Showing posts with label Rocky. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rocky. Show all posts

Tuesday, May 13, 2014

Leaving Pawprints Behind


Dear Rocky,

You were a good cat. You were one of the inspirations for this blog. You had a big personality, and a bigger heart, even if you didn't always show it.

May you find the things that made you happy, like:

  • Lots of things to push off the table onto the floor like plastic fruit, diabetes supplies and satellite radios
  • Drinking water from Mom's water glass
  • Daily treats of chicken or salmon 'juice'
  • Someone to pick you up to 'show' you where your food is on the dresser
  • Finding bare toes to nibble (see 'chomp') on
  • Rubber bands to chew
  • Twist ties to chase
  • That toy on a spring and stand that you liked to drag upstairs
  • Kibble treats skittering across the basement floor to chase
  • Ankles to rub against (but just barely touching, because actually touching is uncomfortable you know!)
  • Finally, here's hoping you can come and go wherever you want - whether it be the other side of the door (why is it you always seemed to be on the wrong side of a closed door?), or go outside to roam as you wish

Things are sure quiet around here. We miss you and your little bunny puff of a tail, your big voice, your bigger personality, and all that made you special.

Your pawprints have left an indelible mark on our hearts.  

Rocky
May you Rest in Peace
March 1, 2003 - May 7, 2014

Sunday, August 17, 2008

Another Furball?

So here's the story. Larry and I arrive home from vacation, and Steph greets us with, "Have a good vacation? Want a kitten? She's really cute!" Apparently a stray cat had arrived at her friend's place, promptly had kittens, who were looking for a home. Going fast! The calico is already gone, but there is a REALLY cute one that needs a home.

What parent hasn't heard that one. But after all, Petey needs a playmate... doesn't he? We're sure he does. Well, that's the best we could do. It was a weak moment for sure. Call us crazy.

So now we've adopted Maximus a.k.a. Maxi a.k.a. Max. See the M marking on her forehead? She's all of almost 3 pounds of energy (especially playing with her new sproingy toy), and loves to cuddle and purr. She's big on purring. And she's our newest and smallest addition to our household full of furballs.

How has she been accepted into our family so far? Well, after some spitting and hissing from Max, Petey decided to watch her from a careful distance, from inside the open kennel, just to make sure there were no surprise attacks. Rocky walked right up to her boldly for the proper nose-to-nose greeting that he knows is the right way to greet any new being in the house. Maxi wasn't impressed, and startled by the boldness, proceeded to hiss, but very soon got over that.

As for the dogs, that will be a work in progress. We took Maxi out to just introduce the dogs from a bit of a distance. Penny wouldn't look at her - as if to say, "If I don't acknowledge that being's presence, it doesn't and will not exist". Keeta hid behind Larry, and stayed out of view. Well, at least there was no growling or lunging, so I suppose a success of sorts. She'll be living in Steph's bedroom for now - a kitten playground of fun and games.

Now we know certain people in our lives might call us crazy. We know it, and are we're okay with that. But she's really cute, after all.

Maxi with the Best Toy Ever!
Contributed by Jamie Naessens

Friday, July 11, 2008

Take a Pill!

It's been a while since I've posted. Well, I can only say that things have been busy - the kid has graduated, clothes for her new job have been purchased, Penny has been fasting because her condition has flared up again, and now Rocky is on antibiotics for some injury he has sustained.

The vet gave us some pointers about how to give a pill to a cat. He suggested that we wrap him tightly in a towel and just force it down. Now, anyone who has given cats pills would know, that is not a viable option.

We did try wrapping Rock in a towel to get the pill in, but let's just say that was not an option. I then tried hiding it in some tinned chicken (both Rocky's and Petey's favourite). After carefully removing all remnants of the chicken from around the pill, he left the pill untouched in the centre of the plate.

I now have an elaborate system of grinding the pill to a fine powder, adding the juice form the tin of chicken, adding some of the chicken pieces to cover up the wet pill powder. I also have to make a plate up for Petey (no pill in his), only then will Rocky entertain the idea of 'taking' that pill. I then supervise them both to make sure all goes down, and the right cat gets the medicine.

