Cat Wrangling, or Adventures in Taking Two Cats to the Vet

Last week, I took my cats to the vet for their annual vaccines and check ups. It was quite the experience, let me tell you. Most non-cat owners might think to themselves, What's the big deal? It's just like going to the doctor, only involving cats.

But those of you out there who have ever owned a cat know that taking any cat to the vet is at best an exercise in frustration, and potentially an exercise in futility.

It's bad enough if I have to take one of the two, but can leave the other at home. But those days when I have to deal with both of them? Oh my. Let me just share the ordeal with you so you can get a better sense of my stress level.

My adventure starts about three hours before the visit to the veterinarian's office. That's when I get the cat carriers down from where I store them. (Yes, I've heard all the conventional wisdom about leaving the carriers out all the time, so they aren't scary for the kitties, and so they can explore and curl up and sleep in the torture devices. I don't have room for that.) Why three hours in advance? It takes about that long for the initial fear that comes from the carriers being down before my cats have calmed down enough they'll come out from wherever they are hiding.

As soon as they see the horrid things (and really, how scary are they?), both cats dart for the closest, deepest, darkest hiding spot they can find, and they stay there for as long as they believe it is necessary to avoid confinement.

While they're getting that out of their system, I move on to Phase Two.

What is Phase Two, you ask? That's where I organize all of the other required items and put them in a single, easy to get to location.

Included in Phase Two: Dakota's anti-anxiety medication, pill pockets to put the pill in, more treats, a laser light, pheromone spray for inside the carriers, and sometimes other toys (depending on just how freaked out the two cats are).

This time? They were Very Freaked Out.

An hour before the vet appointment, I have to give Dakota her anxiety medication. It's also a mild sedative, which we give her in the hopes that she won't bite another vet tech and in turn send the poor vet tech to the hospital. (Yes, this has happened. Dakota Does Not Like The Vet. For good reason, mind you. She's had more painful experiences at the vet in her two years than most cats have in a lifetime.)

With about 30 minutes to spare before the visit, I dose both carriers with some of the pheromone spray, to help keep the cats calm. It's not a miracle worker, but I can promise it helps some.

About 40 minutes after Dakota has been dosed up with anti-anxiety meds, I know I have to wrangle the cats. Kiki must be caught first, because if I start with Dakota, Kiki will have found a place to hide which I will NEVER get her out of. So, I lure Kiki out of hiding by shaking the treat bag, give her a couple of treats, and scoop her up before she wises up and darts away. Into the carrier she goes, and then it's off to snag Dakota.

As she gets older, Dakota is getting a little smarter about these things. Here's where I found her that day--under the bed, right next to the wall, pretty much directly in the center. The bed is a queen. There was NO WAY I could reach her in that position.

Hence the need for the laser light.

I broke that puppy out and got her to chase it. Sadly, even though her desire to play was strong she knew something was up, and so she didn't make catching her very easy. Lucky for me, she is still a little dumb about the places she chooses to hide from me most of the time.

Why do I say that? One of her favorite places to escape is into the bathroom. All I have to do is follow her in, close the door, and she's cornered.

Granted, I still have to carry her out of the bathroom and get her into the carrier, which more often than not means I end up with a few new scratches. (I later discovered that not only did I have a bunch of new scratches on my hands and arms, but my shirt had about a dozen cat claw sized holes. Note to self: Trim her claws about two days before the next vet visit, please. Kthxbai.)

But finally, I managed to catch both cats, get them in carriers, and take them to the vet.

See? Here they are.

We will not mention the horrified cat cries I am forced to listen to in the car the entire way to and from each vet appointment. It would hurt Kiki and Dakota's dignity to reveal such a thing.

Once we arrive at the vet, it's always up for debate as to which one we should start with: the scared but sweet cat (Kiki) or the scared but potentially mean cat (Dakota). Usually, Dakota is up first, so we can get her ordeal over with and put her back into the carrier. It's always amazing to me how easily they go in once we're at the vet, when it is a three-hour endeavor at home.

