Every time I think Annie has cornered the market in weirdness, she comes up with a new angle. With a comfy cat bed, numerous rugs and cushions, two sofas and two people beds all awaiting her presence, tonight I walked into the bathroom to find her comfortably bedded down in her litter tray! Go figure.
Here are some photos I snapped today in the Vet’s office waiting room. How many forms of feline confinement are there, anyway? Share yours with me by posting links to your blog below in comments. (Click on photos to enlarge.)
Annie and I have been to the vet twice in the past two days and since tomorrow is a holiday (Mexican Labor Day, when ironically nobody works for a day) they want us to come back on Thursday. Since her treatment is exactly the same if it is cancer or no, I decided to spare her that long needle for the biopsy. So we’re home with one medicine, another available Thursday, another expensive healthy cat food she won’t eat and, blessedly, for her, the freedom of the whole house. She did not like her sojourn in the dread black bag pictured.
Here are some photos I snapped today in the Vet’s office waiting room. How many forms of feline confinement are there, anyway? Share yours with me by posting links to your blog below.
5:30 A.M. Early Morning Matins
Her imperious demands
slice the morning air.
I’ve only had three hours of sleep.
She doesn’t seem to care.
The young cats all wait patiently.
The dogs are still abed,
but the old cat knows her wants,
and she wants to be fed!
Church bells rise up from the town,
the priest’s demanding voice
calls the village folks to church
and they have little choice
but to go to laud the virgin,
for this is her holy week.
Old women crawl upon their knees,
her miracles to seek.
Dark morning air is quiet now,
the people in their pews,
the priest abandoning megaphone
to disperse his news.
The old cat, too, falls silent,
for she knows well her mater.
If I haven’t catered to her wails
by now, I’ll feed her later!!!
This is the shrine to the Virgin of Guadalupe that the women were constructing in the hotel where we went for breakfast in Acapulco. Every night, we saw processions carrying their virgins to the church to be blessed. This is the twelve-day celebration to the Virgin that is practiced all over Mexico every December and what the very early church bells were about this morning. December 12th is her day and it is a bank holiday in Mexico. Five days to go.
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2018/12/08/your-daily-word-prompt-imperious-December-8-2018/
Click on the first photo to enlarge all photos and read the captions. You must do this first to reveal the mystery. What do all of these things have in common? Can you guess before reading the complete story printed after the photos and captions? Do you even want to?
Annie just peed in my shower––I mean a man-sized stream that arced up from where she was standing on the floor in front of the shower, over the 6 inch ledge and into the shower, where it ran from a couple of feet away right down the drain. I shouted, “No, no,” but she finished and ran away. Then I remembered that I’d cleaned out her box this morning in the location where it is located in the guest room shower and had to empty all the sand and wash out the box and under it because there was pee all over the shower floor, probably because all the cats were in yesterday and had used it and it was not pleasant to enter, so she just peed in the shower, or they did.
Anyway, I had sprayed ammonia over all the floor and box, scrubbed them both and then sprayed again with an odor eradicator and stood the box on end to dry while the shower floor dried. Then I closed the door so she didn’t go in there while it was drying. Unfortunately, I then left to drive Yolanda home, do a bit of shopping and stop by the fraccionamiento office to see if I’d paid my special assessment. I then stopped by a couple of neighbor’s houses to apologize for Diego’s barking while I was gone–another story–forgetting that I hadn’t opened the door to her guest room bathroom and set up her litter box again, so she had nowhere to pee. She did it in the easiest place to clean. Good girl.
Phew. Telling about it took as much effort as doing the two cleanups, but now the plot thickens.
Yesterday I knocked a bottle of dark rose-colored nail polish off the counter of my master bedroom bathroom and it dropped and broke on the eggshell-colored ceramic tile of my bathroom, spraying across 8 feet of floor, over the new rug I had just bought in the states, and a bit up the wall. Rapidly drying pools of bright polish and splatters mixed in with shards of glass and tiny pieces of glass made passing through the bathroom to the tub nearly impossible! Damn! How to clean it up without walking through it and cutting my fingers to shreds? I ended up wadding Kleenex and toilet paper and picking up what shards were big enough to see, then used nail polish remover pads to tackle the polish, removing big gobs with Kleenex, then carefully scrubbing with the pads. When I ran out of pads, I put polish remover on wads of Kleenex, but it was a big job.
When I had cleared away most of the bigger puddles and largest shards and removed most of the polish off the wall and rug, I had just the decorative splashes left—about 3 feet of them—it occurred to me then that the first thing forgottenman would say when I told him the story was, “Did you take pictures?” No, I hadn’t. So, now that most of the mess was already cleaned up, I did. Secondly, it occurred to me that I should just pour the rest of the bottle of polish remover over the floor and use my foot in my Croc to rub Kleenex over them. I wouldn’t have to worry about glass and could apply more pressure. I finally got it all up and then put more remover down and rubbed over larger areas to remove the stain, as that porous area now sported an overall pinkish glow.
