Ceilidh

My parents got a new dog last week. My mother is completely enamoured. Their 17 year old Australian cattle dog, Butch, died several months ago, and my parents wanted a companion for their 12 year old and still very active border collie, Duffy. They have had Border Collies most of their married life (close to 50 years), and my mother started searching through the Border Collie rescue sites. Duffy is getting older, and has always been at the bottom of the pecking order, so she wanted to make sure he wouldn't be picked on by any new dog. One that caught her eye was a little female who had been hit by a car and had spent weeks at the vet's and months recuperating. She's only got three usable legs, and she's really still recuperating. She's possibly been a little stunted by the accident, because she's half the size of Duffy, but apparently he's being a perfect gentleman to her. My mother named her Céilidh (Caylee), which, as I said in my last post, is a Gaelic dance.
One of the first things my parents did when they got married was to get a Border Collie. Gammon was three when I was born. He was more like an older brother to me, and being a Border Collie, of course looked out for me. One day when I was a toddler, my mother looked out in the front garden, saw that I had somehow managed to open the front gate and that Gammon and I were gone. She rushed out, looked down the street, and way off in the distance there we were. Gammon was slowly walking next to me, leaning into me and herding me out of the street. Most other dogs would have bolted for freedom, but he stayed right with me. He, of course, could have stopped me from leaving at all, but he was always up for a walk.

Another time (when I was even younger), we were camping, and I crawled into an adjacent field full of cows. Cows are fairly curious, and so they all started crowding around me to have a look. Since we were in a campground, Gammon had to be chained up, but he actually became frantic, broke his chain, and flew into the middle of the cow herd, scattering cows in all directions and protecting me until my parents could get there a few seconds later (my parents really weren't nearly as careless with me as this all sounds. Really...).

When I was older, I would try and order Gammon around and I swear he would just raise one eyebrow and look at me. I could actually see him thinking, "Hmph. Like I have to do anything you say." Gammon owned, to borrow a phrase from 101 Dalmatians (the book NOT any of the lame movies), one of the keenest brains in Dogdom. He died when I was nine, and I'm not sure my parents have ever completely gotten over it. He was their first child.

After Gammon, we got a half St. Bernard half Weimeraner. She was the size of a Great Dane, and looked a lot like a giant Rhodesian Ridgeback (especially when she had her hackles up). Poor Shandy was probably very intelligent in her own way, but she could never live up to Gammon. She lived in his shadow for 15 years.

Other Border Collies they've had:
Whisky — who was found near a rest area (I think) by a friend of the family who knew of my parent's fondness for Border Collies. They thought she may have fallen out of a truck. I think my parents had her for 13 or 14 years.

Heidi — She was the sole survivor of a head on collision. Again, my parents got her because someone heard (through me, actually) that they were fond of Border Collies. She was about 11 when they got her, but she lived another 4 or so years.

Vixen — wasn't really a Border Collie, but she was a collie mix. She looked like a giant fox. She came from the Humane Society and had been kept in a basement for the first nine months of her life.

They often seem to name their dogs after food. Duffy is Plum Duff, Gammon is a cut of bacon (their cat was named Streaky - another cut of bacon), Shandygaff is a beer flavoured with ginger beer (can I just interject? - blech! I don't like beer OR ginger beer), and Whisky was Black and White Scotch.
I think they're lucky to have Ceilidh, but she's also very lucky to have them. Note - That is her tail and a chew toy, not her bad leg...

And introducing...Clio!

Alright, already! I'm being badgered by someone who shall remain nameless to post some photos of our new kitty, Clio. A little while after both Kitty and Isis (yes, she's the gorgeous fluffy goofball in the fishtank) died within a month of each other, Bill thought we should get a kitten. I did a little online research and found a cat rescue place nearby, so we went over. It turned out the woman and her husband also rescue horses (no we already have one, thankyouverymuch).

