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Widget's Last Day
Mar. 31st, 2025 09:26 am Widget died early this morning, 3/31/2025. Many tears here today.
A Bath for Widget
Feb. 6th, 2021 01:33 amIt had come up many times over the years, but I be didn't think it was likely to happen. Still, today (technically yesterday), Widget had a problem in the litter box. It left him dirty enough that there was no question that we had to wash him.
So we grabbed him, put him in the bathtub and locked ourselves in with him. Then we turned on the tub faucet. Widget was terrified, of course. He'd never been bathed before.
Long story short, we cleaned him pretty well with Dawn blue dishwashing detergent; they use it on oil-soaked birds, so I figured that it would be safe for him. He let out some really heartrending cries and clawed the shower curtain down (making a few claw-holes in the process), but we washed him well.
We were both surprised at how he looked soaked. We'd expected him to look much smaller. We were also surprised at how little blood we lost; we both got scratched, but not too badly and he didn't try to bite at all.
We dried him as best we could and left him in the bathroom for a couple of hours to dry himself off. When he emerged he seemed surpassingly calm. Although when I went upstairs to scrub the tub, Sebastian told me that Widget reacted strongly to the sound of water from upstairs. He actually snuggled against Sebastian! I wonder what he was thinking?
So we grabbed him, put him in the bathtub and locked ourselves in with him. Then we turned on the tub faucet. Widget was terrified, of course. He'd never been bathed before.
Long story short, we cleaned him pretty well with Dawn blue dishwashing detergent; they use it on oil-soaked birds, so I figured that it would be safe for him. He let out some really heartrending cries and clawed the shower curtain down (making a few claw-holes in the process), but we washed him well.
We were both surprised at how he looked soaked. We'd expected him to look much smaller. We were also surprised at how little blood we lost; we both got scratched, but not too badly and he didn't try to bite at all.
We dried him as best we could and left him in the bathroom for a couple of hours to dry himself off. When he emerged he seemed surpassingly calm. Although when I went upstairs to scrub the tub, Sebastian told me that Widget reacted strongly to the sound of water from upstairs. He actually snuggled against Sebastian! I wonder what he was thinking?
Oh. My. God.
Jun. 27th, 2019 11:34 am
I didn't realize that he'd be gray. He's freakishly soft where he was trimmed. They got between his toes, but Sebastian asked them to go easy on his head. We fed him, but he's a little freaked out. His mouth is hanging open fairly often.
It's hard not to laugh. I hope he'll grow some fur back on his hind end soon, because I don't want to see a cat butt.
The groomer told me that he'll shed a lot less and have a lot less trouble with hairballs. That hadn't even occurred to me!
Grooming Widget
Jun. 27th, 2019 12:43 am Widget is going to be groomed for the first time in his life tomorrow afternoon, and Sebastian and I are both kind of worried about it.
The groomer said something about giving him a "lion cut". I looked that up tonight, and apparently it means shaving him except for a mane around his neck and maybe a tuft at the end of his tail. That seems terribly undignified for him, and neither of us want that.
We are hoping that he can simply do a general trim, perhaps temporarily turning widget into a shorthair rather than a longhair. Get rid of the terrible clumps on his back, and get rid of the fur between his toes; he has no traction because of that fur, and that really needs to be fixed.
I hope the guy can do that!
The groomer said something about giving him a "lion cut". I looked that up tonight, and apparently it means shaving him except for a mane around his neck and maybe a tuft at the end of his tail. That seems terribly undignified for him, and neither of us want that.
We are hoping that he can simply do a general trim, perhaps temporarily turning widget into a shorthair rather than a longhair. Get rid of the terrible clumps on his back, and get rid of the fur between his toes; he has no traction because of that fur, and that really needs to be fixed.
I hope the guy can do that!
This is Baby. His given name was "Little One", because when Teri first got him, he was so small that he could fit in her hand; he was a tiny kitten.
But somehow he acquired the name "Baby" instead, and that's how I was introduced to him. Perhaps he got that nickname because of his temperament; he was the mildest and gentlest cat I ever met, and I've met many of them. He never bit, or tried to claw, or in any way evinced even the slightest sign of bad temper ever. He even put up with all sorts of indignities from the small red-headed creature who entered his life when he (Baby, that is) was about eight years old:
It seemed more than anything that Baby wanted to be a mother. He would lick and clean the other cats in the house tenderly and lovingly, even though they soon tired of it and would try to bite, claw, or fight him. But he never really fought back. He just kept trying to take care of them.
The only time he reverted to his feline nature was if there was a mouse in the house. Then, he was all cat. Although the other cats in the house were younger, faster, and in one case had all their claws, it was always Baby who managed to catch and kill the rare mouse that dared enter our house...unless we were able to rescue the mouse and deport him to safer climes (that is, far down the street).
We did not think that Baby would stay with us as long as he did. The vet told us early on that he had a fairly bad heart murmur. But for all his meekness, he was a cat with a fierce will to live, and to eat, and to sleep on Teri's lap. He stayed with us until he was eighteen years old, gentle and loving to the end. We miss him, and we will never forget him.
"They did not love him for his glossy coat,
nor his white shirt front and white paws,
nor his great green eyes, no, not even for the white tip to his tail.
