Just wait 'till your father gets home......

Four days to go to the last deadline of the year.

Taking a short break last night with the dogs in the back yard, I stepped in fresh poo.

Left my office for a few moments this morning and came back to a cat's hairball on my desk.

Just now took the dogs for a brief walk to stretch my legs.

Returning to the front yard and taking a few extra moments of autumn sunshine, Krista got mad for some very good dog reason and started a fight, a war, really. Fortunately they each weigh less than twenty pounds, were on leashes and I was wearing jeans instead of shorts.

Now Krista is in her crate. Winston is in his crate. I'm back at the computer with an ice pack on my knee.

No more work breaks for me.

Converted

Brian stopped by today to pick up a few things and get a haircut - going from the "hawk" look to a number two buzz. As I cut his hair on the back porch, the dogs chased each other. Brian is still amazed that we have not just one, but two family dogs.

I snootily preferred cats over dogs for decades. I was woefully misinformed.

Our cats lounge around, tear stuff up when no one's looking and take over entire rooms. They only come around us when they want something or it's the middle of the night and they need to check in.

Our dogs play. They prefer to play with one of us. Next best is playing with each other knowing we are watching. Right now they are having a blast playing in the rainy back yard while Ricky is home base on the patio. They want to be with us or asleep. And they sleep in their beds.

Teenagers vs. toddlers.

Enough said.

Promises, promises

I am supposed to get updated pictures of my new puppy on Friday. I can't wait! The breeder says his face is starting to take shape and the pup is going to be pretty.

It was fascinating to watch the snout grow on our first puppy. I had just assumed puppies arrived in their grown-up shape and simply got bigger. Instead, they arrive flat faced and then do a Pinocchio routine.

With a shiba inu, the color of the coat fades over the first few months, too, particularly around the muzzle. Our new little black puppy will end up with a mostly tan face and tan legs. I bet God had fun with that.

This is a picture of our new pup's daddy.

Meanwhile, on the cat front, we are in full battle mode with Addie, our devil cat. After two weeks of medication, she should be past her UTI. But bad habits take work to break.

She is locked out of our bedroom for the foreseeable future. We've added another litter box. And she's wearing a special collar that guarantees to soothe the stressed out cat and eliminate the inappropriate eliminations. Hmmmph.

The things we do for love.

Let the answering machine get it. I'm busy.

The nose knows

Working out of my home, I am responsible for the day to day operations of it - the package deliveries, service calls, doggie duty and following up on the mysterious bumps and crashes during the day. I've done it long enough I usually know when to check on things later and when to run to the source of the sounds.

Today, it was a case of the odd smell. It smelled rather like gas. I've smelled gas before in this house. When Brian was in elementary school, he accidentally turned the living room fireplace gas key left instead of right. But the weather was nice, so a couple of hours spent outdoors waiting for the gas to disperse was no big deal.

We have three gas furnaces that heat our home, so today when I smelled gas, I checked all of them to make sure warm air was coming through all vents. It was. I checked with my daughter, home from work, to see if she smelled anything. Nope. I worked a little while longer, then headed out to drive Wiley from one campus to the other for soccer. Coming back into the house, I definitely smelled gas.

We have three gas fireplaces. Living room....check. Den.....check. Master bedroom.....oops! This is what I found.

I can reconstruct. It was a real Mousetrap game. Addie, the devil cat, taunted the orange cat(s) and started a chase. Through the living room, into the master bedroom, then bathroom, then a full reverse back to the bedroom. Launching herself up to her normal queenly perch, this time Addie's momentum tipped the desk chair, causing it to fall against the wall, where it hung on the fireplace gas key, ripping the key loose from its connections inside the wall.

(I am sure this generated noise at the time, but only at the normal hub-bub level of our wacky cats. Now if it was the dog chewing (usually important) paper, I would have checked on it within thirty seconds!)