But this whole process of giving Rocky this pill reminds me of a joke that has been circulating for a number of years. I first read it many years when Rock was just a Little Rock. I thought I would share. I have taken some literary license to edit the original a little, tailoring it more to Rocky's disposition. For example, the original suggested that you cradle the cat - our autistic Rocky will never ever tolerate being cradled. He is either needs to be held on to firmly, or he's not having anything to do with it.

How to give a cat a pill

  1. Pick cat up and hold it firmly. Take your forefinger and thumb and apply pressure where the jaw opens. Use your other hand to place pill at the back of his tongue. Shut cat's mouth firmly, and wait a few moments for cat to swallow.
  2. Retrieve pill from floor and cat from behind couch. Hold cat in left arm and repeat process.
  3. Retrieve cat from bedroom, and throw soggy pill away.
  4. Get a new pill, hold cat again with left arm, holding his paws tightly with left hand. Force jaws open and push pill to back of mouth with right forefinger. Hold mouth shut for a count of ten. This time gently massaging cat's throat from the top to bottom. This will force the swallowing reflex.
  5. Retrieve pill from fish tank and cat from top of wardrobe. Call spouse from yard for assistance.
  6. Get out another pill, kneel on floor with cat wedged firmly between knees, hold front and rear paws. Ignore low growls emitted by cat. Get spouse to hold head firmly with one hand while prying mouth open (being very careful to avoid the gnashing teeth). Drop pill into mouth and rub cat's throat vigorously.
  7. Check label and call Poison Control Centre to make sure pill not harmful to humans, drink glass of water to take taste away. Apply bandaid to spouse's forearm. Apply cold compress to cheek and check records for date of last tetanus shot. Throw shredded clothing away and get dressed again. Treat blood stains in rug with some carpet cleaner.
  8. Retrieve cat from curtain rod, and get another pill. Make note to buy new curtains and rod. Carefully sweep shattered figurines and vases from hearth and set to one side for gluing later.
  9. Wrap cat in large towel as you would swaddle a newborn, and get spouse to lie on cat with head just visible. Imbed the pill into a piece of steak, and shove the steak into the cat's mouth, and squirt in water with a turkey baster to help wash it down.
  10. Dry off and ask your spouse to drive you to the hospital for some stitches.
  11. Call vet to ask for replacement pills, and pay for them. Relax, you've only got another 4 days to go.
  12. Seriously consider getting a hamster the next time you are thinking about getting another cat.

How to give a dog a pill:

  1. Wrap it in bacon.

Contributed by Jamie Naessens

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

When The Rock Starts Feeling Rocky

Every now and again, Rocky, our Manx kitty, shows us that there is one way in which cats parallel people. Occasionally, humans require a chance to recharge the old battery. That’s what vacation time is for. But if vacation time doesn’t roll around in time, well, now and again one requires what those of the polictically correct persuasion term “mental health days”.

George Carlin could have had a field day with such an expression and, if I put my mind to it, so could I. This faithful scribe is not politically correct, as I see a world of difference between considering people’s feelings as opposed to the silliness of political correctness. But, like the puppy who chews his leash and wanders away, I’m straying from my subject.

We were talking about cats... specifically our boy Rocky. For the Rock, his need for an occasional day of solitary cathood, fits the term “mental health day” perfectly.

As one of us might have mentioned in this space, Jamie drives for over an hour to Toronto every day, while I stay home, working my own job and caring for the fur people. Part of caring for the kitties involves keeping them confined during the day so that they won’t sneak out when I let the dogs into the backyard. This could easily happen because the cats know that I’m blind and can skillfully and gleefully sneak past me without jingling the bells on their collars. It’s a real talent and they have cultivated it to silent perfection.

At any rate, normally we keep the cats together, but occasionally as the time nears to head for the kitty playroom, Rocky begins to wail like a toddler who has not seen a nap in far too long. His cry proclaims in full voiced complaint that if we leave him in the same room with his “brother”, he will just DIE! Brother Petey will tease him. Brother Petey will pounce on him! Brother Petey will TOUCH him! Horror of all time horrible horrors! “Please,” he begs, “anywhere but the kitty playroom! Just anywhere!”

