Originally posted July 27/2007 on "Allison Wonderland"
My Dog Has Fleas... OK, actually, it's my cat, but there's no song about that. We call him "The Dog" anyway, 'cause he's a pretty freakin' big cat. And he thinks he's a lap dog.
Yes, Gustifer has the fleas. Poor guy. Wait- what am I saying? Poor us! Gus doesn't seem to mind; in fact, I suspect he's harbouring them like tiny fugitives- they may be his pets. I, on the other hand, seem to have a few bites on me.
Gus has got the thickest fur, which makes it quite difficult to find the little pests, and I refuse to put a flea collar on him or use skin treatments- Simon cuddles our cats too much. That stuff is POISON, and I'd rather not have my baby getting it on his hands, which inevitably end up in his mouth. Call me crazy...
So we're sticking with relentless combing with the very-fine-toothed comb I picked up at the dollar store. Gus gets a little angry when I try to brush his belly, but he's such an attention whore that he comes back 10 seconds later for more. Yesterday I got six fleas; today I found three. Have you ever had to kill those suckers? They're like the thing that wouldn't die.* The only way I've figured out is to pin 'em down and pop their teeny heads off with my thumbnail. Gross, but effective. Then all the fur, flea poop, dead bugs and what I assume are egg cases (or possibly more poop) gets tied up tight in a plastic bag and tossed.
The good news is that I haven't seen a flea on Simon's head in a week. The bad news is that a week ago, I saw a flea on Simon's head. (Didn't see that comin', did you?) I'm hoping that if I keep brushing and getting rid of the garbage, we'll be flea-free soon. Oh, and yes, I vacuum and empty the canister right away. Not as much as I should, but it gets done.
*I'm tired. Leamme alone.
Showing posts with label pets. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pets. Show all posts
Friday, February 5, 2010
Mail Call
Originally posted May 31/2007 on "Allison Wonderland"
Apparently if you sign up for the Purina newsletter, they send you really good coupons for cat food. I haven't done it yet, but this is what I hear from my friend... well, we'll call him Chris. His wife, (say... Jenn) signed up. On the form you fill in, you put your own name and your pet's; she's now getting newsletters in the mail addressed to "Jennifer _____ and Lenny _____".
So Chris went beck and signed himself up for a newsletter, too.
He'll soon be getting mail addressed to "Chris _____ and Slutbanger."
(When I heard about this, I laughed so hard I almost wet myself. I'm very mature)
Cats, Cats, and More Cats
Originally posted May 18/2007 on "Allison Wonderland"
Did I ever tell you about the cats that come to the living room window to spy on us and to tease Charlie and Gus? There are a few of them: fluffy grey cat, ginger kitten, fluffy black, fluffy grey-and-white, white cat. Fluffy Grey lives in the doghouse in our yard, at least part time; I have no idea where the other ones come from.
They're generally skittish, so I've never been able to get close to any of them. Today I got close to one, but it wasn't a happy thing- when I left the house today to go pay some bills and to get milk and bread, there was a dead cat lying on the path just past the gate. Fluffy Grey-and-White was just lying there, fur wet and matted, eyes glazed. It was a shock- not like it would have been if it were my own cat, but seeing anything like that makes me sad. And a little nauseous.
I went and got my errands done, and after lunch I went out to clean up. I forgot how gross rigor mortis is; things that are dead and stiff are creepy. Dead things should be floppy. I didn't see anything wrong with the cat until I picked it up (wearing a rubber glove, of course), but then I saw the blood all over the other side of his face. AJ thinks that the cat was probably out picking at the garbage by the road last night or this morning and got hit by a car, and made it as far as our house before he died.
You know what? This sucks. Not only because the cat died, but because he shouldn't have needed to eat garbage to begin with. There are a lot of them out there without homes, and it's our fault- not me and you personally, but people in general. People who don't get their cats spayed/neutered, and then the kittens end up on the streets. People who think that letting the cat get pregnant is a great way to teach the kiddies about "the miracle of life", or who (like one person I know of) have a female cat in heat who's driving them nuts, so they have her get pregnant to shut her up. I don't have the numbers on how many kittens a single un-spayed female cat can produce, but within a few generations, it's an insane number.
The problem's not hard to fix; it's getting people to get off their butts and do what's required that's hard. First of all, do like Bob Barker says and get pets spayed or neutered. If animal shelters weren't overloaded with strays, maybe they could even afford to offer low-cost spay and neuter programs. Secondly, people need to adopt more pets from the animal shelter/ SPCA. There are so many animals there, cats and kittens, puppies and dogs, who need loving homes. In fact, I'm going to suggest that pet stores shouldn't sell cats or dogs to begin with. Why? So many reasons, such as:
- Pet stores encourage impulse buying of living creatures that require at least 10 years (on average) of love and care. This is a decision that requires thought and planning; it isn't like picking up a Twix bar on a whim at the corner store.
