Behold Fred the Fearless, Intrepid Explorer! Yesterday I conquered the kitchen, with its slippery tile floor and creaky cabinetry. I bravely went face to face with the air conditioning duct, and showed the boots in the coat closet who's boss! Mom found me lurking underneath the jelly cupboard, surveying my domain.
Today I vanquished the bathroom! First I scaled a mountain of cushy toilet paper, then slithered into the cabinet under the sink and rearranged the towels. And I got a good head start on a new bald spot on the carpet behind the totes.
Mom doesn't seem to appreciate my adventuresome nature. "NO, Freddie, don't rip the wallboard!" "Stop, Freddie, the shower stall is not a litter box!" She's so fussy.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Oh yeah,
it's my BIRTHDAY today!!! And Kenzie's too. I am nine, and she is six. And we STILL don't get to go in the closet...
Stymied
The most horrible thing happened yesterday. Mom went away, and left us under the extremely watchful eye of Granny. Now, normally this would be a good thing. Granny likes to cuddle and gives us extra treats and serves me juice in my very own bowl so I don't have to share a glass like I do with Mom. But THIS time, Granny was up to no good.
It started out innocently enough. We had a leisurely breakfast and then some snuggle time, just like when Mom is home. But then Granny pulled out the big noisy sucky thing, and attacked our favorite hidey spots! First she moved the sofa and destroyed our carefully collected piles of poop. Then she went after our meticulously amassed mounds of shedding fur. Who would have guessed that the carpet is actually a deep maroon beneath the wads of fluffy white?
But then came the ultimate indignity. She TRICKED us into hopping up into our pen, then promptly locked us in, cackling with glee at her cleverness. And then she proceeded to violate our most sacred of spaces, UNDER THE BED. She did not stop with the vacuum, oh no. She brought out an even bigger, noisier monstrosity and began SCRUBBING our hideaway with SOAP and WATER.
Naturally we were concerned that she might need our assistance, and strove mightily to gnaw our way to freedom. No such luck. Granny left us there to languish while she finished her dastardly deed, and then moved on to the closet/litter box. Yes, you read that right. It's so much more convenient to just slip behind the stack of shoes when nature calls, instead of hiking up all those stairs to our pen. What could it hurt?
Granny didn't see it that way. Instead of being impressed with our ability to improvise, she groused about the "stench". Instead of marvelling at the sheer magnitude of our output, she muttered bad words under her breath about our "piggishness". It was completely insulting and uncalled for.
And after all that, she had the audacity to take a long hot shower in OUR bathroom. The NERVE!
We were sure that as soon as Mom came home and discovered our dilemma, she'd set Granny straight. We were wrong. Not only did Mom seem PLEASED about the invasion, she promised Granny that she would forevermore keep the closet door shut tight, and so far, she has. You couldn't slip a sheet of paper between mom and that door. Why, just this afternoon Kenzie made the arduous hike out from behind the sofa to do her business, only to be turned away. It was heartbreaking.
It started out innocently enough. We had a leisurely breakfast and then some snuggle time, just like when Mom is home. But then Granny pulled out the big noisy sucky thing, and attacked our favorite hidey spots! First she moved the sofa and destroyed our carefully collected piles of poop. Then she went after our meticulously amassed mounds of shedding fur. Who would have guessed that the carpet is actually a deep maroon beneath the wads of fluffy white?
But then came the ultimate indignity. She TRICKED us into hopping up into our pen, then promptly locked us in, cackling with glee at her cleverness. And then she proceeded to violate our most sacred of spaces, UNDER THE BED. She did not stop with the vacuum, oh no. She brought out an even bigger, noisier monstrosity and began SCRUBBING our hideaway with SOAP and WATER.
Naturally we were concerned that she might need our assistance, and strove mightily to gnaw our way to freedom. No such luck. Granny left us there to languish while she finished her dastardly deed, and then moved on to the closet/litter box. Yes, you read that right. It's so much more convenient to just slip behind the stack of shoes when nature calls, instead of hiking up all those stairs to our pen. What could it hurt?
Granny didn't see it that way. Instead of being impressed with our ability to improvise, she groused about the "stench". Instead of marvelling at the sheer magnitude of our output, she muttered bad words under her breath about our "piggishness". It was completely insulting and uncalled for.