There were cats (and horses) everywhere. We went into the detached mother-in-law's cottage which was entirely devoted to cats. There were about 5 cats who immediately came out to greet us, one of whom was a skinny little long-haired calico who had just been spayed. Bill's eyes literally lit up as soon as he saw her, and she was the first one he picked up. Over the hour and a half we were there, the woman kept bringing more and more cats in to show us. Cats of all ages, but mostly Maine Coons, Ragdolls, Turkish Angoras and Siamese. I wanted to take them all home. Bill couldn't stop picking them up and cuddling them, but he kept coming back to the calico. I finally told the woman that it looked as though he'd fallen in love, and we'd take her. Here is a photo from the day we got her. On the way home, Bill suddenly said, "Clio. I think we should call her Clio after the Greek muse of history." We got her home, and she immediately jumped up and tried to steal my dinner. I pushed her away, and she just looked affronted and swatted at my hand. I pushed again and she swatted again. Bill picked her up and put her on floor. She jumped up again. About 12 times. She doesn't take no for an answer.

She quickly made herself at home.Bill happily smothered in cats.

A few days after we got her, one of her eyes started watering slightly and she started squinting a little. It didn't look very bad, and I didn't think much of it. Then suddenly both eyes started watering and she could hardly keep them open. I figured she had pinkeye, and we had just decided to take her to the vet when they opened on Monday when Alice suddenly got really lethargic and wouldn't come out from under the couch - very un-Alice-like behavior. When we dragged her out, she obviously felt absolutely crappy. Alice is the love of Bill's son's life, and Bill completely freaked out. He rushed her to the outrageously expensive emergency clinic on Sunday, found out she had a very high temperature, and came back with broad-spectrum antibiotics, but no diagnosis.

Bill then took Clio in to our regular vet on Monday, and came back with more broad spectrum antibiotics for both her and Alice, eye ointment, and a diagnosis for both cats. Feline rhinotracheitis or herpesvirus (FHV-1). The antibiotics were to treat the secondary bacterial infections. I was really concerned about my son's 11 year old cat, Smokey, but I'm not sure if she ever got it. She was really sick when I found her next to the road when she was a tiny kitten, and perhaps she had FHV-1 then. She did, however, cough a few times and suddenly completely lose her voice, so I got her some antibiotics too, even though I believe they are way overused. The vet was concerned that she would contract a respiratory infection more easily than the younger cats, and after Kitty and Isis, I was NOT going to lose another cat. We then spent the next two weeks dosing three not-very-happy cats twice a day.

Clio was already looking at us suspiciously before all this, but us grabbing her twice a day, stuffing nasty bubble-gum flavored Clavamox down her throat, and squeezing ointment in her eyes just confirmed all her worries. She still really doesn't want us to catch her and pick her up, although she's getting better about it.

The vet thought she was a very small 8 month old when we got her, and she has grown tremendously over the last couple of months because she never stops eating. I think she was starved before she was rescued. She's supposedly at least part Maine Coon, and they can keep growing for up to five years, so we'll see how big she actually gets. She'll definitely grow out if not up.She's almost as big as Alice now. They love this crunchy tunnel, by the way. Clio loves jumping on it, so we just have to fluff it back up every 3 minutes.I keep interrupting their wrestling to take photos. They stop as soon as the red-eye reduction light comes on.
We even got them all a big new toy from CozyCatFurniture.com
Please stop flashing that nasty light in my face.

100 things about me

1. My feet are so ticklish, I can't even touch them sometimes. Seriously. Don't even try unless you like being kicked in the teeth.

2. My husband, Bill, is 15 years older than I am.

3. But his kid's ages bracket my son's age.

4. I have the worlds worst memory.

5. I was once pissed on by a lion.

6. I have met several other people who were pissed on by lions, so it's apparently not that uncommon.

7. I did not think it was funny at the time, but my mother almost died laughing.

8. I have never believed in a god.

9. Any of them.

10. I vaguely remember believing in Heaven — sort of the same way I believed in Santa Clause — until I was about 7 and someone told me that non-human animals don't go to Heaven. Then I decided it wasn't anywhere I would like to go, anyway.