Here's Kiki in her carrier, trying to search out an escape route for once she's freed from her cage. She spends most of her time at the vet trying to make herself as small as possible, so hopefully no one will see her. It hasn't worked out for her yet, but she keeps trying.

 Maybe someday, Kiki. Don't give up.

Dakota, on the other hand, spends most of her time hissing and growling at vet techs, and then trying to escape.

This time, she seemed to think that no one would find her, despite her growling, as long as she hid under the bench.

Lucky me, I got to crawl down on the floor to pull her back out time and again, because she'd dart down there every time they finished with something.

At least she didn't bite anyone on this trip. Yay, Dakota! Progress.

We can only hope to have a similar result on each subsequent visit. Cross your fingers for us.

During Kiki's exam, they found a mass that was a little bit worrisome. Because of that, we had to do another test, and she wasn't allowed to get back into her carrier right away. That didn't stop her from trying to do precisely that, though.

When she couldn't figure out how to get into the first carrier, she tried the other one. Frankly, any carrier would do if it meant not getting poked and prodded any more.

Sadly for Kiki, she didn't find a way in before they came back to do her other test. We're still waiting on the results, but at least she got to come home afterwards. And, as long as the results are good and neither cat gets sick in the meanwhile, we don't have to go back for another vet visit for six months. Whew!

I think it's safe to say that all three of us will be glad of that.

Do any of you have any great ideas for how to make vet visits easier on my cats and me? Do dogs dread going to the vet as much as cats do? Anyone want to volunteer to come do it for me in six months?

**Originally published at Lady Scribes**

Not Another Goal/Resolution Blog!

It seems everyone is talking about goals, as is the habit this time of year. I am a very goal oriented person, but I've never really fallen in with the New Year's Resolution thing. It is just too...I don't know...forced? Yeah, that's probably it.

That said, I am sitting down and making a list of goals for myself, despite the seeming forced nature of it. These are not your average, run-of-the-mill beginning of a new year sorts of goals, though.

Nope. My goals are a bit different.

1. No matter how strong the urge to adopt a new kitten may become (and it WILL be strong), resist. Two cats are enough, even for a Crazy Cat Lady. And no matter how much Dakota may be trying to trick me into thinking she's finally becoming a normal cat, it is all a lie. She is not normal. She would not adjust. There will be no more kittens in my house. At least not this year.
2. Read a book in a genre I've never tried or never liked. I read lots of the same sorts of books, and I read certain books over and over again in lieu of trying something new. But you know what? Many times that I've tried reading something outside of my normal realm, I've fallen in love. And I think that those other genres could help me to become a better writer. So I'm going to go there. I'm going to pick up something new and unexpected, and I'm going to give it a go.
3. See all the new superhero movies of the year...but try something sci-fi, too. I will be the first to admit I'm a huge sucker for Superman, Spiderman, Batman, the Avengers, et al. I will also be the first to admit that anything dealing with alien species and outer space, unless it is a tried and true favorite like Star Wars or Star Trek, makes me want to run screaming in the other direction. But something happened a couple of years ago. One of those superheroes came from another planet (Thor), and I found I didn't absolutely hate it. So I'm going to try some more. I might not love it as much as I'd love them to make yet another version of Spiderman, but I'm going to give it a try.
4. Let the dishes sit in the sink for a bit. I'm almost freakishly intent upon immediately washing the dishes after a meal or at least loading them into the dishwasher. This comes from living in a house growing up where the dishes would pile up until there wasn't anything clean to eat on, and still people would go find a paper plate or napkin to eat on instead of washing the dishes. I know why I'm like this. But it wouldn't kill me to let the dishes pile up through the day and then deal with them all at night in a single session. I'm going to learn to find a middle ground. Granted, I will probably have to start small. Letting the dishes wait until after I've eaten my meal might be all I can handle at first. LOL.
5. Buy a cute outfit in a color other than green, blue, purple, or red. Yes, jewel tones are great for me. But that doesn't mean those are the only colors that I should own. Part of the process in completing this one will require me to pass when I discover a cute outfit in one of these particular hues, so it will mean I'll have to have some restraint. But I will do it.