And after all that, she had the audacity to take a long hot shower in OUR bathroom. The NERVE!
We were sure that as soon as Mom came home and discovered our dilemma, she'd set Granny straight. We were wrong. Not only did Mom seem PLEASED about the invasion, she promised Granny that she would forevermore keep the closet door shut tight, and so far, she has. You couldn't slip a sheet of paper between mom and that door. Why, just this afternoon Kenzie made the arduous hike out from behind the sofa to do her business, only to be turned away. It was heartbreaking.
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Freddie Fender
Wasted days and wasted nights....I love morphine! It makes me feel all gooey and soft...
Today was my tooth surgery. We got a bit of a late start, which meant Mom drove like a bat out of hell, which actually isn't all that unusual. You would think she'd be a bit more cautious, what with her precious cargo and all. Kenzie and I clung to the sides of our carrier as we ricocheted around hairpin turns, tires squealing in protest. We got to the clinic with one minute to spare. And then...
...and then the true terror began. Mom snatched me out of my carrier and plunked me down on a slippery, icy cold scale, only to make smart aleck remarks about my weight. *I* don't think five and a half pounds is excessive. It's all muscle.
Actually, it's all fur. And I weigh a lot less now, now that the tech came in and hauled me away to the back room where she SHAVED MY NECK. Then she stuck a big fat needle into it, to draw my pre-op bloodwork. As if that wasn't bad enough, then then another tech came in with another big fat needle, and stabbed me in the back!
Well, I can't honestly say I minded that one. That was the morphine. So I didn't really argue when the vet came in and started poking around my mouth with his nasty scope. He commented on what a good boy I was, and wrapped me in a warm towel, and whisked me off to the operating room. I'm a little unclear what happened after that, but eventually I found myself wrapped in another warm towel, being placed into my mom's eager and loving arms. She oohed and aahed over me and gave me back to Kenzie for safekeeping. Then I got to go home!
Oh, Granny came along, and SHE gave Kenzie and me our post-op blackberries. Blackberries make everything better. It's good to have a Granny.
Today was my tooth surgery. We got a bit of a late start, which meant Mom drove like a bat out of hell, which actually isn't all that unusual. You would think she'd be a bit more cautious, what with her precious cargo and all. Kenzie and I clung to the sides of our carrier as we ricocheted around hairpin turns, tires squealing in protest. We got to the clinic with one minute to spare. And then...
...and then the true terror began. Mom snatched me out of my carrier and plunked me down on a slippery, icy cold scale, only to make smart aleck remarks about my weight. *I* don't think five and a half pounds is excessive. It's all muscle.
Actually, it's all fur. And I weigh a lot less now, now that the tech came in and hauled me away to the back room where she SHAVED MY NECK. Then she stuck a big fat needle into it, to draw my pre-op bloodwork. As if that wasn't bad enough, then then another tech came in with another big fat needle, and stabbed me in the back!
Well, I can't honestly say I minded that one. That was the morphine. So I didn't really argue when the vet came in and started poking around my mouth with his nasty scope. He commented on what a good boy I was, and wrapped me in a warm towel, and whisked me off to the operating room. I'm a little unclear what happened after that, but eventually I found myself wrapped in another warm towel, being placed into my mom's eager and loving arms. She oohed and aahed over me and gave me back to Kenzie for safekeeping. Then I got to go home!
Oh, Granny came along, and SHE gave Kenzie and me our post-op blackberries. Blackberries make everything better. It's good to have a Granny.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
The cold hard tooth
Mom saw the dental surgeon today. MY dental surgeon, not hers. Hers would be a walk in the park. Just suck down a Vicodin and a shot of Old Crow and let 'im go to town! But we're talking about *ME*. My teeth (or shall I say FANGS) are far more fearsome than any you'll find in Mom's mouth. My teeth grow SPIKES. Long, jaggedy spikes that threaten to rip my tender tongue to shreds! Or at least poke me in the cheek.
