whiski_sour: (ache)
Our kitty McGee passed away this morning. She's been sick for a few weeks, so it wasn't unexpected.

She was a sweet kitty who came to live with us because she didn't want to live with the neighbors and refused to take no for an answer. She demanded her breakfast, read the newspaper, watched CNN and old detective movies (she really did; she'd bitch if you turned off the TV), and liked to have her belly rubbed, or as we'd say, rub the Buddha.

She's going to be missed.



Rest in peace, Maggie "Scrapper" McGee. Love you.
whiski_sour: (Can you stand on your head?)
Aunt Jo and Nancy gave me a lovely, fuzzy, snuggly blanket for Christmas. Since I planned on relaxing and rocking the pajamas today, I decided to break it in.

Spot was on the bed at the time and I figured she wouldn't mind trying out the blanket with me. I spread it out and she got up and left. I didn't think much of it. Later, she came back into the room and jumped on the bed and immediately jumped off again.

Carrie came in and I told her that I didn't think Spot liked the new blanket. Carrie tried putting her on it and she scrambled to get off of it. Didn't want to be held there, didn't want any part of it.

She did the same thing when Dad tried it with her an hour later.

I have no idea what Spot doesn't like about this blanket, but she wants no part of it, which is so odd for her because anything new she has to smell thoroughly because she's so damned nosy. It's made more funny by the fact that Dad got a blanket just like this (different pattern) last year for Christmas and that thing is a cat magnet.

I just can't follow the cat logic on this one.
whiski_sour: (how's my hair?)
It's just been an exciting month so far.

First, Stella caught a bat in the house. The thing is we didn't know there was a bat in the house and we don't know where she caught it. It's suspected that she caught it in the basement. I think Carrie would know if there was a bat in her belfry.

Unfortunately, as proud as she was of catching that bat, Dad took it from her and threw it away since she'd killed it. I was disappointed that she killed it because I was all set to have a pet bat. I'd have named him Renfield.

But, as disappointed as I was, it didn't compare to Stella's dismay. She spent the rest of the night and part of the next day looking for it. And then bitching because she couldn't find it.

Then last night it stormed and some time after the storm passed we heard this loud pop of an explosion (when I say "we", I mean me, Carrie, McGee, Spot, and Stella; Dad slept through it). We couldn't figure out what it was. Carrie thought it sounded like it was outside her window and I thought it was outside of mine on the opposite side of the house. She thought it was a gunshot; I thought someone blew up a trashcan.

Today, driving to Walgreens, I noticed there was large branch down in a yard a block over and it looked like it might have taken out a line. It's a pretty good guess that's the source of last night's noise.

I think if things continue in this manner for the rest of the month, September could win some awards. I'm just saying.
whiski_sour: (scream)
Day 165...Still No Internet )

In other news, McGee got into a fight Wednesdy night and got rolled pretty good. She's got a sore spot on her side and broke off a tooth, which Dad had to pull. Dentistry is McGee's least favorite thing and believe me when I say we've done a lot of it on her.

She's feeling better today, though, but she's still milking it for all the treats she can get.

As well she should.
whiski_sour: (Can you stand on your head?)
My dad got a blanket for Christmas that he put on his "bed" (Dad sleeps on a sleeping bag on the living room floor...yes, he has a bedroom...no, I don't know). It's a really nice, soft, fuzzy thing that depicts a deer in the forest.

McGee is particularly fond of this blanket and likes to sleep on it. However, she blends in with it to the point that unless you see her pink collar, you don't know she's there. Dad's accidentally sat on her a couple of times because he couldn't see her.

Just now he asked where she went because he couldn't see her laying on the blanket. I told him to look for the collar. It took him a second, but he found her.

The military should be jealous of such excellent camo. I'm just saying.
whiski_sour: (scream)
It was a nice day today, so I hung my clothes out on the line. I brought them in tonight and left them in the basket on my bed for over an hour while I made dinner and ate and watched NCIS and worked on novel revisions.

During one of the commercial breaks, I decided my clothes had sat in that basket long enough and I started to put them away. As I'm doing this, I become slightly aware of a buzzing noise. I hung up a couple of shirts and the buzzing got a little louder. I figured there was a bug of some kind in the window next to my bed and didn't think much of it.

Until I picked up my Supergirl shirt and put it on the hanger. It was then that I realized the buzzing was coming from my shirt. So, holding it out at arm's length, I slowly made my way out of the room only to have a huge wasp fly out of my shirt when I got to the living room.

Thankfully, it was pissed, but not immediately bent on revenge so I escaped unharmed. However, Stella doesn't like bugs in her house and zeroed in on it. Dad and I kept telling her to leave it alone and she kept bitching at us because it was in her house and she was going to get it. I don't know how it didn't go after her the way she was nosing around it and bitching.

I don't know what happened after that because I got to watching TV, but I'm guessing it must have flown out of sight because Stella settled down and quit her bitching.

I don't know where the wasp is now. I'm hoping it escaped outside via an upstairs window. Or Stella killed it and ate it.