Do you have any oddball sorts of goals for yourself this year? And would it be cheating if I went with a pastel shade of the aforementioned colors?

**Originally published at Lady Scribes**

She Made it a Year

I think you all know by now that I'm a Crazy Cat Lady. And if any of you follow me on Twitter or are friends with me on Facebook, you have probably seen my grumblings about my dear, sweet, adorable demon-spawn kitten, Dakota.

That's her in her carrier, AKA cat prison, just last week. She had to go to the mean, horrible, no-good, really-bad vet. It was AWFUL. The humans are mean to her. Very, very mean. They deserve lots of hisses and growls.

She doles them out in kind. Our vet is at PetSmart, and after our visit, I took her over to the cat toy aisle. Silly me, I thought it would help to make up for the awful visit to the mean vet if I got her a new toy. In the process, she hissed and growled at every human we passed, all of whom just wanted to look in her carrier and tell me how cute she is.

Yeah, I know she's cute. Trust me, I know it.

Well, as of the twelfth of this month, Dakota is officially a year old. And as of next Tuesday, she will have officially been part of my household for a full year, even though we only intended to keep her long enough to get her weaned and then find her a new home.

This is her on the day she arrived, in the palm of my sister's hand. My sister has TINY hands for an adult, by the way. Mine look monstrous compared to hers. So really, that's Dakota on the hand of say a 10-year-old girl, by comparison.

She was only two and a half weeks old when she came to live with me. Back then, she spent a lot of time sleeping in the make-shift incubator we made for her (an old bucket from cat litter with a few towels on the bottom, placed over a heating pad set to low).

Dakota had been abandoned by her mama cat on the day she was born--still covered in after-birth and with the umbilical cord attached. The lady who found her took her home, cleaned her up, and she and her husband spent a little over two weeks trying to keep up with the demands of this tiny little thing that probably didn't have any shot at survival, if not for their efforts.

Newborn kittens eat every two hours around the clock...did you know that? By the time she came to live with me, she was down to bottle feedings every three hours. Still a massive undertaking, but at least I worked from home, so I didn't have to make special trips home in the middle of my work day to feed her. Dakota's rescuer and her husband both worked full-time away from home. It was just too much for them to keep up with.

She was teeny-tiny! I don't remember how many ounces it was that she weighed when she came to live with us, but she was as small as the keys to my dad's pickup truck...and they were decidedly heavier than she was.

Not only that, but when it was mealtime, she wanted her bottle, and she wanted it now! I wish I had video of her guzzling her bottles. If we didn't give her a big enough hole in the nipple, she got frustrated, and my hands ended up bloodier than they needed to be, because she dug her little razor-claws into me in her frantic need to be fed, and be fed RIGHT THIS INSTANT.

She literally finished each bottle within seconds. Good thing I knew to burp her. Yes, you have to burp bottle-fed kitties and puppies, just like you have to burp bottle-fed human babies.

After the burping, she immediately wanted to curl up with me and take a nap, as pictured to the left.

Even back then, she had the makings of becoming a devil-kitty. We just didn't realize it. I mean, look how cute she was! See the innocent-sleepy-how-adorable-am-I look? See the cute ears that are barely starting to open and the blue baby kitty eyes and the little white socks and the adorableness just oozing out of her?

How could anything that cute possibly be a bad kitty cat?

How could anyone NOT love her to pieces?

Impossible. Ludicrous, even.

How can you resist this sweet little princess kitty who just wants to love you and be loved by you and steal your heart forever?

You can't.

And if you tried to resist the cuteness (seriously not worth the effort back then), she'd roll around on the floor and be cute all over again.

Seriously. Resistance is futile when it comes to bottle-fed baby kitties, just like when it comes to the Borg.

If that rolling around on the floor because her tummy was so full from guzzling her bottle as fast as she could possibly consume it routine wasn't enough to steal your heart (pictured to the left), well, seeing her tiny little self falling down into the edges of her cat bed while she napped it off would probably do it (below).

See the super-sleepy kitty look here? Yeah, it was an act designed to steal your heart.

Also, notice the tail pulled up between the legs? She started the chase-and-attack-the-tail routine long before she could chase anything very well.