11. This was right around the time I was pissed on by the lion, but I don't think the two were related.

12. One reason I became a fisheries biologist was because my father used to take me fishing. He let me gut the fish so I could cut open their stomachs and see what they had been eating.

13. Another reason was that I started out as an Animal Science major in college, and was wrestling with a sheep in Ani Sci 101. Sheep stink.

14. I decided to change my major and went through the catalog alphabetically. I made it all the way through to W and found Wildlife and Fisheries Biology, and the rest is history.

15. I married my high school sweetheart, David.

16. Anybody who's read this blog a while knows that he turned out to be gay.

17. Actually, he's one of my four readers, and I'm pretty sure he knows he's gay, since he married his partner of 16 years.

18. I've had to have my appendix and my gall bladder removed. I'm running out of extraneous organs.

19. I used to get really awful stomach gripes, and then come up in hives all over my entire body.

20. The doctor thought that it was systemic mastocytosis, but the only way to tell for sure was to biopsy one of the hives the next time it happened.

21. I haven't had hives since.

22. I still get the stomach problems, and the doctors can't find anything.

23. Both Bill and David used to be avid comic book collectors.

24. I have a skull collection.

25. Pseudoscience of any kind irritates the hell out of me. This includes, but is not limited to; astrology, homeopathy, phrenology, acupuncture, anything to do with the paranormal, chiropractic, crystal healing, magnetic therapy, intelligent design/creation "science," therapeutic touch - they are all bullshit. The list goes on. And on.

26. Intelligent falling, and the terrible threat of Dihydrogen Monoxide (DHMO) however, are real. I was appalled to find out that DHMO is even an additive found in my tea, and I drink gallons of that!

27. I was born in England.

28. All my relatives except my immediate family and two cousins live in England.

29. I was a resident alien for over 30 years.

30. I got my US citizenship in 2000 because I wanted to be able to vote.

31. Lotta good THAT did.

32. I have three college degrees.

33. I only really use two of them.

34. They look impressive on the wall, though.

35. I have oligodontia - I was born without eight teeth, including my wisdom teeth.

36. I think I passed this on to my son, but I don't remember (see #4)

37. I've always joked that I am just more highly evolved.

38. I hate milk. It is only acceptable in tea, and sometimes on cereal. It also usually contains DHMO (see #26).

39. I had to drink it while I was pregnant, though. I hope my son REALIZES THE SACRIFICE I MADE FOR HIM!

40. I also don't like many other dairy products very much, such as yogurt and ice cream. No, I don't think I have lactose intolerance - I've tried cutting it all out, and still get the gastrointestinal problems. I just don't like them.

41. Many people don't have a problem with my disbelief in a god, but they think that not liking ice cream is just UNNATURAL.

42. One way I will eat ice cream: smother vanilla ice cream with hot fudge, raspberry sauce, and put it all on top of warm chocolate cake. With a cherry on top.

43. Contrary to everything I just said about dairy products, I love all kinds of cheese.

44. I hate clowns.

45. But I like mimes. The mention of Shields and Yarnell brings back fond memories. Of Laugh In. Even though they were never on Laugh In.

46. I may have a terrible memory (see #4 again), but I can remember everything that ever happened to Ross and Demelza Poldark.

47. I've lived in California all except two years since 1979, and I've felt quite a few earthquakes, including a several fairly large ones.

48. Bill has lived here for about 56 years, and he's never felt one. Does that count? It isn't really about me.

49. I've also lived in tornado prone areas (twice). I'll take an earthquake over a tornado any day.

50. During my time in Texas, I experienced a couple of tropical storms and a "mini" hurricane (it blew up off the coast of Texas with hurricane force winds, but it was very small and didn't even get a name). Hurricanes spawn tornadoes, therefore I'll take an earthquake over a hurricane any day, too.