Anyway, my dental surgeon won't work on me without general anesthesia because I am such a "Stressie Bessie". I beg your pardon?? Just because I showed a little attitude to the otoscope..."High spirited" is a much nicer term than "high strung", wouldn't you agree? Anyway, he's a specialist and works fast. He promises to knock me out, file me down, and pack me up to go home all in less than two hours. Mom won't even have time to fret, and fretting is what she does best.
Anyway, my dental surgeon won't work on me without general anesthesia because I am such a "Stressie Bessie". I beg your pardon?? Just because I showed a little attitude to the otoscope..."High spirited" is a much nicer term than "high strung", wouldn't you agree? Anyway, he's a specialist and works fast. He promises to knock me out, file me down, and pack me up to go home all in less than two hours. Mom won't even have time to fret, and fretting is what she does best.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
The "B" word
Mom can no longer deny the ravages of time. She's officially a geezer, thanks to her brand new bifocals, fresh from the Wal*Mart Vision Center.
She didn't even get the transition specs, the ones that would have allowed her to at least pretend to still be vibrant and youthful. No, she figured "in for a penny, in for a pound", and chose sturdy rhinestone-studded frames worthy of Great-Aunt Agatha, lenses sliced across the middle with the traditional line of demarcation. All she's lacking now is a decorative gold-tone chain to hold them securely 'round her neck, nestled against her sagging bosom.
It took her long enough to get to this point of acceptance. She's been peering and squinting for a few years now, and Granny finally had enough. "Take the check and GO!" she shrieked, and Mom had no choice but to drag herself in for an exam. The optometrist was a kindly woman who refrained from saying, "It's about time", and instead patted Mom gently on the shoulder, like one might comfort a loved one on their first day in the nursing home.
Mom came home and wept bitterly, or at least groused a bit, and buried her sorrows beneath a gargantuan slab of pumpkin pie smothered in whipped cream. A pie, I might add, that she didn't even SHARE. Then she browsed through the shopping pages in search of elastic-waist pants and sensible shoes. Maybe now the clerks will stop asking for her ID when she buys wine. Instead they'll ask if she'd like the senior discount.
She didn't even get the transition specs, the ones that would have allowed her to at least pretend to still be vibrant and youthful. No, she figured "in for a penny, in for a pound", and chose sturdy rhinestone-studded frames worthy of Great-Aunt Agatha, lenses sliced across the middle with the traditional line of demarcation. All she's lacking now is a decorative gold-tone chain to hold them securely 'round her neck, nestled against her sagging bosom.
It took her long enough to get to this point of acceptance. She's been peering and squinting for a few years now, and Granny finally had enough. "Take the check and GO!" she shrieked, and Mom had no choice but to drag herself in for an exam. The optometrist was a kindly woman who refrained from saying, "It's about time", and instead patted Mom gently on the shoulder, like one might comfort a loved one on their first day in the nursing home.
Mom came home and wept bitterly, or at least groused a bit, and buried her sorrows beneath a gargantuan slab of pumpkin pie smothered in whipped cream. A pie, I might add, that she didn't even SHARE. Then she browsed through the shopping pages in search of elastic-waist pants and sensible shoes. Maybe now the clerks will stop asking for her ID when she buys wine. Instead they'll ask if she'd like the senior discount.
Sunday, May 6, 2012
O Sole Mio
It's no wonder the neighbors cringe and turn away when they see Mom coming. They've got to think she's certifiably insane. Why, just today she was puttering around outside, in her "Sunday best" sweatpants with the big hole in the rear end, muttering to herself and shrieking every time she saw what might be a bee. And last night she forgot all the windows were open and serenaded the neighborhood with a spirited round of "Greens and Goodies", our night-night song. I would blush crimson with shame, but you couldn't see it anyway what with my thick velvety fur.
Mom thought Granny was bad when she crooned lovingly to the forsythia bush as she whacked it near to the ground. I have to say, between the two of them, Mom's the most embarrassing. At least Granny can claim to be "elderly", which automatically gives her the right to be eccentric and crotchety. Mom has no such excuse. She's just bats.
Mom thought Granny was bad when she crooned lovingly to the forsythia bush as she whacked it near to the ground. I have to say, between the two of them, Mom's the most embarrassing. At least Granny can claim to be "elderly", which automatically gives her the right to be eccentric and crotchety. Mom has no such excuse. She's just bats.
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