A Special Kind of Love

Christmas 1964. That was a long time ago, especially in cat years.  What’s a “long time ago”.  Well let’s see….I can tell time as in dinnertime, snacktime and bedtime….but calendar time?! Not so much.  And mix in some math needed for the cat year calculation to define a “long time ago”…

Okay, yes, I cheated.  I asked "her". 

So given that one cat year is about the equivalent of seven human years that would make a “long time ago” exactly  322 years ago!

See what I mean – Christmas 1964, a long time ago, at 322 years in the past, would be considered old. And anything from that time…. an antique. And guess who that is in the picture?!

Yep. It's "her".

And the sister.

And "the cat".

So that would make the three of them antiques! Well in cat years that is (as if there is anything other than cat years).

And old things, old junk and antiques? Ah yes, how I swoon over them - full of character, imperfections and signs of being loved and loving (as well as not telling where I sharpen my claws). 

“She” tells me that’s why “she” has such a love of the old and imperfect too (not the sharpening claws part). 

But don’t go all wide eyed and jumping to conclusions. I did not sharpen my claws on anyone or anything you see in the pictures.  Especially the old picture of "her" cat. Nope, it was way before my time. 

Nor have I had anything at all to do with the condition of “her” current sawdust and fluff critters. Nope. That’s how “she” bought them.  I know scary to think that someone would pay money for some of these.  My opinion? Purrsonally, I think “she” is still pining over the loss of “the cat”.

You see, "the cat" is no longer with us.  And you would think that someone would get over it after 322 years.  But it was love. Still is love. 

“The cat” was given to her when “she” was born as a gift.  And it had a little wind up music box that played Brahm’s Lullaby. (Do they even still make those windy up things?) Apparently the lullaby didn’t put “her” to sleep fast enough.   I’m told that “she” would lie in her crib and pull out the fur on the poor cat.  

One of "her" current favorites. Gee, wonder why?

After some time, obviously, the cat ended up with some bald spots.  Quite a few actually. Probably more bald than furry by the time crib sleeping was over.  “She” even told me, that if “she” really thinks about it, she can still feel that course weave where there was no longer any fur.  (Wanna tell me that’s not pining for a lost love?) But it didn’t matter that the cat was almost bald. Nope, not the least. 

“She” loved that cat until it departed to the landfill one day while “she” was in kindergarten.  I know. The horror. The trauma.  But how many well meaning Mom’s toss out blankies and old toys?! No doubt more than a few.  Don't be sad, it wasn’t really the end of “the cat”. 

No, “the cat” is still here.

He lives in “her” heart and in her memory.  And yes, “she” still loves him.  Even named the business after him and called it (appropriately), the tattered cat.

That love is the kind of love that is Christmas. 

The kind that is true and never fades.

I know it’s the kind of love “she” has for me.  But honestly, I still wouldn’t mind too much, if one morning I woke up and had a few less tufts of fur.

I wonder, did you have anything you loved as much in your childhood?

Let the reindeer games begin!

Santa Paw's favorite reindeer - Zoe, the large fluffy one

We're getting ready for Christmas!

And Santa Paws!

You do believe in Santa Paws don't you?

Certainly, you must.  I mean who else do you think leaves all those great presents under the tree?

No, no, not the random hacked up fur ball, I mean real presents.

For us. And you. And yes, even you!

Cat snacks, catnip mousies, warm fluffy blankets, dog bones and chew toys! Oh my whiskers are curling with excitement!

Crickett - watching and waiting for Santa Paws

Of course everyone will tell you that we have to be good.  Angelic. On our very best behavior. You know all the usual bribes - 'you better be good or Santa Paws won't bring you any presents'....and....'Santa Paws can see you and knows you missed the litter box on purpose'.

So be good?  Until Christmas morning?!?!

Don't panic.  I'm here to let you in on a little known secret.  No worries, you need only be very good for a short time.  Really. Not long at all.  C'mon, Santa is old and you've dealt with those ancient ones, right? Don't forget, anyone older than yourself....need a hint?  Look around the house.  I'll wait for you.  Go on...go take a look.