51. Speaking of tropical storms, I'll have to do another post about the time one hit while my parents were away, and I brought the horses out of belly-deep water and into the garage. My mare, Najmah, then broke through the back door into the house. Twice.

52. I'm the worlds worst slob. Seriously. Oscar Madison is my hero. Dirt and filth, piles of clothes, boxes, etc. - it just doesn't bother me. When I lived alone, I was fine as long as there was a fairly clear path through the crap on the floor. I would wash the dishes, sometimes even before they started growing mold.

53. Luckily for me, Bill is slightly obsessive-compulsive the other way. He just follows along behind me, picking up.

54. The older I get the more Monk-like I become. I'm talking Adrian Monk, not the religious kind. THAT would be a nun. I think. But I'm not religious, so I'm not really up on whether there are female monks. Maybe female Buddhist monks. But I digress.

55. Bill wishes I would be more OCD about cleaning the house, and not wander around leaving a trail of papers and articles of clothing, but my Monk-like behaviour only seems to apply to germs.

56. Almost anything you say can and does remind me of a show tune.

57. Does anybody else go around with music constantly playing in their head? And no iPod or Walkman, or whatever? I don't need one.

58. Right now? Caravan (Duke Ellington).

59. Sometimes I have trouble concentrating on anything if there is music playing in the background. All I can hear is the music.

60. I'm one of THOSE people who walks through the supermarket singing along with the Muzak. Out loud.

61. I am an extreme introvert. I have to work hard all the time to overcome it. I am the awkward moment queen.

62. This also means that I generally avoid controversy.

63. Unless I'm right. Which I always am. Bill still hasn't learned this.

64. Controversy avoidance is why I have generally stayed in the atheist closet until I get to know people a little.

65. Because I was so shy, I, of course, was labeled "stuck up" in school.

66. I'm fiercely loyal to my friends.

67. I used to read books constantly.

68. Then my son got a new computer and I got his old laptop and discovered blogs. Now all I do is read blogs, (sometimes) write blog posts, peruse Facebook, and Twitter. I don't have time for actual books.

69. When I was young, one of my favourite books was Lad: A Dog. The first dog I got when I moved out on my own was a collie.

70. My favourite books of all time are the Tolkien trilogy. I've read them numerous times - the first when I was nine.

71. I used to have a cat named Mink who was a slightly pinkish color. Her nicknames over the years were: Pinky Minky, Sinky Minky (she sat in the sink a lot), and Stinky Minky. My father called her Scrut.

72. Music in my head right now? Turk Murphy - Trombone Rag.

73. I switch between English and American spellings, usually depending upon to whom I am writing.

74. Even more entertaining for my friends - I occasionally switch between English and American accents without realizing. People used to frequently ask if I was Canadian. Not as much nowadays.

75. I had a really weird accent when I lived in Texas. One of my best friends had the same accent, as his mother was from England, too.

76. I have an extremely bad temper.

77. My temper is usually short lived, though.

78. On my first date, I went to The Muppet Movie. With the guy in #74. His mother drove.

79. I have an irrational fear of spiders. Ticks are included, but I don't consider that irrational.

80. However, I won't let anyone kill a spider in the house. They have to be put outside.

81. I once shared the shower with an enormous wolf spider, and didn't condition my hair for several days because she was hiding behind the conditioner bottle. I knew that if I moved the bottle, she would jump. I finally started worrying that she would starve to death if she stayed there, so I moved the bottle. She jumped, and I screamed (several times) as I put a (large) glass over her and put her outside.

82. I actually don't like to kill anything. I feel that all life is precious (except perhaps insects such as ants, flies or mosquitoes that invade my space).

83. I am not a vegetarian, so I guess this means I'm also a hypocrite.

84. I've only had three long-term boyfriends, two of whom I married.

85. I've only had four boyfriends.

86. About 5 years ago, I dislocated and broke the little finger of my left hand so that it stuck out sideways at a 90 degree angle. It has never been the same since. And never completely stopped hurting.

