pjthompson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pjthompson) wrote2006-08-15 10:25 am
pjthompson) wrote2006-08-15 10:25 am
We got meow-meows here
Quote of the day:
"It is better to aim at the stars and hit the moon, than to aim at the moon and never clear the nearest tree."
—Chinese saying
So for the last couple of years of Underfoot's life she was an extremely fussy eater. All right, she was always a fussy eater, but she got even more so as she got older and in order to keep her eating the roommate would do just about anything. She'd open can after can until the Princess found something she would deign to eat. Although this involved some expense, it fortunately did not involve waste. There were plenty o' critters in the neighborhood willing to clean Undie's plate for her: stray cats, raccoons, possums, crows, to name a few. We won't talk about some of the more unsavory critters.
Anyway, during this time we had two regular diners who we were most concerned about feeding: a big lover dover male white cat (named "White Cat") who was pretty much afraid of everything on four legs, but fiendishly enamored of two-footed creatures; and a tiny, very feral black cat (named even more cleverly, "Little Black Cat"), with one little white diamond on her chest and eyes the color of citrine. WC, I should note, has one blue eye and one hazel but isn't deaf like white-cats-with-different-colored-eyes often are.
When Undie passed we decided we just couldn't stand the thought of the strays going hungry, so we kept buying cat food, albeit a cheaper variety. LBC was so hungry she didn't care, but WC (who we'd been feeding longer) had gotten used to Fancy Feast, et al., so he wasn't quite as thrilled. (It's amazing how a cat can go from starving to fussy in just a few weeks.) LBC's fussy gene still hasn't kicked, but we've been buying selectively for WC.
One nice sign: LBC used to hide when we brought out food, never letting us closer than 5-6 feet. Lately, when we come to the door she starts in with the sweet little "feed me feed me" mewling, raises her tail, rubs against the tires of the car, and doesn't run when we come out with the food. She even came up onto the porch the other day and meowed into screen door that she was ready for her close-up. And yesterday, a momentous day, she even allowed the roommate (who is the food delivery system more often than I) to give her scritches. Last night, she allowed me to pet her without doing the S-curve thing with her back hardly at all.
Me, I'd love to bring both of them inside and fully adopt them, take them to the vet, get them fixed, the whole nine yards. But the roommate has a bird, you see, who is quite used to flying about the house unmolested. When Undie was around, she largely ignored him unless he landed on the carpet in front of her face. Then she'd raise her head, say, "Wow, that's a bird. I should do something about that sometime," and go back to sleep. I suspect street savvy WC and LBC wouldn't react quite the same way. So they remain well fed street urchins for the time being. One consolation is that their once-ragged coats are nice and glossy now.
Life is, after all, a series of compromises.
"It is better to aim at the stars and hit the moon, than to aim at the moon and never clear the nearest tree."
—Chinese saying
So for the last couple of years of Underfoot's life she was an extremely fussy eater. All right, she was always a fussy eater, but she got even more so as she got older and in order to keep her eating the roommate would do just about anything. She'd open can after can until the Princess found something she would deign to eat. Although this involved some expense, it fortunately did not involve waste. There were plenty o' critters in the neighborhood willing to clean Undie's plate for her: stray cats, raccoons, possums, crows, to name a few. We won't talk about some of the more unsavory critters.
Anyway, during this time we had two regular diners who we were most concerned about feeding: a big lover dover male white cat (named "White Cat") who was pretty much afraid of everything on four legs, but fiendishly enamored of two-footed creatures; and a tiny, very feral black cat (named even more cleverly, "Little Black Cat"), with one little white diamond on her chest and eyes the color of citrine. WC, I should note, has one blue eye and one hazel but isn't deaf like white-cats-with-different-colored-eyes often are.
When Undie passed we decided we just couldn't stand the thought of the strays going hungry, so we kept buying cat food, albeit a cheaper variety. LBC was so hungry she didn't care, but WC (who we'd been feeding longer) had gotten used to Fancy Feast, et al., so he wasn't quite as thrilled. (It's amazing how a cat can go from starving to fussy in just a few weeks.) LBC's fussy gene still hasn't kicked, but we've been buying selectively for WC.
One nice sign: LBC used to hide when we brought out food, never letting us closer than 5-6 feet. Lately, when we come to the door she starts in with the sweet little "feed me feed me" mewling, raises her tail, rubs against the tires of the car, and doesn't run when we come out with the food. She even came up onto the porch the other day and meowed into screen door that she was ready for her close-up. And yesterday, a momentous day, she even allowed the roommate (who is the food delivery system more often than I) to give her scritches. Last night, she allowed me to pet her without doing the S-curve thing with her back hardly at all.
Me, I'd love to bring both of them inside and fully adopt them, take them to the vet, get them fixed, the whole nine yards. But the roommate has a bird, you see, who is quite used to flying about the house unmolested. When Undie was around, she largely ignored him unless he landed on the carpet in front of her face. Then she'd raise her head, say, "Wow, that's a bird. I should do something about that sometime," and go back to sleep. I suspect street savvy WC and LBC wouldn't react quite the same way. So they remain well fed street urchins for the time being. One consolation is that their once-ragged coats are nice and glossy now.
Life is, after all, a series of compromises.
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The unmolested thing keeps me from getting cats as well. I'm not thinking the PowerBunny would take too kindly to someone else imposing on her domain.
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