You didn't have to go far did you?  By definition there are probably a few old and oldER humans wandering around the house.  Yep, anyone at all older than yourself is old!

You may have found someone sitting reading a book or watching television.  Taking a bath or doing the laundry. Fixing dinner or maybe they are just standing.  You know that sudden stop thing that oldER people do.

They walk into a room and then stand there.

Just stand there.  I've seen cows who move more.  And you can tell that the thought process that brought them to that standing spot left kept on going without them to an undisclosed location.  So they stand there some more.  Eventually, it may return.  Maybe.

It's just something that happens when you get oldER.

So back to the point I was trying to make....think on this.....Santa has been around forever.  I mean really.  Ask the oldest purrson you know if they know about Santa.  Chances are even if they are 105, they know who Santa is.  How's that for forever?!?

Yes, Santa is old.  Probably ancient.  And I'm certain his memory on who was good and who was bad probably won't last beyond the end of this month.  I mean c'mon he's probably already exhausted cleaning out the reindeer stalls.  Heck, if it's like "hers", by the end of the day, her memory can usually be found at the bottom of no where land.  Last train. Last stop.  Train service resumes tomorrow at 11 a.m. After morning tea.

So I ask you, just how hard could it be to be purrfectly angelic?  For a short time?  Purrsonally, I can be a good boy for a day or maybe even a week.  But, here's the really good news...

Top secret stuff....you don't even have to be good until a week or two before Christmas.  That's right - you still have time for a few more 'bad boy' and 'no, no, no' days!  And that's just to be sure that Santa Paws will have forgotten that you ate your sis-fur's food before she did or any other happy day moment occurrence.

Matilda, four months old and dreaming of Santa Paws

Yes, this being good stuff is do-able.  Especially, now that you know all the details no one else bothered to tell you.  Yes, it's good to have friends in the know, isn't it?!

aDRESSing a few concerns

So what the heck -- a blog post twice in one week?!?

Hey, a cat's gotta make good on the promise to post about things that don't bite....and I had an extra nap today while "she" worked on moving things around in the trailers.  Just watching her wore me out! I'm telling you, sometimes my life is just pure exhaustion!

And then add to that a recent concern I've expressed.  One that I've been on "her" tail about.

As in how about some better pictures?!?

I mean c'mon admit it...."her" pictures.....

well....if you've been with me prior to this post.....perhaps you've noticed too....well......they suck. 

There I said it.

And nothing fell on my tail. 

Accidently or otherwise.

So last night I ate "her" ice cream. Yep, licked the bowl dry before the spoon was even out of the drawer. Obviously, I didn't need a spoon to eat "her" ice cream.  But the fact that "she" needed a spoon....well it gave me just enough time to plow through it like the road crew on the first day of snow!

So when "she" turned around, I did what any cat (or sensible dog) would do.

I *burped* and then proceeded to tell her I would gladly sacrifice myself and do it again if "she" didn't start producing some better quality photos.  I mean c'mon even my charm won't make up for a blog with sucky photos.

So my ice cream tactic worked.  Well sort of. 

Quality? Um. Maybe. Better.

If nothing else they will serve as proof when I send her off for "assistance".  I mean you gotta know someone with this many vnitage clothes surely needs help of some sort.

Remember the tutu I modeled some time back?!? I mean c'mon you gotta admit that is NOT normal behavior.  And I think I was traumatized.  I mean my hind end must have itched for thirty minutes after I chewed that thing off!

And now this.  Look at all these child's clothes, will ya?!  And this is only a fraction of all of them.  Heck, "she" probably has enough to cloth all the children in your city!

Yes, this is a child's wardrobe, armoire or whatever you want to call it.  I call it, the closet of horrors.  There are wayyyyyyy too many dresses in there for my liking.  Sometimes, when I'm laying in the studio I could swear I hear them taunting me.  As if that dress form isn't enough to make my fur stand on end. Seriously.  If that door ever opens on it's own, I am so OUT OF HERE!

And those boots?! Yeah, like I haven't read Puss In Boots.

And like "she" isn't always admiring my rear chops a few too many times.  Seriously, do you have pictures of your dog or cats back end? No, didn't think so.