87. This has made me realize that I could fairly easily do something that could cripple me for life, so I probably don't take as many risks skiing, with horses, bike riding etc., as I might have otherwise.

88. I was pissed that the hospital wouldn't let me keep the x-rays, because they were really cool.

89. Did I already say I have a bad memory?

90. I like the smell of skunk.

91. I don't like the smell of lavender.

92. I think Best In Show was one of the funniest movies ever made, but most of my friends vehemently disagree.

93. The other funny ones are: Monty Python and the Holy Grail, The Princess Bride, History of the World: Part 1, My Big Fat Greek Wedding, and A Mighty Wind.

94. The funniest, of course, was Young Frankenstein. Damn your eyes! Too late.

95. I love Sci Fi. TV and books. It all started with Star Trek reruns and Star Blazers.

96. Does anyone reading this (if you actually made it this far) not know that I play the bassoon?

97. I can't decide between Rose's Mango or Pomegranate martini mix. Pomegranate, I think.

98. My attitude is that we only have one life to live, and it is VERY fragile, so we might as well make the best of it.

99. It took me over a month to write this. On and off. Mostly off.

100. Current song in my head: The theme to NCIS. Oh, wait. Bill turned on the TV.

I'm all of a Twitter

I've been on Twitter for a while now and it has been entertaining, hilarious, as well as heartbreaking, and sometimes just downright odd.

Here are some of my observations:

• Wil Wheaton really is just this guy, you know? And proof that nerds can be popular!
• Brent Spiner pretty much wrote a very entertaining short story/elaborate April Fool's joke 160 characters at a time throughout April,
• George Takei doesn't say much,
• William Shatner doesn't say much either, but does some self promotion,
• I unfollowed LeVar Burton because he was just too religious and not very interesting,
• Anybody else seeing a pattern here?
• The Bloggess is just as hilarious on Twitter as she is on her blog, if that is possible (I'm kind of surprised she hasn't been arrested, because that much hilarity isn't generally allowed in Texas),
• The Bad Astronomer is actually quite good.
• Stephen Fry went to film on location in Malasia and tweeted and twitpic-ed it all.
• Al Yankovic? Yep, still weird.
• I don't know how PZ Myers finds time to tweet anything what with all the blog posts he does. He must not sleep.
• The Onion and NPR tweets can be virtually indistinguishable sometimes,
• I even follow a fish. Erica's fish.

I have also found several bloggy friends there. Andrew was the first person to ever comment on my blog, and we've commented back and forth periodically on our blogs, as well as on Atheist Nexus. He and Stephen got into Twitter swine flu pun wars the other day (really, really bad puns - Gammontee, Andrew? Please!). Luckily nobody else was around to hear me giggling.

Anybody who's read my blog for any length of time knows Mr Farty. I won a competition on his blog over a year ago and he sent me a VERY nice set of coasters imprinted with Scottish words such as eejit, crabbit, and numpty, and their definitions. I put them in our curio cabinet, which Mr Farty thinks is just plain odd. He obviously doesn't have a house full of teenagers where things get moved and disappear never to be seen again. Currently he's changed his picture (avatar? icon? I don't know either, Lesley) from a flaming fart to Robbie the Robot. Now he's being stalked by all the zombie robots on Twitter. At the time I was typing this, both he and Andrew were commenting on the same TV show. Something about #eurovision?

Lesley from Um..What?? was my first Twitter follower. My big fluffy, and fairly young cat, Isis, (the one whose photo I used to use for this blog) died suddenly of diabetes (which caused a cascade effect of liver and kidney failure) last month, and Lesley was one of the first people I told. She sent me a tweet because she was concerned, and as she was the caretaker of a diabetic cat, and she is just a really, really nice person, I knew she would understand. My grandfather died the next day. It was a very bad week. I, unfortunately, understood completely when her Moses the Cat suddenly became ill and died less than a month later. Sorry, I wasn't planning on turning so maudlin...