On those days, Rocky becomes our Basement Hermit. He talks to no one. Some days he even hides among the this and that which collects down there. On those days, he is his own cat living in his own subterranean world where no one TOUCHES him.

After a day or two, maybe three and on one occasion, Day 5, he is happy to return to spending his days with his brother in the kitty playroom. Rocky truly does love his kitty brother... most of the time.

By the way, we are now experiencing Rocky’s third consecutive mental health day. Maybe tonight I can ask him how he’s feeling and he won’t reply by biting my big toe.
Contributed by Larry Naessens

Monday, June 16, 2008

Deconstructing Our Furball Personalities

I remember a comment that a friend of mine offered years and years ago, in fact so long ago that I remember the observation with greater clarity than I recall the friend. As the years fly by, it’s often like that with high school friends. Anyhow, she once observed, “Dogs are people too.”

A simple thought I guess, and at the time the kids we hung with had a good laugh at her expense. I neither laughed nor nominated the bit of philosophy as the insight of the year. I just filed it away as something worth keeping. OK, dogs aren’t really people in the strictest sense, but they mirror their owner’s personality with uncanny frequency. Haven’t you seen it yourself? Friendly person owns friendly dog. Snappy yappy person teaches their dog the same tricks by example.

There are exceptions, of course, and our current furballs are among them. In these days of pet rescue, we see many dogs who are at least in part a personality product of the abuse and neglect heaped upon them before they find their forever home. Both Penny and Keeta wear scars and I don’t mean physical ones. Still, as we work with them I see subtle signs that our girls do mold themselves to us, fitting us into their own daily rituals, anticipating our wishes as we work and play with them.

Of course I wouldn’t share my thoughts on that subject with Keeta. My border collie/lab guide dog believes herself to be her own invention. Further, she sees herself as the molder of her humans and she all but says, “Let me show you how it’s done.”

For instance, yesterday at the grocery store, a cart was in our way and Keeta slowed in her usual fashion, preparing to show me the cart. This is a part of the guiding process which must not be rushed. But in my effort to get around the other person without delaying them, I indicated to Keeta that I already understood the situation by commanding her to go around the cart before actually stopping to touch it.

“Wrong, wrong, wrong!” said guide dog Keeta. I could feel the rebuke in her stance.... in the way that her muscles tensed in disapproval. So, in that way, Keeta might be more intense than her handler. Still, she is very friendly and outgoing, just like me, if I might sound my own horn for just a second.

And Penny? Well since Jamie works away from home and my job keeps me tied to this computer for the most part, I’m also Penny’s handler during the day. Jamie has mentioned that our Penny came to us with a big distrust of people who she didn’t know. Her initial response has been to growl when she sees a stranger. That has held true whether said stranger happened to be spotted through the living room window or from the other side of the backyard fence.

In an effort to decrease the growlies, we’ve been calling her to us and making her sit, whenever we hear that audible sign of her fear. These days, she’s growling so much less that even the neighbours are noticing. And when she does let a rumble slip out, leading us to call her name, she now trots over and sits, even before being told. The best news of all is that Penny’s tail now wags much more than it used to wag. A sign that she is taking on more of her peoples’ demeanor.

Cats on the other hand are another story. When Rocky joined our family he was my first cat ever. I was determined that he would learn to behave according to my dictates. Yes indeed, he would come when called and learn to follow simple commands.

OK, though a really good idea, it didn’t quite work out that way. As Jamie has mentioned here, Rocky comes to me about half a dozen times a day, demanding that I follow him to his food bowl and “show” him that there is food in it. Do I tell him to go get his own food and quit bothering me? Yeah, I really ought to do that. Instead I have to pick him up and set him in front of the bowl. Well, maybe I don’t have to, but it’s really the only time he will let me touch him, so I play along.

Rocky is himself and my impression is that who he is has nothing to do with us. But, if he encounters someone who shows interest in striking up a conversation, Rocky is always willing to have a good cat to human talk. If we make a sound similar to any that he makes, he’ll usually answer. We don’t know what we’re saying and for all I know he could be suggesting that we go play in traffic, but he does converse.