They loved him because he was himself."
But somehow he acquired the name "Baby" instead, and that's how I was introduced to him. Perhaps he got that nickname because of his temperament; he was the mildest and gentlest cat I ever met, and I've met many of them. He never bit, or tried to claw, or in any way evinced even the slightest sign of bad temper ever. He even put up with all sorts of indignities from the small red-headed creature who entered his life when he (Baby, that is) was about eight years old:
It seemed more than anything that Baby wanted to be a mother. He would lick and clean the other cats in the house tenderly and lovingly, even though they soon tired of it and would try to bite, claw, or fight him. But he never really fought back. He just kept trying to take care of them.
The only time he reverted to his feline nature was if there was a mouse in the house. Then, he was all cat. Although the other cats in the house were younger, faster, and in one case had all their claws, it was always Baby who managed to catch and kill the rare mouse that dared enter our house...unless we were able to rescue the mouse and deport him to safer climes (that is, far down the street).
We did not think that Baby would stay with us as long as he did. The vet told us early on that he had a fairly bad heart murmur. But for all his meekness, he was a cat with a fierce will to live, and to eat, and to sleep on Teri's lap. He stayed with us until he was eighteen years old, gentle and loving to the end. We miss him, and we will never forget him.
"They did not love him for his glossy coat,
nor his white shirt front and white paws,
nor his great green eyes, no, not even for the white tip to his tail.
They loved him because he was himself."
-The Fur Person
[As far as I can tell, there are NO other reviews of this book on the web. That's a real pity, particularly since it's very likely that it will never be published again. So I did my best to recapture the charming and memorable qualities of the book in this review.]
The Cat Who Tasted Cinnamon Toast by Ann Spencer
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
What a lovely book! And how sad it is that I'm almost the only person in the world who seems to remember it. But I've shared it with my son - just read it to him again tonight, to his delight - so I've done my part to share the memories.
The Cat Who Tasted Cinnamon Toast was both written and illustrated by the talented Ann Spencer. It's the story of an elderly millionaire, Miss Margrove, whose cat Augie suddenly goes through a strange transformation: he absolutely refuses to eat cat food. One taste of cinnamon toast, and all is undone; he now insists on only the finest gourmet fare. His psychologist is unable to explain this mysterious change.
But Augie is fickle in his tastes, venturing into the haute cuisine of one culture after another. Miss Margrove's stable of chefs eventually lose their tempers and leave. Fortunately an unexpected television appearance by the French Chef, Julia Child, inspires Miss Margrove and saves the day.
The balance between text and art is particularly well done. Each page features large, finely-detailed black and white illustrations. Unusually, there is absolutely no "talking down" to the young reader; words and phrases like "Escoffier", "truite amandine", and "la vie en rose" are sprinkled liberally throughout the text. Nonetheless, the story is quite easy for children to comprehend, and the humor of the words and illustrations is ideal for a child.
I first began reading The Cat Who Tasted Cinnamon Toast to my son when he was about four years old, at a guess. He loved it, and still does five years later; it helps that he's a cat-lover (and any child who is a cat-lover is sure to like this book). There are no serious crises, no moments of terror or stress. Augie is naughty at times, but in a very lovable way. It's a perfect bedtime book.
Reading the book aloud takes about one-half hour, including the very necessary time spent allowing the child to look at each picture. As I noted above, some of the cooking-related language is a bit esoteric; if you're not familiar with the words, you may want to look up pronunciations before reading it aloud. It's definitely worth the effort.
There is one illustration which might trouble some parents. When Augie sneaks out to the Omar Khayyam restaurant to be inducted into the wonders of Persian cuisine, the illustration includes a representation of a fairly large painting on the background wall that depicts a naked woman seated (with legs turned sideways) next to a man. So far, my son has never commented on it, and I see no reason to call it to his attention or be concerned. When I was a child myself, I never noticed it through many readings.
For very strict parents, I suppose the page where Augie gets drunk on baba au rhum could also be a concern. My son found it hysterical. So do I.
If you're reading aloud, a passable Julia Child impersonation adds quite a lot to the experience (she has a short but memorable television appearance in the book). It's also useful to be able to sing the old "Let Your Fingers Do The Walking" jingle from the Yellow Pages commercials in the 1960s and 70s. But neither is a requirement, of course!
The book is out of print forever, I suppose. It represents what might now be considered an impossibly "high culture" moment in America, an aesthetic which I cannot imagine will ever return to public awareness, much less popularity. And that's sad. Still, if you're lucky enough to find a copy, it's a wonderful, memorable book.
View all my reviews
The Cat Who Tasted Cinnamon Toast by Ann SpencerMy rating: 5 of 5 stars
What a lovely book! And how sad it is that I'm almost the only person in the world who seems to remember it. But I've shared it with my son - just read it to him again tonight, to his delight - so I've done my part to share the memories.
The Cat Who Tasted Cinnamon Toast was both written and illustrated by the talented Ann Spencer. It's the story of an elderly millionaire, Miss Margrove, whose cat Augie suddenly goes through a strange transformation: he absolutely refuses to eat cat food. One taste of cinnamon toast, and all is undone; he now insists on only the finest gourmet fare. His psychologist is unable to explain this mysterious change.
