Kitten’s Mewlings

It’s a sad day when a little girl asks you to sell her puppy.

Well, my little sister is wanting to get rid of Savannah, her 4 month old pup.

We were told she would be 1/2 golden retriever and 1/2 blue heeler, but we were lied to. She’s at the very least a german shephard mix.

She’s too much of a puppy. She’s too dominant over my little sister and she’s too playful for my dad’s patience. So, she must go.

Sad, yes.

She’s a gorgeous pup. She just needs a little obedience schooling and lots of love. Maybe another pup to play with? She tries to play with my mother’s cat (who hates all other animals) and she chases birds and tries to catch them mid-air.

She’s addicted to the pool. She tries to ride on floaties, but when they are removed, she bites them. We’re trying to fix this. She also doesn’t like when people swim underwater in the pool; her instincts are to bark and to try to pull the swimmer out of the water. Not a bad instinct, but it makes it rather difficult to swim with her around.

She’s had her first set of shots, overdue on her second (will have them soon).

Our vet refuses to fix her until she’s older.

Quirks:
- I’ve already mentioned the pool, right?
- She collects sticks. When she was allowed free reign in and out of the house, she brought sticks in and hid them under the couch. Even tried a log from the fire-bin outside.
- She did carry a blanket with her everywhere, but it became tattered and trashed (bad daddy!).
- She has a thing for towels. I suspect it is because she now has no blanket to carry with her.
- She thinks she’s a lapdog. It’s cute now, but when/if she gets bigger….
- She once found a dead baby bird in the backyard. She brought it to the back door and barked insanely until my dad disposed of it. Apparently it didn’t belong.
- She chews rocks. She digs them up and carries them everywhere. Be warned.
- She chews bushes. In process of trying to break her of this.
- She jumps and tries to chew tree limbs. Suspected bird hunting; she only does it when birds are in said tree. Again, trying to break her of this.
- She hates sqeeky toys. She has effectively hidden the two squeaky toys bought (a rubber sqeaky stick and the squeaky green thing pictured below). They have not been seen since she hid them two and a half months or so ago.

I would love to give her up as free, but I didn’t get her completely free. I don’t think she’s pure German Shephard, which would be a pricey sale to be sure. I do know she’s at the very least part Shephard.

If anyone is interested, ESPECIALLY IN THE DALLAS/FORT WORTH AREA, please email me or leave a comment.

Her price is $250. (I’m willing to negotiate)

Savannah roughly 2 1/2 months old, playing with Big Ed

Savannah as of July 23, 2006. Wet from playing in the pool and carrying a stick.

Brutus is my first Vet-ridden pet. Before him, they were all healthy and/or taken care of medically by my dad (aka: shotgun). Being that he is my first pet with medication orders from the vet, I had a bit of experimenting to do for antibiotic/pain reliever time.

Brutus has been declawed and looks quite unfavorable upon us humans in the apartment. Pandora constantly taunts him (case in point: she is currently sitting atop HIS tower, staring down at him willing him to hurt himself to make her move her high-throned ass). He sits in the room with his back to everyone and tries his best to sleep; I feel terrible - his attempt at throwing guilt is working.

Our first excursion into medication-time began with his pain stuff. One syringe filled with 0.1mL. No problem. That dropped on his tongue and he swallows. Next up, the amoxicillan mixture, filled to 1.0mL. Now to test how well this will work….

I lay across the bed with Brutus snuggled on my stomach, pillows propping me up for some support. Holding his neck gently, making him look at me, I ease my thumb below his chin. He is effectively trapped, but not harmed. Three small drops go by fine before I let a little too much out. The result is a nice gash on my stomach from his back claws as he jumped out of my hold and hobbles to the door (he tries running, but slows quickly and limps). Guess my hold wasn’t that great…or I was as surprised as he was… Either way, it took a few minutes of soothing his ruffled fur before I could ease the dropper back to his lips. Tail thumping, he’s not happy. The rest of the dropper emptied without any other incident.

Now, all this while, Big Ed has been out to the Mart of Wal picking up a cage for dear Brutus. For the next two weeks he is confined to HEAVY supervision and lockdown while we are sleeping or at work.. Know why? Cuz he’s got GLUE holding his paws together and he is not allowed to jump or put excessive sudden weight on them. TWICE tonight we’ve lost him. Err, the first time was shortly after medications, I turned my back for a second to scold Pandora more for taunting him and I turned back and he was gone! He managed to get up on the counter in the bathroom and was whimpering in pain. The second was just a short time ago; Big Ed had returned with the cage and he had COMPLETELY disappeared when we finished setting up the collapsable thing. He was nowhere to be found! Turns out, the meds had finally kicked in and he was hiding behind my stuffed leapard atop the television in the bedroom. He wasn’t happy he’d been found.

Apparently neither is he happy he’s caged and Pandora isn’t. I think I’d better go and seperate the two before he hurts himself trying to get out and be free…. She’s taunting him again, but from above him on the table *sigh* Children!

I’ve an idea to create a small comic about my two cats.

Very original, I know.