Finally, coming up to the present and Annie’s peeing in the shower, when I was mopping up her urine with toilet paper so I could flush it, I found a pretty good sized clear shard of glass from the top part of the jar which had no polish on it to make it obvious, jagged end facing up, in the shower just where I would have stepped when I took my next shower. It had flown up and over the edge and into the shower when the nail polish bottle broke! Good Annie! Her foresight (or hindsight?) in peeing in my shower probably saved me a serious injury.
But! Did I really say finally? As I was writing this post, the plot thickened again. Just before I started writing this post and taking the photos to accompany it, I had put a small pan of Brussels sprouts on to steam. Since there were only seven largish sprouts, I used a steamer basket in a small covered saucepan with water up to the bottom of the steamer bottom. I had cut the tops of each sprout almost through to the bottom in an X pattern, and as I sprinkled them with “No Salt,” pepper, garlic powder and a bit of balsamic vinegar, I was remembering the last Brussels sprouts I’d had when I first got to Sheridan two months ago. They were served as an appetizer in a restaurant and since both my sister and Jim, her husband, hate them, it was up to my friend Patty, her boyfriend Duffy and me to polish off the whole batch. That was no problem. They were delicious—piquant and a bit charred with a wonderful smoky flavor. I was wondering how I could duplicate that recipe. Would I steam them first, then char them? What were the spices? For years I’d been using a friend’s recipe which I loved but I liked these even better.
At any rate, the present day Brussels sprouts went on the gas stovetop to steam and I went to the bathroom to survey the scene and to write this story, then to my desk in the bedroom to finish it. One thing led to another and a half hour had passed before I finished typing the story. When I came back to the living room to plug in my computer, edit photos and post, I heard a sizzling and rapid rocking sound and smelled a burning smell. Damn! The Brussels sprouts! I quickly turned off the gas under the completely waterless smoking saucepan, removed the sprouts with tongs and took the pan to the sink, running hot water over the charred black inside of the pan. Yes. More hissing and steam, but then, mindlessly, I turned the pan over and ran cold water over the burning hot pan. Instantly, an explosion of steam so intense that it removed the color from the outside of the enamel pan that was nearest to its bottom.
Luckily, I had a huge box of baking soda and two partially full bottles of cider vinegar. Into the pan they went with the expected chemical reaction: rapidly swelling foam and more hissing. I did a rigorous scrubbing with a scrubber sponge and Spongedaddy, using lots of muscle power as well as more soda and vinegar. Scrub scrub scrub. Although I got some of the char off the sides, I made little progress with the bottom of the inside of the pan.
As I left the pan in the sink to soak, I spied the Brussels sprouts neglected on the counter. I mixed up a bit of stevia in balsamic vinegar and sprinkled it over the sprouts. Swirled them a bit, then decided to taste. I think you’ve guessed the ending. Yup. They tasted exactly like the Brussels sprouts appetizer in the restaurant in Sheridan, Wyoming. So, again, thanks Annie. I’ll think twice before scolding you for any future misdeeds. But I’m going to have to buy a new pan. xoxoxo
Annie Goes on a Beach Vacation
To read the poem that goes with these photos as well as to enlarge the photos, you must click on the first photo and then on each arrow on the right hand margin of each photo. If you are viewing via Facebook, you won’t see all the photos or the captions/poems unless you click on my URL or the name of my blog first. Facebook only shows a few of the photos unless you do this.
This post is for forgottenman, who asked for it!
Day after the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good Very Bad Day
I think Annie has recovered, don’t you? (Click on any photo to enlarge all.)
e’s 
Annie as a kitten
Everyday Kitty
Casts a fine shadow. Likes to curl up.
Has to put up with that scrawny new pup.
At her most regal when perched up on leather,
she suns on the wall in the sunniest weather.
Not very scary like Halloween cats.
Doesn’t quite go with pumpkins and bats.
But everyday kitty has her own way,
and she’s a great kitty for just every day.
I wrote the above poem some time ago. I think I probably published it on my blog, but I don’t remember and I must say I’m too tired to check. Morrie has a skin infection, the kittens are darling but take up a surprising amount of time and now I have another patient to care for. After being away for weeks, everyday kitty has reinserted herself into my life. Here is the present-day story of Annie, the everyday kitty of the poem.