I don't want to be attacked in my sleep.

ETA: The wasp appeared in my room, either seeking vengeance or escape, I couldn't tell. However, it has once again disappeared and I don't know where it went. Please avenge my death accordingly. Thank you.
whiski_sour: (how's my hair?)
I made some new icons today, both for this journal and for [livejournal.com profile] kikiwrites. For the first time since I only had 15 icons, I've maxed out my icons. It won't stay that way, but for the moment, I'm feeling a little victorious.

I'm not done with icons just yet. There's still some I want to make, but I haven't found the right pics.

Speaking of pics, I did stumble upon something horrible while perusing through sitcomsonline's cache of Hawaii Five-O pictures: Gavin McLeod carrying a few extra pounds and wearing his shirt unbuttoned so that one might gaze upon his hairy manboobs. It was pretty horrifying. Ask [livejournal.com profile] one_more_cherry. She saw the pic, too.

Because I will not suffer alone.

I spent two hours working on the icons while sitting in front of an open window, which would have been fine had it not been chilly and raining. Close the window? Not an option. Clearly, you do not have cats.

I left the room in the middle of typing up this entry to find out that Pete posted it for me. See what I mean about having cats?
whiski_sour: (Can you stand on your head?)
Pete is doing much better after her bout with illness last week. She's clearly feeling much better. Her eyes are bright and clear, she's not as snotty, she started taking baths again, and she's eating solid food again.

However, she lost a bit of weight while she was sick, probably a couple of pounds, which is huge for such a small cat. The goal now is to get her weight back up.

It's odd when she gets on your lap or you pick her up because she's so light. It's like holding nothing.

Except when she sits on my hip, like she did today. Here she is, lighter than she's been in years, and this cat can still alter her specific gravity and concentrate all of the weight she has and maybe some that she doesn't have on the sorest part of my hip that I didn't realize was sore in the first place.

I guess you can't deny a God given talent like that. I wish she would though. Ow.
whiski_sour: (Can you stand on your head?)
Pete's been sick for the past several days. She's either got a sinus infection or a bad head cold and really hasn't been eating or drinking much. She's lost quite a bit of weight because of this diet and has us a little worried. She hasn't eaten anything solid for a few days. Dad's been making her eat with an eye dropper to make sure she's getting something. He's also been putting Vicks under her nose to help her breath. Dad is not Pete's favorite person at the moment.

Despite being sick and not feeling good, Pete still insists on going outside. She lays around and soaks up the sun mostly, but she makes her rounds to check on things in our yard and the yards of two of our neighbors.

And even though she looks like death, she can't be feeling too bad. Dad caught her this morning across the street (where she's not supposed to be) teasing the new neighbors' dogs through the fence.

Just wait until she feels better.
whiski_sour: (marshmellow stupid)
I walked around barefoot outside today and did not get frostbite. It was wonderful.

However, it is guaranteed that if I do go out barefoot, I will be required to walk on rocks or pine needles or other uncomfortable things, usually due to cat behavior. Today I had to route Stella back to the house because she went behind the garage, which is all fancy gravel.

My first time out barefoot, I'm not broke in yet. I was slow and a bit hobbly, but I managed to get Stella back where she belonged.

And Carrie laughed at me.

I'm pretty sure Pete was laughing at me, too, but she won't admit it.
whiski_sour: (Can you stand on your head?)
They should really show curling on the TV more often.

Not only do I like having it on in the afternoons while I'm working, but Dad and McGee like watching it, too.

Though sometimes McGee tries to help out by slapping the stones.

So far she hasn't scored any points.
whiski_sour: (Can you stand on your head?)
While Pete doesn't like to go out into the snow because of all of the things she dislikes, getting her feet wet rates pretty high up there, the neighbor's cat has no such problem.

There are little Rascal-prints all over the neighborhood. Apparently, he doesn't take a snow day from his patrols.

I just wonder how he keeps his belly out of the snow. It's pretty deep in some places.
whiski_sour: (plan)
Despite the fact that it had been snowing a good part of the afternoon and evening, I decided I was going to grill anyway. It wasn't like I'd be standing outside the whole time and I'd grilled in the cold before. What was a little snow?

Well, I was right. The snow was nothing.

The wind, however, was fierce. And snow can sting when it hits you in the face at high velocity. I'm just saying. Not to mention the havok it played with my flames every time I opened the lid. But, I managed to cook the steaks without much trouble considering how many times I've nearly set myself on fire with that grill.

And then I brought the steaks inside and went about finishing up the onions and mushrooms when the power went out. The first thing out of my mouth? "I'm cooking here, dammit!"

After a few more seconds of blackness and my confused brain trying to figure out what the hell I was going to do with dinner, the power came back on. Good thing because I was blanking on a back-up plan.

The power just went out again about twenty minutes ago. Carrie said that Spot was sleeping under the table upstairs in her room at the time. When the power went out, Spot woke up and looked at Carrie like it was her fault.

