I’ll Have What He’s Having

Mr. Woo found a delectable something-or-other in the grass and spent a glorious sunny afternoon gnawing on it.  Spring spent a glorious sunny afternoon trying desperately to steal it from him.

It’s kind of nice to know I am not the only person in the house that gets stared at whilst eating.

This morning Donut the cat threw up a goodly portion of her breakfast while trying to dislodge a hairball and at least three of the dogs hovered over her eagerly.  ”Are you gonna eat that or what?

I am hoping she also threw up THE DEVIL INSIDE HER.  I just had her spayed last week, finally (<– world’s most accomplished procrastinator) and it turned out she had a closed pyometra that weighed nearly a whole pound all bunged up in her uterus.  She certainly wasn’t acting uncomfortable or anything – I just spayed her because I am on a personal mission to tidy up loose ends in my life in a timely fashion (someone remind me to enter Regionals soon, please).  We were all kind of blown away by the pyometra and the fortuitous timing of my spay-the-cat-on-a-whim decision.

Anyway, you’d think she’d come back happier … lighter if you will, but no.  Instead she came back POSSESSED BY A DEMON that turned my passive, purry, big-eyed-flat-face cat into a dog hunting monster on a mission to eradicate the blight of K9 from the earth.  I have never seen anything scarier (and I’ve known Tempus for almost 12 years!)

She’d be rubbing up against the dogs like her usual self and then suddenly turn on that dog, who would shriek in terror and run – cat in hot pursuit!  All teeth and claws and hissing growling leonine outrage, she pursued Wootie into a crate where he cowered with his head tucked down against his chest, presumably so she could not rip out his jugular.  Denied this victory she then began hovercrafting around the house at warp speed and lit into Spring who screamed like a person and came running to me for sanctuary – she sprang into my arms from the ground.  Donut then turned her missile on Tweed who, bless his old man self, was standing stock still in a state of complete confusion, as his sense of self preservation has evaporated in his twilight years.  His eyes were the size of dinner plates, making them all the easier for Donut TO CLAW THE F*CK OUT, HATED DOG!!

Ain’t nocat gonna throw down on my Tweedles.  As she launched across the kitchen at him, I booted her mid air like a foot ball.  I had to put Spring down to really get my aim right (I wasn’t putting my hand near those claws and teeth, TYVM!!)  so after arcing gracefully through the living room, the damned cat landed in some crazy ninja tuck-and-roll thing that propelled her straight into the ass end of a fleeing Spring.  Donut cornered her in the bedroom and was trying to claw and bite her face off when I grabbed her by the tail and flung her hissing and spitting into the bathroom, and slammed the door shut.  I then went and rescued poor Spring who was shaking and crying in a puddle of her own urine and evacuated anal glands in the bedroom, while Donut threw herself against the door like Jack Torrance, growling and grumbling.  HEEEERRRRE’S DONUT!!

I would have happily left TERRIFYING MONSTER CAT in there until she starved to death, but all that adrenaline made me need to pee too, and I wasn’t going to do it on the bedroom floor like poor Springles.  So about 15 minutes later I cautiously opened the bathroom door and Donut was all “prrrrow?  prrrow?” purry like nothing had happened.  #Twilight Zone.

This went on with progressively diminishing degrees of severity for about 4 days, before Donut returned to her old self.  She has not tried to maim anydog for days now, but Spring has PTSD and has to come everywhere in the house with me as she fears encountering CrazyNuts.  The other night in bed she start screeching because Donut hopped up onto the mattress just before lights out.

WTF?  I have owned a lot of cats over the years, and I am drowning in them at all times at work, but I have never seen a cat come home from surgery and go literally insane.  I checked the bill – they did not charge me for possession…maybe there will be an outrageous exorcism fee on her recheck exam?  DAMN SNEAKY VETS!!

Anyway, that’s the most excitement we’ve seen around here in ages.  Mostly we have just been chillaxin’, getting our sun on.

It’s pretty rad to go outside NOT dressed like the Michelin Man against the rain and cold.  Although TWooie is SO FRICKIN’ FAT that he always looks like the Michelin Man.

It does not however stop him from being all googly-eyed crazy when the mood strikes him.

Ender, OTOH, is not fat at all.  I was actually worried he might be a little too thin, mostly because people at work keep saying “OMG, he’s so skinny!”  I thought sighthounds were supposed to be slender.

I said slender not ELONGATED, Addy!

I posed the “is he too skinny” question, along with this photo, on an IG group I frequent on Facebook.

I got a lot of replies.  A LOT of replies.  A lot of opinions on his weight, health, handsomeness etc.  However, the only ubiquitous consensus that came out of the discussion was that “Italian Greyhounds are all different.”

Oh rly?  That seems odd to me … I thought one of the mythologized benefits of The Capital P Purebred Capital D Dog was that you always “know what you are getting.”  This the argument I always see popping up like a cork in any purebred-versus-mixed breed discussion.  I always thought IGs were bred for long legged skinny cuteness and not much else.  Shouldn’t they therefore all be, you know, the same?

Anyway, I have decided he is just perfect.  Except for being THE EXACT SAME COLOUR as all the post-Winter vegetation, and therefore eminently loseable multiple times per outing.

And speaking of colour, I need your help!

Every week since she brought her home, I have been photographing The Boss’ new puppy Squeeze.  If you follow my photography page on Facebook you will have seen the progression of props I have been accumulating to make every week different.

What started out as a presumably nice gift for a friend …

Has turned into, apparently, a year long indenture of The Food Lady.  Idly grabbing items from work as props has morphed into frantic shopping to find creative things to photograph Squeeze on, in or beneath.

I topped myself last week with the beautiful blossoms I won on one of those bidding sites on Facebook.

And this week I braved  A REALLY SCARY SPINDLY LOOKING SPIDER for Week 18′s prop.

But what next?  I need ideas for pretty and fun and not-too-expensive props!  I still have 34 weeks to go; help me out!  If you give me an idea that I like and can use, I will send you a photo of Wootie wearing /standing on/covered in/whatever/ it is, and a discount on your own photo session with that prop if you happen to be in the area.

Piper might be condescending about your idea, because she is a snob.  Just ignore her.

Zoomies!

Blink and you’ll miss it. This is a shitty picture, but it is the only photographic evidence in existence of Gemma Bean having the zoomies.  Remember I have a zoom lens with a broken autofocus … and approximately 6 seconds to a) notice she was zooming and b) try and focus.  And bonus c) one […]

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The Rule of Old Dogs

The first rule of old dogs:  Old Dogs Rule I tried to get some outdoor photos today, I really did, but I had one of those days where the weather is OUT TO GET ME.  It was sunny all morning whilst I ran around doing errands.  It was sunny while I unloaded and put away […]

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