And Petey? For the most part, he is the picture of innocence, the forever little boy. He can make a game out of just about anything and finds cardboard boxes to be sources of endless delight. He trusts most everyone once he gets to know them and would never turn down a good scritch. Both of our aquariums are like interactive TV to him, while Rocky just doesn’t get the fishy attraction. In the Rock’s world, fish are to eat, not to watch.

While we’re talking cats, Rocky would like to point out that Petey is no angel, as he does enjoy running up to the big cat, giving him a poke and then running away, inviting a game of chase. This, as Rocky defines it, is touching and is therefore forbidden. But Petey doesn’t really have a handle on the concept of something being forbidden. That’s OK though because Penny will happily deliver consequences when Petey positions himself on the wrong side of the law.

Dogs and cats... if dogs are people too, then it must also be said that cats are cats. Make no mistake about it. Aside from that, all I really know for sure is that my world is a far better place with dogs and cats in it.

Contributed by Larry Naessens

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

Sure Signs Of Spring

As I was driving home through a snow squall this evening, it occurred to me that Spring must MUST be on the way. I'm sure of it, and there are signs. So I've just compiled my own list of the Sure Signs Of Spring.

Sign #1

Keeta has been playing Director General in the dog run. With Spring comes the Green Space Walkers and their Trusted Dogs who walk through the green space behind our house. Keeta demands that they pay her proper attention, and will stand her post, just waiting for them to come by so she can comment in her Big Dog Voice.

Sign #2

Penny has found her little patches of warm sunlight. In the long winter months, the sun has been so weak, that she would just curl up in her nest of blankets. But she's now stretching out in her favourite sunlight patches - one in the family room and one in the living room. She's also been staying out in the dog run longer than she used to. She doesn't have the great big undercoat that Keeta sports, and she hasn't been staying out for long this cold winter. Poor Keeta just doesn't understand why she can't be her Ensign to her own Director General. She doesn't understand that Penny's pink underbelly must just cringe in the snow.

Sign #3

Rocky is insisting he HAS to go out. He has been an indoor cat for the better part of 2 years now, but every Spring, he starts to plan his escape. Last weekend he managed to pop out twice. He stopped in his tracks once outside the first time, like he didn't know what to do with this newfound freedom, however, that made him really easy to catch. The second time, he paused and then started to run, but I scooped him before he could get far (good thing, because he's a fast one!)

Sign #4

Petey has always been an indoor cat, but even he is saying that he HAS to go out too. He begs, meowing in his most pitiful pleading voice, please PLEASE can he go out, as he stretches his long body trying to reach the door handle, as if to show me what he wants. If only he had an opposable thumb and some fingers. Last summer I used to take him out on leash at night. He's a most perfect leash walker, even better than the dogs. But whenever a car goes by, he becomes absolutely panicked and must get back as fast as his little paws can take him, with me running a distant second to him.

Conclusion

So Spring is definitely coming. Really.

Contributed by Jamie Naessens

Saturday, March 15, 2008

Let The Games Begin

Today we have a Rocky story. You see, Rocky has us both wrapped around his little paw.

And it started innocently enough. He will cry at the top of the stairs, as if to tell us that he can't remember where his food bowl is. So when we go to see "what's wrong", he will rub our ankles, nibble on any accessible and vulnerable toes, and then down the stairs one of us will trudge, just to show him his bowl, which in all likelihood, already has food in it.

Once downstairs, there is the obligatory rub around the ankles again, and he jumps up to his counter - better yet if he's picked up, and he's shown the bowl. He likes that. He purrs. Rocky rarely purrs. And we do it because he doesn't like to be touched, unless he is hungry or sleepy, and this is one of the few times he seems to actually like us, and he seems truly happy.

He's got some other funny quirks too. To set this up, the cats have one of those food dishes that is made up of two food bowls, and we always make sure there is kibble in both. We make the assumption that the two cats can eat at the same time if they like, or choose whichever bowl has the most kibble. Seems easy enough. Apparently that's not the way it works.

Rocky will only officially acknowledge the food in his right bowl. Actually both cats will eat out of the right bowl. He ascertains that the kibble in the left bowl is no good. But you can just take a handful of kibble from the left bowl, and put it into the right bowl, that kibble is now okay. He can eat that kibble out of the right bowl. But a good kitty must not eat out of the left bowl.