And if you ask Pete, the wind and snow are the bipeds' fault, too.

Well, we're sure as hell not doing anything to stop it.

Edit: The power just flickered again. I'm getting really tired of resetting my clock.
whiski_sour: (Can you stand on your head?)
Spot is sleeping on my bed next to me by my pillows. Pete decides she wants to get into her sleeping place on my bed, which is by Spot.

Pete gets off of my alarm clock radio, walks on the pillows behind me, and then stops, trying to figure out how to get over Spot to get to her desired place.

"Pete," I say, "you want some help?"

Pete looks up at me as if to say, "Nah, I got this," and just walks on Spot.

It got the job done, Pete, but I'm afraid it lacked some finesse.
whiski_sour: (Can you stand on your head?)
McGee has finally chosen a new sleeping spot after spending most of the winter sleeping on the register cover in the bathroom (or, sleeping on pants that she'd steal while the unsuspecting victim was in the shower).

Unfortunately, it's my bed which means she loses it when I go to sleep. No kitties allowed. They do not share well and somehow manage to turn to liquid and take up the whole bed.

Last night, I had to kick her out three times, the final time Carrie holding her so I could run to my room and close the door before she got loose.

I'd probably been in my room a minute before I heard McGee thump on my door in her race to get back in. I couldn't help it; I giggled.

If she didn't go everywhere 90 MPH, she might have realized, even in the dark, that the door was closed.
whiski_sour: (Can you stand on your head?)
Half an inch. That's all it takes to keep Pete trapped in my room.

I leave the door open a little so the cats can come and go as they please (unless it's sleepy tiems and then the door is shut because my bed becomes a racetrack at 4AM and I have enough trouble sleeping without a cat banking off of my head to make a turn). If the door isn't open enough, Stella will contort herself to fit through the crack (as the biggest cat in the house, this amuses me). Spot will actually work to pull the door open more so she can slip through.

But not Pete.

Pete will look at the door and then look at me and then look at the door and then twitch her tail like a pissed off squirrel. And then I get up, open the door a half an inch wider and she darts through like that tiny increment made all the difference in the world.

Truly, mine is a diva cat.

NCIS Night

Jan. 5th, 2010 09:09 pm
whiski_sour: (up to no good)
NCIS...'Jet packs. Yeah. It's gonna be a weird one.' )

NCIS: LA...'Oh, bummer.' )

In non-NCIS news, I took Pete to the vet today. We both survived. Thankfully, she doesn't hold grudges so I don't have to worry about her scratching my eyes out later.

Even if she did hold a grudge, I'd just shut my bedroom door. As vicious as she is, she's still little and lacking opposable thumbs.
whiski_sour: (Groove)
This is turning into quite an active week.

After over a year without a hospital stay, Papa went back in today. He's got pneumonia. Dad says it can't be too bad because while Dad was on the phone with my great-aunt, Papa was in the background just a bitchin'. Heh. They've got him on antibiotics and he should only be in the hospital for a couple of days.

Tomorrow I've got to take Pete to the vet for her shots. Neither one of us are looking forward to this trip. Pete is good at the vet and good in the car, but she doesn't like it. I spend the whole time peeling a cat off of my shoulders. You don't realize how hard buckling your seatbelt can be until you have to do it around a cat.

(FYI: The reason why we don't use a cat carrier is because Pete can't be in an enclosed space like that. She spazzes out and hurts herself. When I first brought her home from my mother's house, she'd bloodied herself by the end of the trip.)

Thursday the police department is holding an open house to celebrate Dad's retirement after 25 years of service. He really doesn't want to go. He tried to talk them out of it, but no luck. If Papa is out of the hospital by then, he wants to go, too. I'm just going to watch my dad grump and to see how many people that he's arrested over the years show up. Should be a good time.

I hope there's punch and pie.
whiski_sour: (Can you stand on your head?)
We've had a lot of snow today. And if there's one thing Pete dislikes immensely, it's snow. You can't go out in snow and you can't go out when it's snowing. Period. These are the rules of the cat, I guess.

It snowed all day, but that didn't stop Pete from repeatedly checking the window to see if maybe, just maybe, the snow suddenly packed up and went to Canada. And no matter how much she mooched and loved on her bipeds, they wouldn't make it stop snowing and wouldn't make the snow go away. I don't think she really believes that we have no control over the weather.

Which led to this exchange between my dad and I this evening:

Dad: I can't wait until it quits snowing so she can go outside and leave me the hell alone.
Me: She's not bothering you. She's gracing you with her presence.

In an ideal world, we'd move to a warmer climate with no rain, snow, or wind just to please her.

Poor Pete.
whiski_sour: (Can you stand on your head?)
I'm going to ask Santa for a bigger bed for Christmas. There's just not enough room for me to lay on my bed and read with three cats, at least not without dirty looks.

Carrie suggested I get bink beds, but they'd only divide then and there still wouldn't be enough room.

Cats are liquid, you know.

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Cheshyre

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