There are numerous other interesting people I follow, for instance Lesley's best friend Mo (The Daily Snark), Debra (iamdebra), Steph (quirkyblogger), although I'm not so sure about Clay (mayopie). Oh, all right. He's interesting, too. Liza (wickedlibrarian) just got a cute haircut I might have to copy once the temperature here reaches over 100 degrees. Oh, wait. It's 98 right now. I might need a haircut sooner than I thought.

Oh, and I don't like to brag, BUT Barack Obama is following ME!

So remember:
You're no one if you're not on Twitter
And if you aren't there, you've already missed it.
If you haven't been bookmarked, re-tweeted and blogged,
You might as well not have existed.

Goodbye Kitty

I haven't felt much like writing this week because we've had a dying cat in our bedroom, which can be very depressing. Kitty could be one of the meanest, nastiest cats you ever met, or one of the nicest. One second she would be sitting on you purring and rubbing her head against you, and the next, she would turn, bite, slash (often drawing blood), and run before you could react. But her extra-super-loud purr made up for a lot. I've never heard a cat with such a loud purr.She disliked most humans, but she absolutely hated all other cats. Bill and his kids have had several cats over the years, and she hated all of them. She had been an only cat for a while when I moved in with Bill, bringing Isis and Smokey. For about two years they were relegated to William's bedroom, the laundry room, and the kitchen - about 1/3 of the house. She wouldn't allow them past the kitchen. If they did, they risked sudden ambush. Isis (half again as big as Kitty, but not very bright) would wander out occasionally, and come flying back with Kitty in hot pursuit. Then she would hiss at Smokey. We don't think Isis's eyesight is very good, because she often couldn't tell Kitty from Smokey - with whom she had lived all her life. Smokey just stayed mostly in the bedroom; she was terrified of Kitty.Isis and Smokey couldn't even sit in a warm window without being tormented. Kitty was an indoor-outdoor cat, while the other cats are indoor only, and if they decided to sit in the sun next to a window, she would suddenly jump at the window and hit the screen with a crash. This petrified them (a squirrel used to frighten them in the same way at my old house - they really are a couple of wusses).

Kitty was actually Bill's son's cat. She slept with him and loved him in her own way, although he does have scars where she scratched him over the years. Then he got a new kitten - Alice.After Alice arrived, things started going downhill for Kitty. She was physically unable to defend her territory against three cats, one of whom was a boisterous kitten and not afraid of her. First Isis started venturing further out; usually to play with Alice. Then Smokey occasionally tiptoed out.

Kitty was getting old. To make matters worse, she also started losing her teeth. Once the other cats realized she was vulnerable, the tables were turned. She had to sneak around the house risking ambush. She couldn't move without being attacked, and started spending all her time outside. She was really miserable.

Her life changed again about a year and half ago when someone managed to snag her head with a claw, and she developed a really painful abscess and ended up with a cone on her head and drains in her ear and cheek. We had to keep her separated from the other cats so we kept her in our bedroom. Bill has never in his life allowed cats to sleep in his bedroom. He was adamant that cats don't belong there, whereas I've slept with my cats since I got my first one when I was about nine. For Kitty, he was willing to share.

She finally felt safe again, gained weight and thrived. She got to go outside whenever we were home, and sleep on us at night - often purring so loudly I had trouble sleeping. Sometimes she would get what Bill calls a wild hair, and dash around the room in the middle of the night, sometimes running over our heads. But most of the time, all she wanted was to be petted...and the occasional taste of human skin.

Then she started rapidly losing weight. Bill feeds the cats and last week he said that she hadn't eaten anything for three days. I took her to the vet, who found a mass in her abdomen that turned out to be enlarged lymph nodes. She had moderate to severe lymphoma. We started her on Prednisone, and crossed our fingers, but she kept going downhill. One night she lay on the end of the bed and didn't move all night, but we could hear her purring. Every time she stopped purring, Bill sat up and touched her to see if she was still alive, and she would start purring again.