That tail is long and dangerous. It needs to be caught. It needs to be killed. It needs to be put in its place, and Dakota will do it, darn you, humans.

Slowly but surely, though...well, actually, faster than we ever imagined...Dakota started to grow up. And with growing up, she started to get into things.

Here she is at about 6 weeks old or so, curled up ever-so-innocently around the power box that keeps one of the laptops charged.

What you don't see in the picture is all the teeth and claw marks all along the cord. I'm telling you, already, she was becoming a devil cat. Do not let the cute, innocent eyes fool you.

Being fooled by the cuteness only leads to more trouble.

Or here, where she's about four months old and looks like she couldn't possibly have been doing anything naughty. Yeah, don't buy it. Do not trust the innocent cat eyes for even a second. This was the look that likely came right after she got caught walking around on the kitchen table (a big no-no in my house) and knocking things off onto the floor. If not that, she'd just been doing something naughty. I promise.

Rule-breaker. That was her from a very young age.

It took a while for my older cat, Kiki, to warm up to her. I should have taken that as a sign of all of the trouble to come.

This picture was one I took the first time they shared my lap. Dakota was five months old by the time this happened. Notice Kiki was asleep, and Dakota came up to join her.

The cuddle session didn't last long. Once Kiki realized that the Bad Cat had joined her on my lap, she left. That was it. She was not going to share my lap with such a rule-breaker, such a demon cat who wanted to take over my life. Nope, the Kiks wasn't so sure about all of that.

She still isn't, for that matter. They don't cuddle. At best, you could say that Kiki puts up with Dakota. Most of the time. I don't think they'll ever be best buddies.

Still, even with everything going against her that she's had, this little demon-spawn, devil-cat, hell-beast kitty has somehow made it to a full year old.

Who woulda thunk it? Definitely not me.

She's decided that I am her human, though. Which only makes sense. Since she was a mere two-and-a-half weeks old, I'm the only mama she's ever known. (Darn the luck!)

Because of that, Dakota rarely lets me out of her sight. Here she is, "supervising" while I write. You can probably tell she takes this job very seriously.

Sadly, her bad habits have only intensified as she's gotten older. And none of the cuteness has abated.

I only wish I had video to share with you all of her leaping against the walls to turn the light switch on and off and on and off and on and off. One of these days, we'll catch it.

In the meanwhile, I'll just keep trying to find ways to deal with this little monster. There's no telling how much past a year she'll make it, though. Her lifespan outlook might depend on how many more times she drools on me when she wants me to get up and feed her in the mornings. :)

Have you ever taken on a pet, or a job or project, that was only supposed to be temporary and somehow ended up having it become permanent? Do you have a demon-spawn cat in your home? Do you want one?

You Might Be a Crazy Cat Lady

I have another confession to make.

Despite all of my promises to myself to avoid this fate, I am a Crazy Cat Lady.

As a kid growing up, we weren't allowed to have pets because Mom claimed she was allergic and couldn't handle them, but I always wanted a cat. When I moved out on my own, I thought about getting a cat to keep me company, but since I'd never had one before, I was nervous that I wouldn't know what to do...so I didn't get a cat.

But then I had roommates with cats. In fact, there was one point where I was living in a single hotel room with three other people and eight cats for about a month. (Five of those eight were kittens who were too young to be separated from their mother.) It was then that I knew, without a doubt, that someday I would have my own cats.

When I had a different roommate--one who also had cats--she surprised me one day by bringing me a kitten of my very own. Ever since that day, I've always had at least one cat, more often two.

I have never, however, had three cats at a time. Well, except for that one time when there was a wormy, little stray kitten meowing in my bushes that I took in for a week or so until she was healthy.

And then there have been the times that my sister has been living here, with her cat.

And I suppose there have been a few times where I've done some pet sitting for friends and family, and their cats have come to stay with me and mine.

But I've never had three cats at once where I was intending to keep all of them. So there is that.

Still, over the years, I've come to realize that even if I don't have a dozen cats at my house, I am a bit of a crazy cat lady. How did I come to this realization? Try answering the following questions, and see where you end up.

