The Little Pack

Both of our cats are indoor cats. We live too close to busy roads to even consider letting our cats be outdoor cats. There is no question that indoor cats live longer, healthier lives than outside cats. Besides, we always say that Archie is too dumb to be an outdoor cat. He would probably nap in the middle of the road, thinking the warm pavement was the perfect place for a snooze. Once in awhile, we will take Archie outside and hold him in our arms. We could never do this with Baby Titten as she hates to be held and we would be scratched to heck. Lately, we have taken him out on the deck and sat him in our laps, where he is fairly content to hang out. Unfortunately, now every time we sit on the deck, he waits at the slider and cries his head off while desperately digging at the door the entire time we are within his sight. This is better now that it has been warmer and we have had the air on, only because we can’t hear him cry. Because we don’t always respond, and because he has decided he loves the fresh air, he has taken to “escaping.” Today, while I was letting the dogs inside, he made a dash for it (and by dash, I really mean a slow stroll). Dixie was on the porch and went after him and pinned him to the porch, holding him there until I could pick him up, as though she knew he wasn’t supposed to be outside. Once inside where she continued to punish him by trying to smash him to the floor and lecturing him by making this strange grumbling complaining sound. For the record, I did not condone the smashing (we never condone smashing of the cats), although she was successful once. She definitely has a mind of her own.

First swim of the year may just be this weekend!

Somewhere along the way we began to set time limits on toys. Toy Time officially ends at 10pm. Jackson has learned what “It’s past Toy Time, Buddy” means, along with “Last time” and “One more time.” The best part is that  he seems to have a sense of when Toy Time should end. Occasionally my husband will try to tell him that Toy Time has ended early, at say 8:30. Jackson knows better and will look at him like he’s stupid. But tonight at 10 o’clock exactly, Jackson stopped bringing me his toy on his own and laid down. My dogs never cease to amaze me.

So Tired

Through the years I have come to admire many things about Cheyenne. She is, in every sense of the word, spirited. Cheyenne puts her whole self into every thing she does. If she is running, she is galloping flat out, as fast as she can go. If she is digging, limbs and dirt are flying everywhere while a hole seemingly appears out of nowhere. What this means though, is that she has no idea how to pace herself. The first time I took her to a new state park, with strange dogs she had never met before, she was so excited that she was literally laying down in the middle of the trail, panting, unable to continue after a half mile. Jackson and IO condescending looked down at her as if to say, “Amateur.” But it is admirable to watch the way she so willingly gives of herself, she does not hold back. And there is a lesson to be learned from watching her, about giving it all you’ve get, with absolutely no abandon, no hesitations or fears about the future: there is only the moment and living in it and doing the absolute best you can.

Last night, just after I had fallen asleep, I awoke to the sound of crying: sad, strange, quiet, constant cries. Archie was crying repeatedly, and it was not his usual cry. I was concerned, so I got up to check on him. Sigh. He was just lonely. He was at the door to the bedroom and began purring as soon as he saw me. Its important to note that the other door to the bedroom is always open… I reached down to pick him up and he quickly headed down the hallway to the kitchen, looking over his shoulder to ensure I was still following him and trotting just out of my grasp. I should explain that he loooves to get attention in the kitchen for reasons I have never understood. Anyway, he soon galloped into the kitchen, threw himself on the floor and rolled over with all fours in the air. What else would I be doing at 1:30 in the morning? So, I sat down next him and petted him and sweet-talked him while he purr-cooed. Poor thing felt absolutely attention deprived. I carried him into the bedroom to be us so he wouldn’t be alone. Silly me, why would he want to be with us in there just because he’s lonely? I should have realized it clearly made more sense for me to sleep on the kitchen floor. He left. And a mere few hours later, he woke me up because he was crying again. Some people have babies that wake them in the night needing comfort… I have a cat. It’s almost the same, right?