Kitty Litter

Six weeks ago I was a perfectly average domestic diva. For the record, I coined this phrase in 1998 the year my son was born and actually had taken out the domain names including domesticdiva.org, domesticdiva.com - and then my DH said that I didn’t need them- had I only kept them…but I digress.

As I mentioned, a mere month and a half ago I was just doing my best to juggle housework, meal preparation, family outings, swim practice for an eleven year-old and the usual collection of things that take up time. I was plenty busy with daily life. It was rather routine, but comfortable. No complaints really.

Did I mention that was six weeks ago? Let us refer to that period of time as BP for ‘before pet.’ Now here I am six weeks later with a four-legged creature of the feline variety that has taken up residence within our house. Let us call this period of existence the Now Pet (NP.) This now ten month-old kitty named Hercules Apollo for his Herculean strength, has inserted himself smack dab in the middle of our daily life.

As a matter of fact he is more than comfortable and has made himself right at home. So much so that as soon as he hears a pot or a dish he comes running into the kitchen to see if perhaps there is a sweet nibblet available for his enjoyment. I know he comes running because around his neck is a crystal collar with a bell that jingles as soon as he takes a step. I would not be good with a stealth kitty under foot. Would not be a good thing – for him or me- or the family now that I think about it.

When said kitty hears me in the kitchen he can almost be assured that he will indeed be given a bit of something more than his rather drab and boring bowl of round brown pellets – the recommended diet from the veterinarian. So, he will often get a piece of chopped up deli ham or turkey on a plate that was part of our wedding registry (I digress once more). Hyacinth from “Keeping up Appearances" would be proud of me I am sure.

Kitty has his own little placemat with color coordinated bowls for water and dry food and then there is the lovely small china plate that holds special treats. Among his favorite are tuna, turkey and ham. He also enjoys a teaspoon or two of vanilla yogurt, but will not turn up his nose at blueberry yogurt for that matter.

Speaking of turning up one’s nose, he has developed quite the skill and does indeed register his dislike when I proffer him with salmon. After a sniff and a lick he turns his kitty eyes - two sparkling orbs – and implores me to take it away. If he really is displeased with the offered vittles he meows.

Imagine - it isn’t enough that we took him in when he was cold and hungry, that we provide him food and shelter, but now he has the audacity to meow when he wants something different. Like a petulant child. Indeed I say.

As life with a pet continues, I find that I think of kitty when I receive an interesting piece of mail that might provide entertainment for him. His hours are more like those of a movie star and he usually naps until well after noon unless I prod him awake for a bit of exercise.

I have created a few stimulation zones and try to insure that there are new and fun things for him to explore. His latest enrichment item is a Trader Joe paper bag in which I place toys from his treasure box - I am assuming that every kitty has a treasure box n'est pas?

Of course the whole kitty litter thing is an exercise in patient and humility. I try and change it daily. I don my mask, double bag and my scooper and get busy. It is a lovely site. Often Hercules will observe me from the doorway of the guest bathroom which is where we decided to place the kitty’s special throne.

He sits on his back legs with his front white mittens placed neatly in front of him with his head cocked to one side as if he is trying to figure out what it is I am doing.

“I am cleaning up your poop,” I explain. “I thought I was done with diapers but it seems I am not,” I sigh and he comes and nuzzles against my leg.

It is his way of saying thank you. At least that is what I imagine.

This is my life in the NP era….




copyright 2008-2009 all rights reserved.

Mad Catter Momma

I must be batty. Or Catty. Yes, that is it. I have become the mad catter momma. You have heard of the Mad Hatter. Well, close your eyes and imagine a wrinkly old lady with a stooped arch to her spine and leathery hands and a big mop of unruly hair on her head and you will have a picture of what a mad catter mama would look like.

Yours truly has become a cat owner. Who would a thunk? Certainly not moi. I mean, the closest I ever came to owning a pet was back in the mid 80’s when I had to babysit 25 hamsters in a lab during college spring break. While the rest of my fellow college buddies were off in the Bahamas or Florida, I was in a lab weighing said hamsters, observing how much of the hulled sunflowers versus the unhulled sunflowers were gobbled by my four legged furry pals and changing way too much sawdust. I had enough of the stuff to last me a life time.

Having a husband and a son is more than enough for this ol’ mama. Or so I thought. Life was fine just as it was. Until a couple of weeks ago when DS out of the blue inquired if I would like to go for a morning walk. Of course I jumped at the chance. As we walked along the Eucalyptus lined path near our house we talked about going back to school, the new adventures of being in sixth grade, what to have for dinner and when we should plan to go and see the new movie “G-Force.” Deep stuff.

We were on our way home when we heard a sound in the bushes. We stopped and looked; peering out at us was a honey colored tabby with white mitten socks. We stopped to say hello and noticed that the kitty did not have a collar.

But this kitty was ever so friendly. He (or she) came up and proceeded to give us purrs and licks and to follow us the three blocks to our house.

Well, DS and I figured that the kitty belonged to someone and that they were probably looking for him (her- we learned later that kitty was indeed a “he”). We also assumed that the kitty was probably hungry. We invited the kitty into our humble abode and since I was not sure that the kitty would like cheerios, I decided to offer the kitty some tuna.

He gobbled the tuna and sat there in the kitchen purring contentedly. DS and I watched in fascination as the kitty proceeded to snoop and inspect the various rooms of the house before deciding to join us for an episode of the Suite Life of Zack and Cody.

DS of course wanted to keep the kitty but I was concerned that someone was looking for this kitty without a collar and despite his attempts to ingrain himself into my non feline loving heart (he sat on my head, kneading it and purring with his little kitty head on the side of my face- I kid you not) I knew we would have to make a good hearted attempt to try and find his rightful owner.

We called the local animal shelter that sent out an officer to pick up said Kitty who by now we had nicknamed Hercules for his ability to push empty boxes around with the mere swat of a paw.

Well, to make a long story short, no one claimed the kitty. And here we are a week later with a new member of the family, hereby referred to as DK (Dear Kitty, who is also fine with being referred to by his name: Hercules Apollo.)

He sleeps on top of the head of DS and will come and snuggle on a lap and chase a ball and attempt to get into all kinds of mischief.

Not wanting kitty to be lonely I of course went out to Toys R Us looking for age appropriate kitty toys. After all, he is more like a baby than a baby really. When I explained that I was looking for small balls and such for a kitty the store clerk just smiled and told me to have a nice day.

Of course every kitty needs a soft blanket and Hercules loves his blue blanket which he sleeps with every night. When we leave the house I turn on the jazz station which I think he enjoys and I let him know we will be back in a few hours.

I have not yet resorted to calling and leaving messages for him to insure that he knows I am thinking of him, but I am sure that day will come soon.

Thus, closing your eyes can you not picture a bag lady – albeit with a big brown bag-and a good pair of shoes – walking the streets of a local beach community with a honey colored tabby following close behind- like the pied piper perhaps. Or the Mad Hatter.

Be kind to the old batty catty lady. She may be someone you know...

copyright 2008-2009 all rights reserved.