So that's the way it is.

But there's a new twist on this little game. Today, Rocky was crying at the top of the stairs. All right. Down Larry goes to show him his kibble.

But something is different. There's no ankle rubbing. No nibbling toes. You see, a certain other cat, our Petey, was busy in the litter box. Rocky cried, as if to say, "Make that cat get out of the litter box."

Note that there is another litter box there. But Rocky apparently wanted the litter box with the cover. Not the uncovered litter box. And the chosen box was being defiled, right when he wanted it, and he wanted Larry to do something about it. Now.

Of course, Larry didn't do anything about it. As far as he was concerned, Petey had about as much right to use the litter box whenever he wanted - that you gotta do what you gotta do. Besides, there was another one right there.

It could have ended right there, however, as if to say it was okay to Rocky, Petey finished up right then, and exited his temporary domain.

And in Rocky's eyes, it worked. He had brought Larry down to get Petey out of the coveted box, and sure enough, Petey got out. I can just see where this is going. What began as a simple food game, is now becoming something of a problem.

And if you know something about cats, and they don't like their litter situation, they might just leave a certain present for an unsuspecting person to step in.

And now a rather unpleasant precedent has been set in our household, and Rocky knows he has the upper paw.

Contributed by Jamie Naessens

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Our Kitty Escape Artists



Petey in the Morning

Petey just wants a good time. He wants to play. And a good game of bed mice is the Best Game Ever. You see, under the covers, Larry's feet make the best, and most intriguing bed mice. From above, he will hunt them, stalk them, and jump on them, and chews them. That's okay when it's 10 a.m. on a weekend. Somehow not so charming when he plays the game at 5.

Rocky in the Morning

Rocky is a little more on the destructive side, and like Simon's cat, is more motivated by his stomach. First he tries to motivate by walking around behind our heads. Then he proceeds to lick Larry on the nose. Then mine. Then he works his way over to my nightstand. Wham!! Book thrown to the floor. Thud!! There goes the box of kleenex. Then it's on to the glass of water, dipping in his paw, and ever so slightly nudging...

So it didn't take long to decide that these guys will sleep in the basement.

Escape Wars

But Keeta, the Escape Dog, isn't the only Escape Artist in the house (see Diary of an Escape Artist). It's not easy keeping cats in the basement either. Although they do have a cat door, which during the day operates just like a normal cat door to give them access to their facilities, but in the night time, that's where they are put to stay.

But it didn't take long for Petey to learn how to open the door. Yes, it had a lock. But he figured how to work that. Then he taught the finer points of the operations of the cat door lock to Rocky, and then the two of them could come and go at will. Eventually the lock was broken. Kitty success.

But what Petey had created was a kitty monster bent on escaping. And he found that if Rocky did all the work to escape, he could follow.

So next was packing tape. Two pieces on the outside of the door, one vertical, one horizontal. But Rocky is a persistent dude. He decided that if he worked hard and long enough, he could break through. And then, one day he did, and then it didn't matter how much tape was on the door. He knew the trick. And Petey followed.

Then came the cassette case. This case is not your average case - it holds about 100 cassette tapes, and has a handle. That went in front of the packing tape reinforced door. Rocky discovered that if he worked hard enough, he could then break through the tape, get the door jammed up on the case, so that the case actually held the door open. And Petey followed.

So now there's packing tape, a cassette case, and a braille writer in front of the door. Now, a braille writer makes the old Smith Corona look like a toy. It weighs a good 30 pounds of solid cast iron. Maybe more. And that's done the trick. Miss any one of these items in the system, and you can count on Rocky in the wee hours, breathing on my face with kibble breath.

The cats are contained, safely secured in the basement, and no cats visit us unsolicited in the wee hours of the morning. There they stay until we're ready to let them out.

Contributed by Jamie Naessens

Saturday, March 8, 2008

It's March Madness Out There!

It's March, right? March 8th to be exact. Now for anyone who's counting, there's only 12 days of winter left.

The clocks get changed back to Daylight Savings Time tonight... that's the first sign of Spring, isn't it? I get to lose an hour's sleep, but it means Spring is here. Right?