But Augie is fickle in his tastes, venturing into the haute cuisine of one culture after another. Miss Margrove's stable of chefs eventually lose their tempers and leave. Fortunately an unexpected television appearance by the French Chef, Julia Child, inspires Miss Margrove and saves the day.
The balance between text and art is particularly well done. Each page features large, finely-detailed black and white illustrations. Unusually, there is absolutely no "talking down" to the young reader; words and phrases like "Escoffier", "truite amandine", and "la vie en rose" are sprinkled liberally throughout the text. Nonetheless, the story is quite easy for children to comprehend, and the humor of the words and illustrations is ideal for a child.
I first began reading The Cat Who Tasted Cinnamon Toast to my son when he was about four years old, at a guess. He loved it, and still does five years later; it helps that he's a cat-lover (and any child who is a cat-lover is sure to like this book). There are no serious crises, no moments of terror or stress. Augie is naughty at times, but in a very lovable way. It's a perfect bedtime book.
Reading the book aloud takes about one-half hour, including the very necessary time spent allowing the child to look at each picture. As I noted above, some of the cooking-related language is a bit esoteric; if you're not familiar with the words, you may want to look up pronunciations before reading it aloud. It's definitely worth the effort.
There is one illustration which might trouble some parents. When Augie sneaks out to the Omar Khayyam restaurant to be inducted into the wonders of Persian cuisine, the illustration includes a representation of a fairly large painting on the background wall that depicts a naked woman seated (with legs turned sideways) next to a man. So far, my son has never commented on it, and I see no reason to call it to his attention or be concerned. When I was a child myself, I never noticed it through many readings.
For very strict parents, I suppose the page where Augie gets drunk on baba au rhum could also be a concern. My son found it hysterical. So do I.
If you're reading aloud, a passable Julia Child impersonation adds quite a lot to the experience (she has a short but memorable television appearance in the book). It's also useful to be able to sing the old "Let Your Fingers Do The Walking" jingle from the Yellow Pages commercials in the 1960s and 70s. But neither is a requirement, of course!
The book is out of print forever, I suppose. It represents what might now be considered an impossibly "high culture" moment in America, an aesthetic which I cannot imagine will ever return to public awareness, much less popularity. And that's sad. Still, if you're lucky enough to find a copy, it's a wonderful, memorable book.
View all my reviews
[As far as I can tell, there are NO other reviews of this book on the web. That's a real pity, particularly since it's very likely that it will never be published again. So I did my best to recapture the charming and memorable qualities of the book in this review.]
The Cat Who Tasted Cinnamon Toast by Ann Spencer
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
What a lovely book! And how sad it is that I'm almost the only person in the world who seems to remember it. But I've shared it with my son - just read it to him again tonight, to his delight - so I've done my part to share the memories.
The Cat Who Tasted Cinnamon Toast was both written and illustrated by the talented Ann Spencer. It's the story of an elderly millionaire, Miss Margrove, whose cat Augie suddenly goes through a strange transformation: he absolutely refuses to eat cat food. One taste of cinnamon toast, and all is undone; he now insists on only the finest gourmet fare. His psychologist is unable to explain this mysterious change.
But Augie is fickle in his tastes, venturing into the haute cuisine of one culture after another. Miss Margrove's stable of chefs eventually lose their tempers and leave. Fortunately an unexpected television appearance by the French Chef, Julia Child, inspires Miss Margrove and saves the day.
The balance between text and art is particularly well done. Each page features large, finely-detailed black and white illustrations. Unusually, there is absolutely no "talking down" to the young reader; words and phrases like "Escoffier", "truite amandine", and "la vie en rose" are sprinkled liberally throughout the text. Nonetheless, the story is quite easy for children to comprehend, and the humor of the words and illustrations is ideal for a child.
I first began reading The Cat Who Tasted Cinnamon Toast to my son when he was about four years old, at a guess. He loved it, and still does five years later; it helps that he's a cat-lover (and any child who is a cat-lover is sure to like this book). There are no serious crises, no moments of terror or stress. Augie is naughty at times, but in a very lovable way. It's a perfect bedtime book.
Reading the book aloud takes about one-half hour, including the very necessary time spent allowing the child to look at each picture. As I noted above, some of the cooking-related language is a bit esoteric; if you're not familiar with the words, you may want to look up pronunciations before reading it aloud. It's definitely worth the effort.
There is one illustration which might trouble some parents. When Augie sneaks out to the Omar Khayyam restaurant to be inducted into the wonders of Persian cuisine, the illustration includes a representation of a fairly large painting on the background wall that depicts a naked woman seated (with legs turned sideways) next to a man. So far, my son has never commented on it, and I see no reason to call it to his attention or be concerned. When I was a child myself, I never noticed it through many readings.
For very strict parents, I suppose the page where Augie gets drunk on baba au rhum could also be a concern. My son found it hysterical. So do I.
If you're reading aloud, a passable Julia Child impersonation adds quite a lot to the experience (she has a short but memorable television appearance in the book). It's also useful to be able to sing the old "Let Your Fingers Do The Walking" jingle from the Yellow Pages commercials in the 1960s and 70s. But neither is a requirement, of course!