- The sources are often questionable. I'm sure we've all heard about the horrors of puppy mills, so we won't go there right now. Those adorable puppies aren't generally coming from reputable breeders, and they don't usually have papers or family health histories.Breeding of purebred cats and dogs by non-professionals is almost always detrimental to the breed, as genetic diseases continue to be passed on. I'm sure there are exceptions in the pet-store world, but not many.
- Pet stores don't generally require that the animal be spayed or neutered after it's sold. This leaves the door open to the problems mentioned earlier, and to unwanted babies. The SPCA requires that an animal either be "fixed" before it goes home, or that the operation be done soon after. They reserve the right to reclaim any animals for whom this is not done.
- There are so many animals out there who need homes. Both of our boys were adopted as adults from animal shelters, and they're the best cats in the world. We're partial to getting adult cats because we know what we're getting and because they're less "adoptable", but there are always kittens available. Our friends got a pair of baby brothers from the SPCA a little over a year ago, and they've grown into great cats, too. And yes, they had the little snip-snip.
Gus and Charlie---->
I could say more, but this isn't even what I started out writing about. It just makes me mad when people are irresponsible with their pets... and then they or their offspring end up like poor fluffy grey-and-white out there.
RIP- Fluffy G&W, ????-2007
Did I ever tell you about the cats that come to the living room window to spy on us and to tease Charlie and Gus? There are a few of them: fluffy grey cat, ginger kitten, fluffy black, fluffy grey-and-white, white cat. Fluffy Grey lives in the doghouse in our yard, at least part time; I have no idea where the other ones come from.
They're generally skittish, so I've never been able to get close to any of them. Today I got close to one, but it wasn't a happy thing- when I left the house today to go pay some bills and to get milk and bread, there was a dead cat lying on the path just past the gate. Fluffy Grey-and-White was just lying there, fur wet and matted, eyes glazed. It was a shock- not like it would have been if it were my own cat, but seeing anything like that makes me sad. And a little nauseous.
I went and got my errands done, and after lunch I went out to clean up. I forgot how gross rigor mortis is; things that are dead and stiff are creepy. Dead things should be floppy. I didn't see anything wrong with the cat until I picked it up (wearing a rubber glove, of course), but then I saw the blood all over the other side of his face. AJ thinks that the cat was probably out picking at the garbage by the road last night or this morning and got hit by a car, and made it as far as our house before he died.
You know what? This sucks. Not only because the cat died, but because he shouldn't have needed to eat garbage to begin with. There are a lot of them out there without homes, and it's our fault- not me and you personally, but people in general. People who don't get their cats spayed/neutered, and then the kittens end up on the streets. People who think that letting the cat get pregnant is a great way to teach the kiddies about "the miracle of life", or who (like one person I know of) have a female cat in heat who's driving them nuts, so they have her get pregnant to shut her up. I don't have the numbers on how many kittens a single un-spayed female cat can produce, but within a few generations, it's an insane number.
The problem's not hard to fix; it's getting people to get off their butts and do what's required that's hard. First of all, do like Bob Barker says and get pets spayed or neutered. If animal shelters weren't overloaded with strays, maybe they could even afford to offer low-cost spay and neuter programs. Secondly, people need to adopt more pets from the animal shelter/ SPCA. There are so many animals there, cats and kittens, puppies and dogs, who need loving homes. In fact, I'm going to suggest that pet stores shouldn't sell cats or dogs to begin with. Why? So many reasons, such as:
- Pet stores encourage impulse buying of living creatures that require at least 10 years (on average) of love and care. This is a decision that requires thought and planning; it isn't like picking up a Twix bar on a whim at the corner store.
- The sources are often questionable. I'm sure we've all heard about the horrors of puppy mills, so we won't go there right now. Those adorable puppies aren't generally coming from reputable breeders, and they don't usually have papers or family health histories.Breeding of purebred cats and dogs by non-professionals is almost always detrimental to the breed, as genetic diseases continue to be passed on. I'm sure there are exceptions in the pet-store world, but not many.
- Pet stores don't generally require that the animal be spayed or neutered after it's sold. This leaves the door open to the problems mentioned earlier, and to unwanted babies. The SPCA requires that an animal either be "fixed" before it goes home, or that the operation be done soon after. They reserve the right to reclaim any animals for whom this is not done.