Hell hath no fury like Winter 2007/08 in Ontario, which for those of you visiting my little blog in this little bit of Canada, it started officially with the first dump in mid-November. And it seems that it's been dumping on us ever since. A couple of reprieves, but those are quickly forgotten as we dig out from the latest dump.

Apparently Mother Nature's knickers are in a knot because she's got a good case of the frozen sniffles. Nothing like a good slap in the face by wind-whipped snow to remind us that March is the cruellest month.

Yes, I know what I wrote before. And I've been pretty good up until now. Canadians talk a lot about weather, because no matter where we come from, it's what we all have in common.

But now I'm officially whining.

Even Keeta didn't appreciate having to squeeze through the 8 inch opening in the sliding doors to get outside. I don't really know what her problem was - she hasn't had a problem squeezing through a 3 inch opening in a gate to get a dead squirrel last summer... ahh, I remember summer.

Penny wasn't too impressed with having snow up past her hips to do her business, and who could blame her. Without an undercoat like Keeta's, there's not much to protect her pink underbits. I can see some trouble brewing later - I think it might take more than a little encouragement to get her to do her business later.

Rocky and Petey just looked at the snow piled up with some vague kitty interest, no attempt to leave though, as the snowflakes wafted in with the wind, tickling their little twitchy noses. Nope. No kitty outdoor excursions lobbied for today.

And so, tomorrow I get to shovel. I wonder where my Snow Angel is hiding? Probably hiding under a blanket of snow, waiting for the first sign of Spring.

Contributed by Jamie Naessens

Friday, February 29, 2008

Rocky's Worst Day Ever

Rocky is the only furball in the family that I haven't talked about yet. And it's about time.

Like all of our furballs in our family, Rocky has had some rough times. Rocky came to us as Missy. Missy was a mighty little thing, with the softest long tortoiseshell fur, and a little bunny stub of a tail (Manx by breed). At 6 months old, Missy went in for "the" operation.

Larry got the call, "Um, Mr. Naessens". Alarms go off. "There's been, um... there's something we need to tell you. You see, when we started operating on Missy, we couldn't find any girl parts. Missy only has boy parts. Do you still want him to have his operation?"

Well, one could ask, didn't anyone check out under the hood first? On any previous occasion that he had been to the vet, didn't anyone notice? Apparently not. At least they only charged us for one operation.

Anyway, poor Missy went in as a girl, and came out as a boy. No big deal perhaps. But poor Missy had 2 operations - he could neither lay down, nor sit for a while. Also, he no longer suited "Missy", so we renamed him Rocky.

When we did the research on Manx cats before we got him, we found out that Manxes were very adept at heights, and would often be at the highest point in the room. Not our Rock. We found out that Manxes were very clever. Not our Rock. But he has personality and attitude. Lots of it.

Rocky has the most luxurious fur. But he hates to be touched. He will tolerate it when he's eating, or sleeping. But then only for a few moments. Don't overdo it. It's his burden in life, to be so soft. People love to touch him. He hates to be touched. You can see his body just arch away from your hand. I've even seen him try to get out of the wind when it ruffles his fur. We call him our "rainman kitty".

Despite this, he's been seen letting toddlers touch him. Not a peep, not a cringe. Patient. Gentle. When the neighbour's bunny escaped, he was seen playing with the bunny - not hunting - it was a kind of hide and seek game. He would hunt mice though, and bring them back to our dog (at the time a rambunctious lab named Congo). He would drop a mouse, on more than one occasion... like a peace offering, at Congo's feet, who would proceed to take the injured animal and run with it. Ahh, such fun.

He's an indoor kitty now. He's learning what indoor cats do from Petey, our other cat. Petey has taught him what you do when you're inside all the time - you watch the fish on interactive kittie TV (aka the aquarium), you "hunt" and carry around twist ties as if they were mice, and you watch the goings on outside from the back of the livingroom couch. You also spend time lying on a warm stereo receiver with vents on the top, just like in the picture.

Now you know about Rocky and also his Worst Day Ever. And he's our last furball to meet, but this won't be the last word on furballs. I have plenty of stories to share, so stay tuned.
Contributed by Jamie Naessens