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Posts Tagged ‘pets’

Depending on who you are, those words–an observation–is going to bring up different reactions.

Is it said by a pair or group of women berating another women, one they view as a competitor? Is it coming from a bunch of guys sitting around a twelve-pack or pool table, talking about a lady one of the just met? If so, pictures please.

Or are they words thrown out in anger and bitterness about me, either overheard or spat to my face? Ouch! That would really hurt.

The main thing is that to just hear the comment, without a setting or description of who is talking or listening, our minds can run pretty wild with those words.

So the truth is, I was in the shower, lamenting how my cat, Kryshnah, is frequently catching the curtain with her long tail and puling it back as she slinks along the tub’s edge. Kryshnah is lanky and sleek, with that slender tail that hooks everything it seems, especially the shower curtain. She is like a slinky with giraffe legs.

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The pets and I have lived in our new digs for about 2 and a half months now and I am seeing some new personalities emerging, especially in Kryshnah and Taz.

Krysh used to live for the dripping water in our former house. The bathtub faucet stayed at a steady trickle and the kitchen faucet had a fairly decent drip. Kryshnah could usually be found drinking from one or the other. Now, here in the new house, none of the faucets drip. They don’t drain all the best, but a drip you won’t find. Krysh is devastated. She now must make due with the two water bowls I provide. Now primitive.

Le Chat Noir

The other change I see in my darling kitty is her new habit of getting into everything. I have lost count of the times the trash can has been knocked over, she is constantly underfoot as I cook, pestering me to ‘drop’ something. She is forever on the counter, knocking lids off containers or just pushing bottles over.

Today over breakfast I was considering this new behavior from my previously well-behaved girl. Well, in the old house, we lived with the constant threat of invasion from ants. Seemed they were always looking to move inside year round. So consequently I kept everything locked up. Most stuff stayed in the refrigerator. Bread, sugar bowl, anything that had been opened and only partially used. All pasta boxes were resealed in plastic storage bags. Everything and anything had to be protected from the invading insects. That meant it was also protected from Kryshnah. No tantalizing sticks of butter resting on the counter in a faux crystal dish, until now.

And the trash can had to be kept under wraps as well, stashed away under the counter behind closed doors. Moving here, I found it much easier for me to leave it under the counter’s generous overhang. No more struggling to open a cabinet door with gooey hands, I could just drop the mess in the bag and wash off. But having such ease also gave Kryshnah ease to any goodies I might have dumped in. So she searches it, frequently and often.

Now, on to Tazzie. previously, he had two posts of honor. His cage in my work-study where we were literally no more than three feet apart or his perch in the living room where he could see me through three flowing rooms. Short of the bathroom or my bedroom, I was never out of sight of him. Even outside, if I were pulling weeds and such, he could watch from his window perch. His life was pretty good.

Now, due to a new layout, his cage is in the den, which happens to be the room I spend the least mount of time in and his perch is in the work-study where I pretty much live, but it’s clear across the room, behind me. I thought it nice to place him along a wall where he has rows of windows on two sides so he can watch the world go by.

However, should I wander into the kitchen, bathroom, bedroom or even the entry or porch, he cannot see me. Oh now! Time to panic! He yells, screams, carries on like the world is ending. Hello, Chicken Little….

He calls my name and squaws, demanding that I ‘Come here’ and screams when I don’t come running. Now, if I am at the stove cooking, there is a 95 % he will get some of whatever I am making. Can he wait quietly, knowing he’ll soon be rewarded? Nope. My entire time at the stove, sink, bathtub or any other place is filled with never-ending yells and moans of clear separation anxiety.

Once I enter the study, he returns to a happy bird, contentedly preening and chattering as though the sky is once more firmly attached. Oh, by the way, will I give him a kiss, he asks.

So what is a mom to do? I’ve moved the trash can into a cabinet, leaving things piled on the table until I can find new homes for them. A bit of a pain but at least I won’t be sweeping up the floor four times a day. My butter and bread have returned to living in the fridge, at least I won’t be replacing it weekly. I stash as much as possible up in the cabinets. As far as Taz, I just grit my teeth and ride it out, hoping he will eventually realize the house has not swallowed me up and I shall return. At another view, it’s nice to know I am so precious in his sight.

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