The book is out of print forever, I suppose. It represents what might now be considered an impossibly "high culture" moment in America, an aesthetic which I cannot imagine will ever return to public awareness, much less popularity. And that's sad. Still, if you're lucky enough to find a copy, it's a wonderful, memorable book.
View all my reviews
The Cat Who Tasted Cinnamon Toast by Ann SpencerMy rating: 5 of 5 stars
What a lovely book! And how sad it is that I'm almost the only person in the world who seems to remember it. But I've shared it with my son - just read it to him again tonight, to his delight - so I've done my part to share the memories.
The Cat Who Tasted Cinnamon Toast was both written and illustrated by the talented Ann Spencer. It's the story of an elderly millionaire, Miss Margrove, whose cat Augie suddenly goes through a strange transformation: he absolutely refuses to eat cat food. One taste of cinnamon toast, and all is undone; he now insists on only the finest gourmet fare. His psychologist is unable to explain this mysterious change.
But Augie is fickle in his tastes, venturing into the haute cuisine of one culture after another. Miss Margrove's stable of chefs eventually lose their tempers and leave. Fortunately an unexpected television appearance by the French Chef, Julia Child, inspires Miss Margrove and saves the day.
The balance between text and art is particularly well done. Each page features large, finely-detailed black and white illustrations. Unusually, there is absolutely no "talking down" to the young reader; words and phrases like "Escoffier", "truite amandine", and "la vie en rose" are sprinkled liberally throughout the text. Nonetheless, the story is quite easy for children to comprehend, and the humor of the words and illustrations is ideal for a child.
I first began reading The Cat Who Tasted Cinnamon Toast to my son when he was about four years old, at a guess. He loved it, and still does five years later; it helps that he's a cat-lover (and any child who is a cat-lover is sure to like this book). There are no serious crises, no moments of terror or stress. Augie is naughty at times, but in a very lovable way. It's a perfect bedtime book.
Reading the book aloud takes about one-half hour, including the very necessary time spent allowing the child to look at each picture. As I noted above, some of the cooking-related language is a bit esoteric; if you're not familiar with the words, you may want to look up pronunciations before reading it aloud. It's definitely worth the effort.
There is one illustration which might trouble some parents. When Augie sneaks out to the Omar Khayyam restaurant to be inducted into the wonders of Persian cuisine, the illustration includes a representation of a fairly large painting on the background wall that depicts a naked woman seated (with legs turned sideways) next to a man. So far, my son has never commented on it, and I see no reason to call it to his attention or be concerned. When I was a child myself, I never noticed it through many readings.
For very strict parents, I suppose the page where Augie gets drunk on baba au rhum could also be a concern. My son found it hysterical. So do I.
If you're reading aloud, a passable Julia Child impersonation adds quite a lot to the experience (she has a short but memorable television appearance in the book). It's also useful to be able to sing the old "Let Your Fingers Do The Walking" jingle from the Yellow Pages commercials in the 1960s and 70s. But neither is a requirement, of course!
The book is out of print forever, I suppose. It represents what might now be considered an impossibly "high culture" moment in America, an aesthetic which I cannot imagine will ever return to public awareness, much less popularity. And that's sad. Still, if you're lucky enough to find a copy, it's a wonderful, memorable book.
View all my reviews
All three cats kept clustering together around different spots near the baseboard heaters tonight. They were all very excited and agitated. I suspected a mouse.
It wasn't long before I had no doubt: it had to be a mouse, or some similar small creature. They were too excited for anything else.
Teri and Sebastian were both already asleep, by the way.
Later I heard a wild high-pitched squeaking, so high that I thought it might be a bat rather than a mouse. But it was a mouse, a good-sized plump one, and Baby was chasing it (followed closely by Widget). It dashed into one of Teri's slippers. I had a quick glimpse; it may have been injured and had definitely been roughed up, but I saw no sign of a critical injury. So I gently but quickly clapped her other slipper on top of the opening to keep the mouse from getting away, took it outside, and tossed it onto our front lawn. I should have taken it further away, but I was a little excited myself.
I hope it doesn't come back to our house...but with three cats here who have already shown their ability as mousers, that could only be classified as suicide.
It wasn't long before I had no doubt: it had to be a mouse, or some similar small creature. They were too excited for anything else.
Teri and Sebastian were both already asleep, by the way.
Later I heard a wild high-pitched squeaking, so high that I thought it might be a bat rather than a mouse. But it was a mouse, a good-sized plump one, and Baby was chasing it (followed closely by Widget). It dashed into one of Teri's slippers. I had a quick glimpse; it may have been injured and had definitely been roughed up, but I saw no sign of a critical injury. So I gently but quickly clapped her other slipper on top of the opening to keep the mouse from getting away, took it outside, and tossed it onto our front lawn. I should have taken it further away, but I was a little excited myself.
I hope it doesn't come back to our house...but with three cats here who have already shown their ability as mousers, that could only be classified as suicide.
All three cats kept clustering together around different spots near the baseboard heaters tonight. They were all very excited and agitated. I suspected a mouse.
It wasn't long before I had no doubt: it had to be a mouse, or some similar small creature. They were too excited for anything else.
Teri and Sebastian were both already asleep, by the way.