What tone of voice do you use with your cats?

1. Authoritative, no-nonsense, my way or the highway.
2. An average, everyday sort of speaking voice.
3. Baby talk, sugar-wooger sweetikins, what a good girl you are!

Do you give your cats any sort of food other than regular cat food?

1. Strictly the dry cat food recommended by my veterinarian, with the once-monthly can of soft food.
2. Usually their normal cat food, but we do keep a bit of catnip around for special occasions.
3. Cat food, catnip, ten varieties of cat treats, table scraps, milk, cheese, yogurt...nothing's too good for my kitties.

Where do your cats sleep?

1. Not in the bedroom. Bedrooms are for humans.
2. In their special cat beds which are in the bedroom, but not in my bed.
3. In my bed, on my pillow, on me...wherever they decide they're going to sleep.

How many toys do you have for your cat?

1. Toys are for children, not cats.
2. Pumpkin has her three favorite toy mice and a couple of feather toys.
3. My house is littered with cat toys, both the purchased variety and those the cat stole from the trash can and made into cat toys.

How does your furniture look?

1. Pristine. No cat hair to be found, and not a single claw mark in any pieces. My cats are declawed.
2. Eh. There's some cat hair that I haven't gotten to in a week or so, and we buy furniture that is not too enticing for kitties to use for claw sharpening.
3. Thank goodness it is all hand-me-down, because wow, my cats have done a number on it.

How often do you travel?

1. Whenever I want. Butch can go to the kennel and be just fine while I'm gone.
2. Occasionally, as long as I can be sure Fluffy's favorite pet sitter is available.
3. Travel? Are you crazy? I couldn't leave my babies all alone!

If you answered with mostly A's, you might need to loosen up a little bit. If your answers were mostly B's, then you're probably fairly normal in terms of cat ownership. If you answered with primarily C's, however, then I am afraid I must break it to you...like me, you might just be a Crazy Cat Lady.

It's okay, though. You're in good company.

So tell me, are there any other Crazy Cat Ladies out there? Are any of you the same way with your dogs?

**Originally published at Lady Scribes**

Kiki, the Helper Cat

My cat loves to help, and she's very diligent about her responsibilities.

At various points of the day, Kiki is a kitchen cat. If anyone goes into the kitchen, surely they must need her assistance. So she takes the short-cut, darting beneath the dining room table to cut them off and rub between their legs. She's particularly keen to help any time the refrigerator door opens. Kiki sticks her head between the refrigerator and the door and makes sure you select the proper item. Also, if you're washing dishes at the sink, you can count on my cat to make a flying leap up your back to perch herself on your shoulder. She does a very good job of making sure you don't miss a step.

Kiki is also a very good laundry cat. When you head back to load the washing machine, she jumps up on top and supervises, making sure you don't forget a step. Her favorite part, however, is when the clean, dry clothes come out of the dryer. Rest assured, you will not be sorting, folding, and hanging your clothes alone. Not in my house. Kiki will rush to your rescue, jumping in the pile of clothes and making herself comfortable. Each time you select an item to fold, she'll swat at your hands until she decides that you've made an acceptable selection. If you fold and stack some pieces before they are put in a drawer, she'll snuggle up on the first one--forcing you to cover her with the next item. She's been known to stay in her cocoon of warm, dry clothes for as long as you'll leave her there.

She's also rather fond of helping put clothes away. Say, for example, you open the drawer for your PJ's. Kiki will jump in and worm herself behind the drawer. The next thing you know, she'll have rearranged the contents of your dresser. Clearly, socks did not belong in drawer #2, but are much better off in drawer #4. Silly humans.

Perhaps the thing she most likes to help with, though, is writing. Kiki especially likes it when I write on my laptop, sitting in my recliner in the living room. As soon as I sit down and pull the laptop onto my lap, Kiki jumps up and nestles between my legs (Read: forcefully shoves my legs into the position she wants them in), so that she is nice and snug, and has the exhaust from the laptop fan warming her ears. Once she's in place, the writing can commence.