Now I call my husband and leave a message. I call my dad, like every daughter instinctively does during a household emergency. My dad and I agree that the gas leak is IMPORTANT. Nervous, having had a house fire fifteen years ago, I call 911. The operator instructs me to get out of the house and he will send a truck. My daughter and I and the dog get out of the house and wait. I decide the cats are on their own. I'm sure they're indestructible and, if not, they are somewhat replaceable, hard hearted as I am. The dog, on the other hand, I have way more invested in, subject of a future story.

The firemen arrive, identify the leak, and shut off the gas to the house. A couple of hours later, I'm back at my desk. The plumber, sheduled for in the morning, has managed to make it here today, so we should have heat back before the sun goes down.

I do have a couple of concerns for the future. First, the fire truck took well over five minutes to get here and originally stopped about a block away, looking for our house. We live in a big house in an established neighborhood on a somewhat busy street. I guess if there had been smoke pouring from the roof they would have found it quicker? Second, when I directed them to the location of the gas meter near the front of the house outside the master bedroom they were just in, they could not find it. Hmmmm.

But again, our minor gas leak was just that, so I must trust they would have been quicker in a real emergency.

The bottom line? A prayer of thanksgiving that I work at home during the day and can prevent inconveniences from becoming cat-astrophes.

One of these things is not like the other, one of these things doesn't belong

Tyson and Rascal.

Within thirty minutes of putting the soft tree skirt under the tree, both orange cats had checked it out.

Tyson and friends.

Krista and friends.

Coffee (Eddie and Lindsay's cat) and friends.

Coming Full Circle

In May, 2006, after about a five year hiatus from cat ownership, we brought an adorable, beautiful five week old tuxedo kitten home. Addie snuggled, she played tag, we all had fun. Then she grew older and less content with amusing herself.

Over time, her favorite spot became the top of my desk, particularly when it was covered in paper. This was problematic for me, the high-powered paper pusher who's too soft hearted to move a lonely kitty.

Solution? Get Addie a companion. In December, 2007, we brought the kitten Tyson home from a shelter. Tyson is loving and eager to please. He waited patiently for Addie to adjust. Addie never really played with Tyson, but liked hanging out in the same room with him and keeping an eye on things.

They were not in my office.

Then we got the dog in December, 2008. Addie liked bossing the dog around, even shushing Krista to sleep her first night in our home. Addie has not been crazy about our other cat or dog, but she always seemed interested in what they were doing.

They were not in my office.

In late July our daughter, with her cat Rascal, moved back home for a while. Rascal is a few months younger than Tyson and has only lived alone in a small apartment. He is very similar in coloring and size to Tyson, but acts more like a ghost. Rascal seems to have unhinged Addie, and my cat's psychosis has gradually increased over the past couple of weeks.

To avoid the whole situation, Addie has been hanging out in our bedroom closet during the day, doing unmentionable things. Today I tossed all the cats out of our bedroom and shut the door, forcing Addie to "socialize." Addie, crazed and wacko, hissed and yowled, wanting back into her hiding spot. Eventually she gave up.

Where did she go? Here. In my office.

Where did Tyson follow? Here. In my office.

Somehow I screwed up the grand solution to a cat constantly sitting on my desk. Thank goodness the dog can't jump that high, or I'd have all three of them in my way.

Where's the ghost cat? Don't know, but at least he's not in my office.

Almost a Love Relationship

Our number two cat is the sweetest animal I've owned. Our number one dog is figuring that out. The cat always lets the dog play and bite and maul, only using his claws once in self-defense in the last nine months. This picture is from a typical morning. While I'm slaving away, the animals are doing this.

Or this.

But sometime in between the two pictures, someone did this.

WHY was a roll of toilet paper on the bedroom floor?

WHY is a Big Boggle game on the living room couch?

WHY are work files on the living room floor?

And, WHY did the text in this post suddenly become blue and underlined as I added pictures?

Imponderables, all.