Later I heard a wild high-pitched squeaking, so high that I thought it might be a bat rather than a mouse. But it was a mouse, a good-sized plump one, and Baby was chasing it (followed closely by Widget). It dashed into one of Teri's slippers. I had a quick glimpse; it may have been injured and had definitely been roughed up, but I saw no sign of a critical injury. So I gently but quickly clapped her other slipper on top of the opening to keep the mouse from getting away, took it outside, and tossed it onto our front lawn. I should have taken it further away, but I was a little excited myself.
I hope it doesn't come back to our house...but with three cats here who have already shown their ability as mousers, that could only be classified as suicide.
It wasn't long before I had no doubt: it had to be a mouse, or some similar small creature. They were too excited for anything else.
Teri and Sebastian were both already asleep, by the way.
Later I heard a wild high-pitched squeaking, so high that I thought it might be a bat rather than a mouse. But it was a mouse, a good-sized plump one, and Baby was chasing it (followed closely by Widget). It dashed into one of Teri's slippers. I had a quick glimpse; it may have been injured and had definitely been roughed up, but I saw no sign of a critical injury. So I gently but quickly clapped her other slipper on top of the opening to keep the mouse from getting away, took it outside, and tossed it onto our front lawn. I should have taken it further away, but I was a little excited myself.
I hope it doesn't come back to our house...but with three cats here who have already shown their ability as mousers, that could only be classified as suicide.
Bean Plant
Jul. 13th, 2009 09:31 amSebastian sprouted a bean in a plastic cup in school a few months ago; it was a project. It wasn't the healthiest plant in the class, but it was doing pretty well.
The problem was that when he brought it home, it didn't stay in one place. It was left on top of the refrigerator for a while, and did poorly because there was virtually no sunshine. We couldn't put it in a window with sun, because our old cat Baby would eat it. He's hell on plants; when I bring flowers home for Teri, he'll do anything possible to get at them and eat them.
The bean plant was dying. So I put it outside, in the sunniest place possible. Sebastian didn't like that; he was afraid that some animal would eat it. We also had a lot of rain, which wasn't good for the plant either.
( Read more... )
I'm not sure what we'll do with the plant in the long run. I don't think bean plants live for more than a year, so I suppose we should save the one bean and plant it, or sprout it, or something. Does anyone know what you're supposed to do with a bean?
The problem was that when he brought it home, it didn't stay in one place. It was left on top of the refrigerator for a while, and did poorly because there was virtually no sunshine. We couldn't put it in a window with sun, because our old cat Baby would eat it. He's hell on plants; when I bring flowers home for Teri, he'll do anything possible to get at them and eat them.
The bean plant was dying. So I put it outside, in the sunniest place possible. Sebastian didn't like that; he was afraid that some animal would eat it. We also had a lot of rain, which wasn't good for the plant either.
( Read more... )
I'm not sure what we'll do with the plant in the long run. I don't think bean plants live for more than a year, so I suppose we should save the one bean and plant it, or sprout it, or something. Does anyone know what you're supposed to do with a bean?
Bean Plant
Jul. 13th, 2009 09:31 amSebastian sprouted a bean in a plastic cup in school a few months ago; it was a project. It wasn't the healthiest plant in the class, but it was doing pretty well.
The problem was that when he brought it home, it didn't stay in one place. It was left on top of the refrigerator for a while, and did poorly because there was virtually no sunshine. We couldn't put it in a window with sun, because our old cat Baby would eat it. He's hell on plants; when I bring flowers home for Teri, he'll do anything possible to get at them and eat them.
The bean plant was dying. So I put it outside, in the sunniest place possible. Sebastian didn't like that; he was afraid that some animal would eat it. We also had a lot of rain, which wasn't good for the plant either.
( Read more... )
I'm not sure what we'll do with the plant in the long run. I don't think bean plants live for more than a year, so I suppose we should save the one bean and plant it, or sprout it, or something. Does anyone know what you're supposed to do with a bean?
The problem was that when he brought it home, it didn't stay in one place. It was left on top of the refrigerator for a while, and did poorly because there was virtually no sunshine. We couldn't put it in a window with sun, because our old cat Baby would eat it. He's hell on plants; when I bring flowers home for Teri, he'll do anything possible to get at them and eat them.
The bean plant was dying. So I put it outside, in the sunniest place possible. Sebastian didn't like that; he was afraid that some animal would eat it. We also had a lot of rain, which wasn't good for the plant either.
( Read more... )
I'm not sure what we'll do with the plant in the long run. I don't think bean plants live for more than a year, so I suppose we should save the one bean and plant it, or sprout it, or something. Does anyone know what you're supposed to do with a bean?
I would have sworn that I'd posted this long ago.
Not long after Sam, our old cat, died, I was sitting in front of the computer and looking at photos of him. Sebastian came in the room and watched me; he was just under three years old. As I kept clicking through the pictures, he put his hand on my arm to stop me.
"Wait a minute, Daddy," he said, sounding very determined as he pointed to a picture of Sam on the monitor, "I'm going to go in there and get Sammy back."
Not long after Sam, our old cat, died, I was sitting in front of the computer and looking at photos of him. Sebastian came in the room and watched me; he was just under three years old. As I kept clicking through the pictures, he put his hand on my arm to stop me.