Poor Annie has had a hard time of it since the four kittens moved in. First of all, they drove her away from her morning meal on the wall. Then they usurped the attention and affection of her handmaiden of 15 years. They moved into the house that admittedly she’d had no desire to enter since the third dog entered the home that she herself had reigned in for a short while after Lulu, the headcat, had moved out after the second dog moved in. It had been a protest of sorts that they thought their handmaiden would pay attention to, but no. She had merely divided the lawn in two, designating the cats to the front and dogs to the back, but this wasn’t sufficient. They wanted those dogs GONE! The final result was that Lulu had moved in with the neighbors and she, Annie, had refused to venture any further onto the property than the front wall by the garage, demanding that her handmaiden deliver her meals twice a day. This she did, but an extended hand met with a rebuff. Annie would take her votive offerings, but no more. She was permanently miffed in only the way a queenly cat can be miffed. The world would suffer from now on. She was not amused.
Imagine her chagrin when the new cat in the neighborhood had first deigned to scarf down her leavings and then to challenge her for firsties. Her handmaiden had shooed the cat away, but she knew she had now and then put out fresh food for that cat at midnight when she though Annie was asleep in the field across the street. Then. Those kittens! She had tried to show the needed amount of chagrin by not coming home for meals for a few days, but then when she decided to stay her fast, when she did come home, she found her wall guarded by THAT CAT! A terrific fight ensued and sorely wounded, she had dragged herself into the walled lot across the street where she lay for two weeks, living off the reserves of rich cat foot she had been served for years. She had caught a few small rodents as well as insects, but barely enough to keep her cat soul in her body. Her eyes swelled up, infected from the scratches of the demon cat. Her right hip sored her and she could barely walk at the end, dragging the right front paw which turned under, limp and unhelpful.
How she got herself up on top of the wall she can’t remember. It was a triumph of will, but once there, she lay entangled in the dense bougainvillea vines, too tired to struggle, unable to go frontwards or backwards. She barely had the strength to meow when she heard the engine of the car. But her handmaiden heard her. She, not being as agile as she had been 16 years ago when she had crawled under the car on the streets of Ajijic to rescue Annie, had been unable to hoist herself up onto the high wall, even with the aid of a small ladder. She had clipped away at the sharp-needled bougainvillea, but to no avail. It was such a dense tangle that she made little headway, even on the outer vines, and she could not reach far enough in to free any of the vines Annie was tangled within.
When she heard the car out in the street outside the wall, her handmaiden had immediately opened the garage door and run outside for help. With the aid of the stranger in the car, who had climbed up onto the wall and started clipping away from one side while the handmaiden stood outside the wall clipping away at the other, they finally succeeded in moving her away from the stranger and into the arms of her human, who paid Annie’s savior with a new bottle of very good Tequila. He was delighted, Annie was saved, and thus began a few days of trying to save her poor emaciated self.
Annie speaks: Trips to the vet for an exam and two shots, three kinds of meds to be administered daily, bi-daily and tri-daily, setting up an emergency room in the only bathroom left in the house, the other having been usurped by the kittens, then the hours of coaxing me to eat even a small amount of food. She tried fish oil capsules broken open and dribbled over the food, the rich beefy aroma of the vitamins spread on her finger. I licked them off and then bit her, drawing blood. When cats suffer, everyone suffers! Now, after the second day, my formerly horribly swollen and infected eyes seem back to normal. I am deigning to eat small spoons full of a very expensive special cat food. They must be mixed with another special brand of wet kitten food, dribbled with fish oil and soaked in the beefy vitamin liquid. Then, offered in small bits by my handmaiden’s hand. Then much kissing and scratching and petting and coddling must occur, me wrapped in a soft towel on her lap. Then I might deign to take another bite. Such it is that everyday kitties attain the rank of royalty––just as it should always have been.
Click on first photo to enlarge all and see captions.
Lulu and Annie
I dreamed last night that I woke up and my cat was on my chest. I was surprised because she won’t come any farther than the wall to be fed since Morrie, my third dog, came to stay. My first cat, Lulu, moved out and in with the neighbors when I got my second dog. At any rate, I petted my cat, so glad to see her but wondering how she got into the house. Then suddenly another cat jumped up on the bed . I saw that it was Annie, my youngest cat. So who was the other one??? I opened my eyes to see it was Lulu who had come back to visit. I was so happy to have them both together again and we lay there (in the dream) for a long time. When I woke up I was still pleased that I’d seen Lulu after all these years, then realized it was a dream.
Both of the girls displayed an interest in my work, although Annie had a bit more of a technological bent.
One day, I caught Lulu giving Annie climbing lessons. Here she is between the glass and the screen, so there was little danger of falling, but some danger of not being able to extricate herself.
For advanced lessons in climbing, they moved to the pistachio tree. Yes. You can believe your eyes. Lulu does have one green eye and one blue one.
Last night when I was out to dinner I ran into Lulu’s “new” parents who told me she’d been very ill and asked me how old she was. They were surprised to discover that she’ll be 15 years old in a few months. They thought she was much younger. But, alas, they told me she has been very very ill and has not been eating which never happens with her. I am afraid to call to see if she passed in the night and came to visit me one last time.
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/worst-case-scenario/
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 