I'm telling you, "she" is certainly sizing up my rear end and making plans for those boots!

So I'm working on a plan to foil "her" dress-up-the-Romeo plans.  I just haven't figured out what it is yet.  But when I do....well let's just say that I am in no way gonna get caught in some dress.  Or boots.  Or anything of the sorts.  Even if it is old and stylish.  I'll keep my look natural, thank you very much! 

Anyone need vintage child's dresses for their dog?  You know, as a chew toy for the coming Holiday Season.....

I purrfur my imagination...

Some people hear voices.

Some see invisible people.

Others have no imagination whatsoever.

Me? Well let’s just say around here, my imagination is much tamer than reality.  

My imagination had decided to do a post on vintage finds.  For those of you who follow me, may have noticed that I try to post about my siblings, myself, "her", junk and adventures.  It was time to post about junk. 

But about that time the bus of reality ran over my imagination and squashed it. Flat.


That was three weeks ago.

Gone a while as a result of reality.  You know, that time when “real” things happen.  Totally stinky skunk stuff.  Really.

Well maybe.

Not all of it.

“She” did get to go to a couple of auctions and found some really neat things.  But of course reality isn’t always fun and good times.

Sometimes.

Some of it totally bites.

Take for instance a routine trip to Wendy’s Hamburgers.  I get loaded in the car for a quick trip to the burger place.  Yeah, I know it’s just a bribe to get me to ride with her.  But it works.  I mean who’s going to pass up a chance to have a bite or two of a burger?  Fresh.  

See my point? 

Quick car ride = burger and fries.

I’m there!

But while we are sitting in the drive through it becomes evident that we are not the only ones there.

And I’m not talking about the other people in their cars waiting in line.

Nope. 

There are four or five other cars and occupants. AND an injured bird.

Somewhere close by. Screaming. LOUD.

But not at the order sign.

Order placed. Bird still screaming. Still LOUD.

Moving up in line.

Bird still screaming but getting hoarse.

Moving up in line.

Getting closer.

Bird begins to sound strained.

“She” is next to pay.

Looks out the window and the bird is not a bird.

It’s a small, very small….

Kitten.

Reality: no one else stopped to help this kitten. 

Reality: someone picked up their burger and dumped their kitten. (There were no other cats or kittens and the nearest house was more than a mile away).

Reality: Number one combo meal now comes with burger, fries, large drink and a kitten.

A very hungry kitten.  (At least she shared the burger.)

Five and a half weeks old.

With a tail broken in three places.

Ears infested with mites.

One pound, six ounces.

Of reality.

It bites.

Probably only because she’s teething.

Then there was Grammie's surgery.  And an Uncle's open heart surgery. Preparation for and the opening of a new Tattered Cat location. 

Preparation for and the Christmas Open House at Antiques in Old Town (thank you to all who came - reality purred at that one). Two sick kitties. And oh yes.....

Bees.

Did you know that bees can become very aggressive when protecting their winter honey stores?

Yeah, “she” didn’t know that either.

I did.

That’s why I wasn’t the one that got stung on the face.

Several times.

Reality: It waited to swell up. On the evening of the Open House at Antiques in Old Town. How attractive. How UNcomfortable.

Reality: Could not attend the second day of the Open House because Benedryl was not enough to de-puff face.  Doctor and medicine necessary. 

Reality: Cortisone injections into hind end bite.

Gramps got stung on the arms. (He was smart enough to have the veil on.)

But to make up for the missed facial attack, those pissed off bees came after him twice. I think he got stung seven or eight times.

There’s some more reality for you. Pretty interesting stuff until it decides to get “real” and bite ya.  Honey anyone?

I could tell you more but hey, if I scare you too much, you’ll be  hiding in the closet and might not come out to read all those cool blog posts.  You know the ones were everyone is creating their own reality.  While others are even "real" AND living through it.  Now those are the blogs to watch.  You’ll learn a lot from them.  So stay out of the closet. Not everything bites.

Except maybe the combo number one at Wendy’s and bees protecting winter stores….

Later.....the kind of stuff that doesn't bite.....