"Wait a minute, Daddy," he said, sounding very determined as he pointed to a picture of Sam on the monitor, "I'm going to go in there and get Sammy back."
I would have sworn that I'd posted this long ago.
Not long after Sam, our old cat, died, I was sitting in front of the computer and looking at photos of him. Sebastian came in the room and watched me; he was just under three years old. As I kept clicking through the pictures, he put his hand on my arm to stop me.
"Wait a minute, Daddy," he said, sounding very determined as he pointed to a picture of Sam on the monitor, "I'm going to go in there and get Sammy back."
Not long after Sam, our old cat, died, I was sitting in front of the computer and looking at photos of him. Sebastian came in the room and watched me; he was just under three years old. As I kept clicking through the pictures, he put his hand on my arm to stop me.
"Wait a minute, Daddy," he said, sounding very determined as he pointed to a picture of Sam on the monitor, "I'm going to go in there and get Sammy back."
Kitty Litter Solution
Jun. 3rd, 2009 09:39 amHad I mentioned that our new kitten Widget - well, he's pretty much past the kitten stage now - has been making me pay the price for saving his claws?
He was tearing the liner in the litter-box to shreds every time, so I had to clean it out and wash it every Tuesday. It was disgusting. I tried a lot of different solutions; multiple liners, filling the box more, taping the liners down...all sorts of things. But I finally seem to have worked out a solution.
( Read more... )
Ridiculous, I know, but it's really nice to have taken a horrible chore and made it much less disgusting!
He was tearing the liner in the litter-box to shreds every time, so I had to clean it out and wash it every Tuesday. It was disgusting. I tried a lot of different solutions; multiple liners, filling the box more, taping the liners down...all sorts of things. But I finally seem to have worked out a solution.
( Read more... )
Ridiculous, I know, but it's really nice to have taken a horrible chore and made it much less disgusting!
Kitty Litter Solution
Jun. 3rd, 2009 09:39 amHad I mentioned that our new kitten Widget - well, he's pretty much past the kitten stage now - has been making me pay the price for saving his claws?
He was tearing the liner in the litter-box to shreds every time, so I had to clean it out and wash it every Tuesday. It was disgusting. I tried a lot of different solutions; multiple liners, filling the box more, taping the liners down...all sorts of things. But I finally seem to have worked out a solution.
( Read more... )
Ridiculous, I know, but it's really nice to have taken a horrible chore and made it much less disgusting!
He was tearing the liner in the litter-box to shreds every time, so I had to clean it out and wash it every Tuesday. It was disgusting. I tried a lot of different solutions; multiple liners, filling the box more, taping the liners down...all sorts of things. But I finally seem to have worked out a solution.
( Read more... )
Ridiculous, I know, but it's really nice to have taken a horrible chore and made it much less disgusting!
A Terrible Screaming II
Apr. 9th, 2009 11:17 pmWe had a nice dinner tonight. There was a fundraiser at Chelos, a local family restaurant; 15-20% of the check for anyone coming in tonight with a special ticket would go to Sebastian's cub scout pack.
The place was filled with people we knew. It was a nice feeling.
When we got home, Teri and Sebastian went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. I went back out to the car to get a drawing that Sebastian had made; he wanted it. When I came to the back door, though, I heard a strange sound. What was it? It almost sounded like a cat screaming. Or was it Sebastian, imitating a cat scream? He does imitations sometimes. But if this was him, his skill was reaching new heights.
I opened the door and went in. The screaming became louder. I looked towards the dining room, and saw something terrible.
Widget, our new kitten (well, he's a bit large to be called a kitten now) had somehow gotten trapped between the back slats of one of the dining-room chairs. He was hanging sideways, flailing about in agony. The space between the slats was less than three inches across where he was. It looked like it was cutting him in two, just above his hind legs. Since two thirds of his body was hanging unsupported, he was helpless...and screaming.
I ran over and grabbed him, lifting him. He tried to sink his teeth into my hand; somehow I had expected that, and managed to turn my hand enough to make it a gash rather than a piercing. I tried to gently see if I could move him in either direction - how had he gotten into this fix? - but he was stuck. And still screaming. I thought of the large snips in the back shed that I've used to cut branches and saplings; could it cut through the slats? Would Widget live long enough for someone to get it and let me snip it?
The bathroom door opened. Teri rushed out and grabbed Widget too. She was thinking better than I was; "Lift him!" she said. The space between the slats was wider at the top of the chair, although the in-and-out design didn't make that immediately obvious to me. We lifted, and got him out. He disappeared.
Sebastian was very upset and scared. He said he was going to throw up. He didn't, but Teri and I didn't have much time to console him; we needed to find Widget. It seemed entirely possible that he was dying, although the thought crossed my mind that he was A) young and B) a cat - and therefore doubly hard to kill.
I searched the basement. Teri and Sebastian searched upstairs. When we met in the dining room, Widget was there.
He seemed fine. And he's done some climbing, running, and jumping since then. He still seems fine.
I got Sebastian into bed, and finished reading Doctor Dolittle Returns to him. He calmed down and fell asleep.
And that was our day.
