was fine. At first he thought that Beany must certainly have cancer of the bone, but after an x-ray he found that his leg had actually been broken clear back when I thought he had hurt his hip. Yeah…I feel like such a schmuck. My poor kitty. The doctor thinks that he has a bone infection (Jenny–HELP!!) and that he’ll need to be on anti-biotics for about 10 days. After that he wants to see him again and figure out what to do next. He said part of the bone is deteriorated and a new piece is growing back. Sad…sad.

Trust me, I’ve learned my lesson. I solemnly swear that I will never try to diagnose a very brave, very dear cat’s injuries–ever again. Ever. As long as I live.

And now we wait, while I try to figure out how to give a syringe full of medicine to a street savvy cat…

and hope he forgives me someday.

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