Laura Stone (stoney321) wrote,
Laura Stone

Mixed Bag o'Crap - but at least it's in a bag, right?

Things I wonder about: Am I the only person that takes their vacuum cleaner apart and washes it? Every two months? My sister said I was strange. Although, she does that a lot, so that may not be indicative of anything.

In the crazy soap opera that is a_list_celebs, strange things are afoot. Will Ferrell and Johnny Depp, while commiserating over their recent Golden Globe losses with Chinese food (or as the Chinese call it: food) and beer, have switched bodies. Well, Depp is in Will, and Will ended up in Gwyneth Paltrow. Actually, he ended up in Gwyneth's unborn child, a la Being John Malkovich. You have no idea how much this comm keeps me out of trouble, okay? I am amused that the first thing Johnny Depp does is touch the top of a door frame. Heh. Short man envy. (It's all amping up for body switching silliness for the weekend, for those who read along.)

Our oldest cat, Crawford, aka Grandpa, aka The Teflon Kitty. We call him that last one because he has skirted death many times. We try and limit his contact with other cats, as we believe he has sucked the lives from other cats and is currently on his 12th.

Ways my cat has used his "Nine Lives" and then some:

  • was trapped in a six inch diameter storm drain for a week after being chased in there by a stray dog

  • was trapped in the foundation of a neighbor's house for a week and a half after being chased in there by a stray dog (she finally told us she thought she heard meowing under her bathroom floor.!!!)

  • was trapped in the attic of our house for three days in the Texas summer while we moved after being chased up there by imaginary dogs

  • was hit by a car going in excess of 50mph, was pulled UP into the wheel-well, and completely "de-gloved" on his hindquarters. The bandages provided us with hours of entertainments (see Fig.1)

  • was trapped in a neighbor's garage for a week when they went on vacation

  • Oh, and he has gastrointestinal cancer. That counts for about six lives right there.

Now he's old - 15 - and just looks for warm laps, and missing that, a warm patch of carpet under a window and sleeps. He knows when a certain family down the street takes a walk, so he likes to go outside and rub up against their toddler and be praised for his pretty face and fur, but other than that, you can count on him being in front of my desk at the window or on the freshly folded laundry.

He's been missing for four days now. He has medication that enables him to eat - he hasn't had that in 5. He can't eat anything that isn't soft. My son has figured it out - the girls haven't yet. Mr. S and I are pretty sure he's wandered off to die - stupid cats and their independent nature. We've been talking in quiet tones about possibly putting him to sleep this year - he hisses a lot now after trying to groom himself - he has tumors in his mouth, hence the soft food - and I'm of the school of thought that it's cruel to keep a pet alive for my enjoyment. I've had enough cats to know that they have an internal sense of doom - if they live that long. Dogs come home to their masters, cat find a hollow.

I spent yesterday checking the neighborhood's shrubbery and drainage ditches. Tapped on garages and whistled. Checked with area vets. I was nervous about putting up fliers - the kids will have a hard time with it. Besides - he just doesn't GO anywhere, and I know the neighbors. More importantly, everyone on our two blocks knows Crawford - he's just that friendly. Anyone that walks by gets a greeting and a rub. Chatty little thing...

Well... our other old cat, Scrappy, aka The Drooler - this is our 22 pound Maine Coon - has been caterwauling at night. He never does. When Crawford started showing signs of being sick, HE got SYMPATHY SICK. Little bastard. Crawford is his mentor, his buddy, the one who grooms his head, and he knows something's up, too.

Crawford was my son's secret bedtime buddy, too. I don't allow him to sleep with the cats because he stays up late catering to their every whim. Like... never stop petting me, boy. 1 am, he's almost asleep, and STILL stroking them, little prima donnas. Sigh. My son hasn't given up hope. He thinks he'll turn up, like he has in the past. I think Scrappy and I know better. I know animals die. I just wish - if he has - that I could have done better for him in the end. It's been awfully cold at night.

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(Fig.1 - Crawford with a pain patch on his side and HILARIOUS holiday-themed bandages. Watching cats high step is one of the funnier things in this life to witness.)

Sorry for the whine. Just had to see it and say it, I think. And my sickening need to use humor to deal is the reason behind the icon. Heh. We laugh so we don't cry, folks.
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