Do you have pets or kids who like to "help" you with the things you do? What sort of assistance do they prefer to give?

**Originally published at Lady Scribes**

The Small Things

Bailey, my first cat, died over a year ago.

He was scared of almost everything, it seemed, and so I often said he was more chicken than cat. Strangers coming over sent him to hide under the bed, as did the vacuum monster (our "special" name for the vacuum cleaner). Thunder meant he would hide under the ugly pink chair. Helium-filled balloons? Well, we don't talk about the floating monsters any more. Let's just say they were not allowed in my house--ever--after the first time he saw them. And then there was the Christmas wreath on the back of the front door. He refused to come into the living room for a month, after that one. I'm not sure what he was hiding from in the picture above (maybe bubbles being blown in the house?), but apparently he thought that the bathroom cabinet was the safest place. Especially since he would blend in with the towels and all. I'm sure you don't see him there, so clearly the monster/invader/bubbles couldn't find him either.

And if any of these things came for him in his chosen hiding spot? He would dash past me to get behind the washer and dryer so fast, I almost didn't see him. The first time he did that one, I couldn't find him for hours. When I finally coaxed him out, he was covered in dust bunnies and sneezing.

But Bailey was not afraid of me. He was my sweetheart. My snuggle buddy. My constant companion.

We'd sit in my favorite chair, him on my lap, and he'd knead his paws (we called it "making biscuits") against me purring so hard I thought my voice would tremble from his constant vibrations. This had to happen several times a day. After all, there were lots of biscuits to be made.

If I tried to read a book in bed, Bailey would have none of that. He would pace back and forth between me and my book, effectively blocking my ability to see the words on the page. I often told him he made a better door than a window. He didn't quite take the hint. The whole time he was pacing, he would purr and shove his head into my hands, begging me for the attention that I was instead trying to give to the book. It worked. Every time. I'd start petting him, and he'd eventually curl up on my pillow, forcing me to use him as a pillow if I wanted something under my head. If I stopped petting him in order to turn the page, we'd be back to the pacing. This could go on for hours.

Why am I talking about all of this?

Because the other night, Kiki did exactly the same thing.

I was lying in bed, reading a book, when she decided she wanted my attention. She got up between me and my book, purring as loud as a motorcycle, and pacing back and forth, shoving her head into my hands. I got a good chuckle out of that one, and shoved her away so I could keep reading.

But she came right back. More insistently, this time. Kiki would not be deterred.

And then, just when I'd finally resigned myself to the fact that I was going to have to pet her and forget about my book for a while, she plopped down.

On my pillow. (Stretched out like you see her to the right.)

Just like Bailey would have done.

I started crying almost instantaneously. Blubbering like an idiot, actually.

She looked up at me with the same expression he would have had, absolutely sweet and loving and adorable. She doesn't take up as much space on the pillow as he did--Kiki's only about 1/3 the size of Bailey. But she still stretched out all over it so far that, if I wanted to have a pillow, I would have to lay my head on her.

I did.

And she let me. She purred even louder when I laid my head on her.

We stayed like that for quite a while, until my tears stopped and I could function like a normal human being again. Then I read some more, petting her constantly, and going through the ritual of her pacing and shoving her head into my hands each time I had to reach up to turn the page.

I read longer that night than I intended to--longer than I usually do before bed--because I didn't want it to end.

Because, for that brief moment in time, I had my Bailey Boo back. My snuggle buddy. My cuddler. My first cat.

I don't know if Kiki will ever do that again. If she does, I'll be ready for it. I'll know to enjoy it, to savor it. To be thankful for it.

It really is just the little things, sometimes. A cat stealing a pillow. A phone call at just the right moment. The perfect cup of coffee. A piece of dark chocolate with sea salt. The Nephew Monster turning to me with his best this-is-serious-business face and asking "'Ere's Buzz? 'Ere's Woody?" like I am supposed to be able to magically conjure Buzz Lightyear and Woody out of thin air right at that moment.

I need to find ways of putting more of this into my writing. These are the moments we love. These are the moments we live for.

What are the small moments that you love?

**Originally published at Lady Scribes**