But considering all the stuff that goes on, it would be a best seller and a great read.

Well, I figured I could start off with a major current event: Brutus being declawed.

Brutus is massive in size, but he’s still a kitten and nowhere near a year old yet. Pandora is a tiny thing, the runt of the litter, and at 8years old, quite cynically set in her ways. They don’t really get along; they have that Garfield & Odie relationship.

Thus, I present the first in the, hopefully, successful series.

CLICK

After how many cats is one classified as "the crazy cat lady"?

Nevermind; I can’t adopt any kittens or cats anyway. Big Ed refuses. Well, considering the size of the apartment is too small for Brutus alone, I can understand, but when we talk about moving into an actual house, he still refuses. Seems two cats are enough, but there is this need inside me to care for those poor homeless kitties out there….

To be brutally honest, before my dream of marrying and having a wonderful family, I kid you not, I was dreaming of being "the crazy cat lady". I even had plans drawn up of the house I’d have built! It would be one massive cat playplace, all custom made furniture, everything.

But, alas, that is not to be; nowadays the "crazy cat lady" is arrested for having too many animals. Whaaaaat? Yup. If your not a licensed professional with a quality business facility, you cannot own a couple dozen animals. That is just wrong. Granted, most "crazy cat ladies" truly are crazy and don’t really care for their cats as much as they think they are….

Sorry, this post isn’t going where I thought it would. So I’ll just end it here and get some clothes on; I don’t wanna be late for work….

We finally found a name for Smokey.

He came to us as Smokey, how unoriginal is that? He has had the nicknames Spazcat, Spaz, and Scrat, but those aren’t real names.

Brutus fits him.

—

And I know I didn’t do an HNT yesterday; would you if you were still hugging the toilet? I’ll have a double shot next week, to make up for this week.

"Where are we going?" asks LittleOne.

My reply is simple, informing with out too much detail, "We are going to the store, then over to Mandy’s, then back here."

"Why are we going to Mandy’s?" She is not only curious, but confused; we have never gone together to Mandy’s place.

"Mandy has a new puppy; we’re going to go and play with her for awhile," a simple half-truth.

"Ok, so why do we have to go to the store?" Normally she enjoys shopping, even grocery shopping, but can she be blamed for wanting to skip the store for a pup?

"Well, the new puppy doesn’t have anything to play with. We’re going to pick her up some toys." Her eyes light up at that. She is like me, she enjoys to give presents, especially to benefit a baby. "I also thought we could get her a blankie, think you could help me find one?" There is no response needed other than a tug at my arm and a fumble for the keys to my car from the keyrack. She is only seven and it’s adorable to see her reach so hard for something so high.

The General Dollar is the only stop needed; Cheap but reliable toys, though these are more for older dogs. LittleOne becomes attached to a rubber squeaky stick, and I hold onto a "value pack" that includes a rope, a ball, and another squeaky toy, all for only two dollars. I hold out two blankets, a dark blue and a sage green, and her opinion is the green. That’s my girl.

The drive to Mandy’s is full of discussion about sunburns and what transpired over Easter weekend. LittleOne and the rest of the family went to the lake and all came back bright red.

"Is this Mandy’s place?" A look of disgust crosses her small face. "There’s a dumpster next to us!"

Laughing, I point out, "It’s a small apartment complex, babe, see? That’s her place, up there," I say pointing to the middle of three apartments on the second floor, "Number 13. You got the blankie?" A small ‘yes’ is thrown over her shoulder as she marches up the steps in front of me.

Mandy’s not alone inside; McFarlin’s friend is sitting on the couch with his 6week old pooch fast asleep on his arm. It’s a puppy party! Mandy hands off an adorable black tip furred brown puffball that immediately starts nuzzling my chest. LittleOne’s eyes brighten, "Can I hold the puppy???"

"First, can you open the blankie? Trash is over there," I point with my nose, a trait picked up from my Seminole ancestry. With eyes transfixed on the squirming softness in my arms, she ripps at the wrapping and gingerly picks her way through the apartment.

Holding the blanket up she asks again to hold the puppy. A devious smile crosses my face. "Hold the blanket open, ok? Now, LittleOne," I somehow manage to convey in the motherly tone I had heard so many times, "this," I shift the puppy, "is your new puppy."

I have never seen a jaw so far through the floor before. "Really?!?"

I swear, her shock is the cutest, most adorable, most heartwarming thing ever. "Yes, but before you can have her, you have to give her a name!"

She stands in front of me staring at the wriggling animal, index finger thumping her chin as children are wont to do, with the most adorable thinking induced crunched faces, and without hesitation looks me dead in the eye and says softly, "Savannah."

Important Mommy Lesson* learned from this:
Tell a child she cannot have a puppy until her room is cleaned, and it will remain messy; bring the puppy home and tell her she can’t sleep with it until her room is cleaned, her room is picked up, dusted (Swiffered), swept, and vacuumed in under 10minutes–properly.

* No, I do not have any children. LittleOne is my youngest sister, whom I have practically raised — Hell! I was the first person (and only person for awhile) she called "momma"!