The place was filled with people we knew. It was a nice feeling.
When we got home, Teri and Sebastian went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. I went back out to the car to get a drawing that Sebastian had made; he wanted it. When I came to the back door, though, I heard a strange sound. What was it? It almost sounded like a cat screaming. Or was it Sebastian, imitating a cat scream? He does imitations sometimes. But if this was him, his skill was reaching new heights.
I opened the door and went in. The screaming became louder. I looked towards the dining room, and saw something terrible.
Widget, our new kitten (well, he's a bit large to be called a kitten now) had somehow gotten trapped between the back slats of one of the dining-room chairs. He was hanging sideways, flailing about in agony. The space between the slats was less than three inches across where he was. It looked like it was cutting him in two, just above his hind legs. Since two thirds of his body was hanging unsupported, he was helpless...and screaming.
I ran over and grabbed him, lifting him. He tried to sink his teeth into my hand; somehow I had expected that, and managed to turn my hand enough to make it a gash rather than a piercing. I tried to gently see if I could move him in either direction - how had he gotten into this fix? - but he was stuck. And still screaming. I thought of the large snips in the back shed that I've used to cut branches and saplings; could it cut through the slats? Would Widget live long enough for someone to get it and let me snip it?
The bathroom door opened. Teri rushed out and grabbed Widget too. She was thinking better than I was; "Lift him!" she said. The space between the slats was wider at the top of the chair, although the in-and-out design didn't make that immediately obvious to me. We lifted, and got him out. He disappeared.
Sebastian was very upset and scared. He said he was going to throw up. He didn't, but Teri and I didn't have much time to console him; we needed to find Widget. It seemed entirely possible that he was dying, although the thought crossed my mind that he was A) young and B) a cat - and therefore doubly hard to kill.
I searched the basement. Teri and Sebastian searched upstairs. When we met in the dining room, Widget was there.
He seemed fine. And he's done some climbing, running, and jumping since then. He still seems fine.
I got Sebastian into bed, and finished reading Doctor Dolittle Returns to him. He calmed down and fell asleep.
And that was our day.
A Terrible Screaming II
Apr. 9th, 2009 11:17 pmWe had a nice dinner tonight. There was a fundraiser at Chelos, a local family restaurant; 15-20% of the check for anyone coming in tonight with a special ticket would go to Sebastian's cub scout pack.
The place was filled with people we knew. It was a nice feeling.
When we got home, Teri and Sebastian went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. I went back out to the car to get a drawing that Sebastian had made; he wanted it. When I came to the back door, though, I heard a strange sound. What was it? It almost sounded like a cat screaming. Or was it Sebastian, imitating a cat scream? He does imitations sometimes. But if this was him, his skill was reaching new heights.
I opened the door and went in. The screaming became louder. I looked towards the dining room, and saw something terrible.
Widget, our new kitten (well, he's a bit large to be called a kitten now) had somehow gotten trapped between the back slats of one of the dining-room chairs. He was hanging sideways, flailing about in agony. The space between the slats was less than three inches across where he was. It looked like it was cutting him in two, just above his hind legs. Since two thirds of his body was hanging unsupported, he was helpless...and screaming.
I ran over and grabbed him, lifting him. He tried to sink his teeth into my hand; somehow I had expected that, and managed to turn my hand enough to make it a gash rather than a piercing. I tried to gently see if I could move him in either direction - how had he gotten into this fix? - but he was stuck. And still screaming. I thought of the large snips in the back shed that I've used to cut branches and saplings; could it cut through the slats? Would Widget live long enough for someone to get it and let me snip it?
The bathroom door opened. Teri rushed out and grabbed Widget too. She was thinking better than I was; "Lift him!" she said. The space between the slats was wider at the top of the chair, although the in-and-out design didn't make that immediately obvious to me. We lifted, and got him out. He disappeared.
Sebastian was very upset and scared. He said he was going to throw up. He didn't, but Teri and I didn't have much time to console him; we needed to find Widget. It seemed entirely possible that he was dying, although the thought crossed my mind that he was A) young and B) a cat - and therefore doubly hard to kill.
I searched the basement. Teri and Sebastian searched upstairs. When we met in the dining room, Widget was there.
He seemed fine. And he's done some climbing, running, and jumping since then. He still seems fine.
I got Sebastian into bed, and finished reading Doctor Dolittle Returns to him. He calmed down and fell asleep.
And that was our day.
The place was filled with people we knew. It was a nice feeling.
When we got home, Teri and Sebastian went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. I went back out to the car to get a drawing that Sebastian had made; he wanted it. When I came to the back door, though, I heard a strange sound. What was it? It almost sounded like a cat screaming. Or was it Sebastian, imitating a cat scream? He does imitations sometimes. But if this was him, his skill was reaching new heights.
I opened the door and went in. The screaming became louder. I looked towards the dining room, and saw something terrible.
Widget, our new kitten (well, he's a bit large to be called a kitten now) had somehow gotten trapped between the back slats of one of the dining-room chairs. He was hanging sideways, flailing about in agony. The space between the slats was less than three inches across where he was. It looked like it was cutting him in two, just above his hind legs. Since two thirds of his body was hanging unsupported, he was helpless...and screaming.