Yesterday, Bill took her in to get a boost of sub-cutaneous fluids, and they discovered that her ears and gums were turning green, which meant that she was in acute liver failure, so it wasn't really hard to make the decision. She wasn't in pain yet, but she would be soon. He said the whole time he sat with her she never stopped purring.

I always felt a little sorry for her because she never rated an actual name, but at least we have a framed portrait of her, taken a few years ago by Bill's son, on our wall:

Kitty (Early 1994 - February 20, 2009)
Classic Kitty Expression

Kitty, the inaugural parade (WOO HOO!), and a faceplant is not a flower

The other night I was startled out of a sound sleep by Bill suddenly sitting up and yelling, "Get off me, you BITCH!!"

I thought perhaps he had had a bad dream, since he never speaks to me this way (he knows better). And I wasn't even touching him, much less on him. "Whas wrong?"

"Kitty just jumped on my head THREE TIMES."

Given the early hour and his lack of sleep I think he can be forgiven for mistaking her for a dog.
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My friend S and I happened to be eating lunch today and the inaugural parade was being shown on a big screen TV near us. We were chatting about what a nice car Barack Obama's limousine is and how it’s probably bullet proof and bomb resistant (it is) when President and Michelle Obama got out and started walking. We were saying, "What? What's he doing? He's getting out? No! No! Get back in!!!" It was scary.*

When I told this to another friend (B), she says she wakes up every morning and listens to the news - worrying and half expecting something horrible has happened to him. This is going to be a loooong presidency. I can tell. Especially if he does frightening things like getting out of the car. TWICE!
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I did what is termed “a faceplant” yesterday while skiing. I allowed my son to convince me I was good enough to try a funbox in a terrain park. This is a slippery box that you slide down and jump off the end. I did fine the first three times, but then I was feeling a little cocky and tried a bigger one. I'm really glad I wear a helmet, although I have a huge bruise above my eyebrows up past my hairline where my goggles and helmet tried to come through my skull. My head actually bounced. The rest of me is slowly seizing up today - especially my neck and elbow. Yes, this is my daredevil son. Why on earth did I listen to him?
________________________________________________________
Photos from David and Pete’s very cool wedding will be posted as soon as I can move again.
________________________________________________________
*We knew the security was out of this world tight. It still made us nervous.

Cats o' four tails

Cats are wonderful, and great to have around on a cold winters night (note my ubiquitous fuzzy red blanket - aka, the cat magnet)

But sometimes they have to be disciplined. An Engineers Guide to Cats gives some really good examples of discipline, and in fact, Bill feels that Corporal Cuddling should be used daily - just to keep them in line.

Here, Isis and Smokey are having a minor tiff in which they are repeatedly whacking each other in the face. This often escalates until one leaps on the other and pins her to the ground.

When this happens, I have found that separating them and sending them to their box works well. Sort of like when I used to send my son to his room, except smaller.

Here are Isis and Alice being punished. They hate this, you can tell. Alice is taunting Isis in the first photo, but it wasn't long before it was her turn.

(Yes, those are Foyle's War, Battlestar Galactica, Fiddler on the Roof, Family Guy, Star Trek: Enterprise, Gilmore Girls, and Penn and Teller's Bullshit DVDs)

Here, Alice is trying to get away with what I call 'the half-box.' She's sitting on top of all Twister's bandages.


Occasionally, they do something so egregious they get sent to sit next to the DVD player.


And things like this very acrobatic leap by Alice to the top of the wall unit warrant a time out on top of the TV.

Here's Bill shoving Alice in behind the TV while Isis taunts from below.


The red fuzzy blanket and I are much sought after,

but sometimes you've just got to settle for Bill and the comics section of a newspaper.

