Thursday, March 4, 2010

Wheee! Ahem, Meow, I Meant

Before I get into the horses, who will really be the stars of this blog, I have to talk about our cats.

Let me make this clear. I want a dog. Desperately. I would love at least 2 dogs. I grew up with dogs, competed a little (in dog agility) and when I see all of our land, well, there should be a dog there. But considering we've just moved and the animals far outnumber us, we'll have to wait a tad longer. My 30th birthday is coming in August. I'd like a Standard Schnauzer, thank you!

My very first cat was Whimsey. Whimsey was found in an abandoned car at just a few days old, and I was working at a veterinary hospital. She and I bonded, and she's been with me since. Typically really shy around people, she is the most vocal cat around Matt and I. But here's the thing. She doesn't say "meow" or "mrrow" or anything of the sort. She whees. Totally serious. As in, "I'm going down a water slide, whee!" or "Look, there's an open bar, wheee!"

The open bar thing. Yes, I'd whee over that. Wouldn't you?



An orange female cat is very rare, I'm told. So is a cat that says "whee!" Oh. And she also has an extra toe on a front paw and sucks her thumb, like a child. I will get photographic evidence of this, I promise.

Next up is Monster. He came into my life about a week after Whimsey the same way, someone brought him into the veterinary hospital I worked at. Here he is at El Gato Spa, otherwise known as a bathroom sink.
Monster has a thing for water, and loves splashing in his water bowl, with his face, paws, anything. He'll also do this with the toilet water.

Why are my toilet lids up, you ask?

Because Monster and Whimsey are potty trained. That's right - they use the toilet, not a litter box. We rejoiced when this transition was made successfully - we're never cleaning another litter box, huzzah!

But then came Mojo.

We met Mojo at the last apartment we had before we bought our house, in Fort Lee, NJ. He must have seen us coming a mile away. He was a stray that we fed, until he managed to injure himself somehow. Suckers (or saviors?) that we are, we took him to the vet, and $500 later, discovered that Mojo is a boy. Our neighbors had told us he was a female, so he was called Cookie for a few months. Sorry, Mojo. Lucky for us, he didn't suffer from an identity crisis over that.

At any rate, Mojo lives in our basement with his very own VIP cat door, where he can go in and out as he pleases, which he loves. He's a bit leery of the horses at this time, but hello, where are there horses in Fort Lee?

On really cold winter nights, Mojo has to stay in, and must use a litter box. Sigh. Ah well, no litter box was fun while it lasted.

1 comment:

Pet Plog said...

Hey, KC! LOVE, LOVE, LOVE your blog. I am going to become a loyal follower. How on earth will I find time to do the tugboat thing - ya know, the one that gives a semi-monthly piece of paper that magically makes money appear in my account.