- There are so many animals out there who need homes. Both of our boys were adopted as adults from animal shelters, and they're the best cats in the world. We're partial to getting adult cats because we know what we're getting and because they're less "adoptable", but there are always kittens available. Our friends got a pair of baby brothers from the SPCA a little over a year ago, and they've grown into great cats, too. And yes, they had the little snip-snip.
Gus and Charlie---->
I could say more, but this isn't even what I started out writing about. It just makes me mad when people are irresponsible with their pets... and then they or their offspring end up like poor fluffy grey-and-white out there.
RIP- Fluffy G&W, ????-2007
And This Is Why I'm Cranky
Originally posted May 15/2007 on "Allison Wonderland"
Last night, the unthinkable happened.
We ran out of cat food.
Not only did we run out of catfood; we did so on a night when AJ was at work on a late shift doing inventory, meaning he wouldn't be home with the car until 2:30 in the morning. There was n way I was getting out to the grocery store, and so far, Marie's Mini Mart isn't delivering. Bastards.
The Pusses were nice about it... at first. A little mewing, a little twisting around my ankles whenever I entered the kitchen, where they were patiently waiting for my god-like hand to pour down manna into their little blue dishes. OK, Charlie twisted around my ankles; Gus tried to do the same but ended up tripping me when he tried to squeeze his chubby gut between my calves. He claims it's all fluff, but it just ain't so, folks.
As the evening wore on, the natives grew increasingly restless. The Kid is in bed (they informed me with twitching tails and glaring eyes), so why isn't the effing dish on the floor?
I stopped going into the kitchen when the charging yowl-monsters threatened to knock me over. It was quite obvious that they thought I had gone either mad or senile; had I forgotten that they needed food, was I suddenly completely unable to understand them, or was this some cruel torture? I tried to explain the situation, and told them several times that The Man would be bringing food home with him, but they didn't get it. Sometimes I wonder if I expect too much from them.
I finally went to bed, fearing for my life. I had visions of AJ returning home, kibble in hand, to find my mutilated corpse on the bed, the cat having skeletonized me like the fuzzy pirhanas they were starting to act like. They didn't kill me. They did, however, take turns jumping up on the bed and yelling in my face to remind me that they were, in fact, still hungry. Oh, and they tried to eat each other. At least, I think they did- there was a lot of yowling and flying fur after midnight.
Then AJ came home with the food and got a Where the hell have you been, mister? look from he cats. Then I'm assuming they sniffed at the dish, took a couple of bites, and sashayed off with their tails in the air, saluting the food with their puckered little arseholes. 'Cause cats are cruel like that.*
Last night, the unthinkable happened.
We ran out of cat food.
Not only did we run out of catfood; we did so on a night when AJ was at work on a late shift doing inventory, meaning he wouldn't be home with the car until 2:30 in the morning. There was n way I was getting out to the grocery store, and so far, Marie's Mini Mart isn't delivering. Bastards.
The Pusses were nice about it... at first. A little mewing, a little twisting around my ankles whenever I entered the kitchen, where they were patiently waiting for my god-like hand to pour down manna into their little blue dishes. OK, Charlie twisted around my ankles; Gus tried to do the same but ended up tripping me when he tried to squeeze his chubby gut between my calves. He claims it's all fluff, but it just ain't so, folks.
As the evening wore on, the natives grew increasingly restless. The Kid is in bed (they informed me with twitching tails and glaring eyes), so why isn't the effing dish on the floor?
I stopped going into the kitchen when the charging yowl-monsters threatened to knock me over. It was quite obvious that they thought I had gone either mad or senile; had I forgotten that they needed food, was I suddenly completely unable to understand them, or was this some cruel torture? I tried to explain the situation, and told them several times that The Man would be bringing food home with him, but they didn't get it. Sometimes I wonder if I expect too much from them.
I finally went to bed, fearing for my life. I had visions of AJ returning home, kibble in hand, to find my mutilated corpse on the bed, the cat having skeletonized me like the fuzzy pirhanas they were starting to act like. They didn't kill me. They did, however, take turns jumping up on the bed and yelling in my face to remind me that they were, in fact, still hungry. Oh, and they tried to eat each other. At least, I think they did- there was a lot of yowling and flying fur after midnight.
Then AJ came home with the food and got a Where the hell have you been, mister? look from he cats. Then I'm assuming they sniffed at the dish, took a couple of bites, and sashayed off with their tails in the air, saluting the food with their puckered little arseholes. 'Cause cats are cruel like that.*
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