I ran over and grabbed him, lifting him. He tried to sink his teeth into my hand; somehow I had expected that, and managed to turn my hand enough to make it a gash rather than a piercing. I tried to gently see if I could move him in either direction - how had he gotten into this fix? - but he was stuck. And still screaming. I thought of the large snips in the back shed that I've used to cut branches and saplings; could it cut through the slats? Would Widget live long enough for someone to get it and let me snip it?
The bathroom door opened. Teri rushed out and grabbed Widget too. She was thinking better than I was; "Lift him!" she said. The space between the slats was wider at the top of the chair, although the in-and-out design didn't make that immediately obvious to me. We lifted, and got him out. He disappeared.
Sebastian was very upset and scared. He said he was going to throw up. He didn't, but Teri and I didn't have much time to console him; we needed to find Widget. It seemed entirely possible that he was dying, although the thought crossed my mind that he was A) young and B) a cat - and therefore doubly hard to kill.
I searched the basement. Teri and Sebastian searched upstairs. When we met in the dining room, Widget was there.
He seemed fine. And he's done some climbing, running, and jumping since then. He still seems fine.
I got Sebastian into bed, and finished reading Doctor Dolittle Returns to him. He calmed down and fell asleep.
And that was our day.
Reprieve for Widget!
Nov. 12th, 2008 11:13 pmTonight Sebastian started crying and begged Teri not to take Widget's claws. He said it would be okay if Widget scratched him, unless the blood started "dropping on the floor". He was utterly heartbreaking.
I was nonetheless a bit surprised when Teri decided to wait for a few weeks on the declawing to give alternatives a try.
One thing we're going to try is getting a MUCH BIGGER litterbox. The one we have now is too damned small anyway; even when we only had the two cats, they always kicked litter all over the basement floor. So upgrading is long overdue.
Apart from that, we can look into those glue-on claw covers, or clipping, or sanding. Heck, I lived with clawed cats for most of my life; I think we can find a way to survive.
Of course, Widget will still be neutered tomorrow, the poor little guy. I feel a lot of sympathetic pain and sadness. But I know that it's necessary.
My father made up a song that he sang when our cats came back from being neutered; the main lyric was "Empty pockets, but a heart full of love".
I was nonetheless a bit surprised when Teri decided to wait for a few weeks on the declawing to give alternatives a try.
One thing we're going to try is getting a MUCH BIGGER litterbox. The one we have now is too damned small anyway; even when we only had the two cats, they always kicked litter all over the basement floor. So upgrading is long overdue.
Apart from that, we can look into those glue-on claw covers, or clipping, or sanding. Heck, I lived with clawed cats for most of my life; I think we can find a way to survive.
Of course, Widget will still be neutered tomorrow, the poor little guy. I feel a lot of sympathetic pain and sadness. But I know that it's necessary.
My father made up a song that he sang when our cats came back from being neutered; the main lyric was "Empty pockets, but a heart full of love".
Reprieve for Widget!
Nov. 12th, 2008 11:13 pmTonight Sebastian started crying and begged Teri not to take Widget's claws. He said it would be okay if Widget scratched him, unless the blood started "dropping on the floor". He was utterly heartbreaking.
I was nonetheless a bit surprised when Teri decided to wait for a few weeks on the declawing to give alternatives a try.
One thing we're going to try is getting a MUCH BIGGER litterbox. The one we have now is too damned small anyway; even when we only had the two cats, they always kicked litter all over the basement floor. So upgrading is long overdue.
Apart from that, we can look into those glue-on claw covers, or clipping, or sanding. Heck, I lived with clawed cats for most of my life; I think we can find a way to survive.
Of course, Widget will still be neutered tomorrow, the poor little guy. I feel a lot of sympathetic pain and sadness. But I know that it's necessary.
My father made up a song that he sang when our cats came back from being neutered; the main lyric was "Empty pockets, but a heart full of love".
I was nonetheless a bit surprised when Teri decided to wait for a few weeks on the declawing to give alternatives a try.
One thing we're going to try is getting a MUCH BIGGER litterbox. The one we have now is too damned small anyway; even when we only had the two cats, they always kicked litter all over the basement floor. So upgrading is long overdue.
Apart from that, we can look into those glue-on claw covers, or clipping, or sanding. Heck, I lived with clawed cats for most of my life; I think we can find a way to survive.
Of course, Widget will still be neutered tomorrow, the poor little guy. I feel a lot of sympathetic pain and sadness. But I know that it's necessary.
My father made up a song that he sang when our cats came back from being neutered; the main lyric was "Empty pockets, but a heart full of love".
Argh, feeling guilty
Nov. 10th, 2008 09:25 pmWidget, our new kitten, will be going to the vet on Thursday. He's going to be neutered and declawed. And I feel so guilty and bad for him; I can't tell you how guilty I feel.
All I can think of is that, well, he's going to lose his testicles, his chance to reproduce, and essentially the first joint off the end of his "fingers". It's horrifying. I don't want to think about it, but I can't help it. Poor little guy.
All I can think of is that, well, he's going to lose his testicles, his chance to reproduce, and essentially the first joint off the end of his "fingers". It's horrifying. I don't want to think about it, but I can't help it. Poor little guy.