This is Kitty. Apparently nobody cared enough about her to come up with a a real name. She is our only indoor-outdoor cat and is a gnarly, nasty, toothless 14-year-old whatsit who bites and scratches. She pretty much gets away with everything. Corporal Cuddling can only be done occasionally and very carefully if you don't want blood poisoning. As you can see, she usually just gets The Comfy Chair. She beat up and chased all the other cats for years, but they have figured out that she has lost her teeth, so for her own protection, she now lives in our bedroom and the backyard. She is definitely an example of what goes around comes around.


For really really bad infractions, they get sent to...THE FISHTANK! (gasp!)

Maybe they're worthwhile. At least during the winter. As long as I don't want to see the TV.

Hearing loss

I found these ultrasonic ringtones on the Science Made Cool website via Tangled Bank #102 which was hosted by Further Thoughts. Wow. That was complicated. Actually, I think that ultrasonic is defined as 20kHz and above. Eight, 10, and 12kHz were almost unbearably loud. 14.1kHz was comfortable, and 14.9kHz was audible, but quiet.

Bill's daughter came in so I tested it out on her. She could only hear up to 16.7kHz.

I booted up our PC because I wasn't sure that the speakers on this laptop are very good. I could hear up to 15.8kHz with those speakers. Barely. Bill's daughter yelled from the back of the house, "Are you still messing with those ringtones?" She could hear it from two rooms and a hallway away.

My son, his girlfriend, and his friend Will wandered in on their way to San Francisco, so I used them as guinea pigs, too. My son and his girlfriend could hear up to 16.7, and his friend Will could hear up to 18.8kHz. Most of the sounds hurt Will's ears.

I am really not surprised about my obvious hearing loss. I have a really difficult time hearing people speak if there is any background noise. I blame the various bands I've played in since I was 13. Particularly because I usually sit in front of the trumpet sections (Sorry, Andrew).

I tried testing this out to see how well the other animals in the family heard it. I put the laptop on the floor between Smokey and Fang, and played all the notes. Smokey looked on, mildly interested and Fang started falling asleep. Neither one made so much as an ear twitch. One of the other cats, Alice, came over to investigate, probably more because it is fairly unusual to see me sitting on the kitchen floor than the noises.

Oh, and Bill couldn't hear ANY of them. Not even the 8kHz. I keep telling him he's getting really deaf. Now I have proof. So he's not just ignoring me! I hope.

Fang, Attack Rabbit

This is Fang, attack rabbit or rabit as my son used to spell it before his girlfriend found him the sign, because apparently you can get into COLLEGE in this country without knowing how to spell. Fang (no relation to Phyllis Diller) is also known as Bun Bun, Mr. Bunny, and sometimes Mr. Evil Bunny, but he probably thinks his name is, "No, he is NOT a rodent!" because my husband knows how to push my buttons. He's half English Spot and half Norwegian Dwarf, so he's not very big.Smokey doesn't look too concerned.

Fang currently resides in the kitchen, because my son went off to college, and we were afraid he would die of starvation or thirst if we left him back in my son's bedroom. He has my husband wrapped around all of his lucky little feet. All Fang has to do is balance on his hind legs and roll his eyes pathetically at Bill, and Bill says,"Look! He's hungry. Poor little rodent" (actually he says poor widdle wodent) And while I'm saying, "He is NOT a rodent, he's a lagomorph" Bill is getting a treat out of the fridge, and Fang is racing happily around his cage. He doesn't even try it with me because he knows he won't get anywhere. My son recently found a rabbit toy ball with a bell, so now he also can be really annoying and ring his ball when he thinks we're not paying him enough attention. The ball takes the place of his favourite chew toy - electrical cords. No cord is safe if Fang can get to it. My son either had them strung up on the wall, or behind the bed. I think he likes the mild electric zap he must get as he chews through. Many of the cords in the house now look like this:

I say. Do you mind getting that camera out of my face?