A feline hunger strike

When mealtime comes for our cats, they eagerly mill around the kitchen, waiting for the sound of the lid being ripped from the can.  Two, if not three of them show up, wanting to lick the lid.  Three of the four eagerly sit up.  (Buster looks like a little prairie dog when he sits up.)

But then three of the four cats sniff their food, glare at me, and walk away.
Grrrrrr.

Hey, this is Friskies.  And it's not like we feed 'em the same gunk every day.  Supposedly, we're giving them 10-15 different flavors.  We buy it in case lots -- usually 15-20 cases at a time.  Then I painstakingly separate them so that they get a different flavor for every meal.  They don't seem to like the "classic pate."

It used to be that none of our cats liked any form of tuna/fish.  But suddenly, it's only the tuna that immediately gets scarfed down.  And oddly enough, some times the food that was so repugnant in the morning, is totally gone in the evening.

Lately, I've tossed out more food than they've eaten.  In fact, I've come to ask them, "Should I save time and just throw this away now?"

They glare at me.

The problem is, you never know what flavor of food will be available when you hit the store.  We usually buy the food at PetSmart.  Sometimes they have LOTS of variations of tuna -- last time we only managed to find one kind.   Foolishly, we only bought one case.  The cats have let us know their disapproval.

I had a couple of coupons for Friskees Select cat food, and boy did they like it.  It disappeared in minutes.  The only problem is, that cat food is double the price of the regular Friskees.

I know, I know--we really shouldn't be feeding our cats commercial cat food, especially after what happened with tainted pet food.  But our cats don't like "real" food.  Okay, two of them will eat a piece of cheese here and a piece of ham there, but offer them chicken or any other kind of meat, and they act as if they're being offered poison.

Anybody else bugged by your pet's eating habits?

Bullied by Cats

There's a lot of talk these days about bullying.  Even though I'm a grown-up, I'm bullied on a constant basis.

You're looking at the face of a bully.  I'll be sitting at my computer, working away, and then in comes Bonnie and she wants one thing:  my chair.  Why?  I think because it has a cushion.  To Bonnie, any cushion belongs to cats.  (We do have kitty cushions scattered around the house--so I guess it's not surprising that she thinks this way.)

First she walks in the room, marks the legs of my desk and then she pulls that killer move:  she looks at me.  With kitty eyes.  If that doesn't work, she meows.  That meow says, "Get out of my chair.  NOW!"

I'm just a helpless human being.  I get out of the chair.

My name is Ivy, and I'm bullied by domestic cats.

I love my cats, I love my cats, I love my cats . . .

Way back in 1995, Hubby and I took a trip to England and learned the joys of sleeping under a duvet.  My mother had been telling me for years I would like it, but being an obstinate daughter, I didn't listen.

Whoa!  I'm not too proud to say I was wrong.

I was WRONG.  She was right. I loved it.  No more heavy blankets. Just one light and fluffy down comforter to keep you toasty warm on the coldest winter night, and not overly hot on a summer's eve.

I've got two of them and alternate them on the bed.  I must say that the old one, which is pretty lightweight, is still the better of the two comforters.  But they both have the same problem:  the feathers get jammed in the baffles on one area of the bed.  The middle.

Why is it that a couple buys a king-sized bed because they want to sleep in comfort and then allow their pets to sleep with them?  It wasn't my idea.  For the first half of our marriage we were happily pet free at night.  But then we got George the tiny terrorist, who beat up all the older bigger cats and the next thing you know, the cat he beat up the most was in bed with us, because that's the only way he was safe.

Sadly, George was my one cat failure.  No matter what we tried, he would NOT fit in.  So we found him a forever home with a wonderful lady and her resident cat, who George has not attacked in the six years they've lived together.  Go figure!

But now that Chester was ensconced, we left the door open at night should he hear the call of nature.  And now we have THREE cats sleeping with us.  Here we two humans are forced to cling to the edges of the bed while three cats sprawl out wherever they please.  And since all the feathers in the duvet seem to end up in the middle, that's where they are most comfortable.

So, come winter, I tend to bring a big beach towel to bed with me, because at least 1/4 of me is not going to have any of that warm and (somewhat) fluffy duvet and what I do have does not have any feathers and I feel like a Popsicle.

No yogi gave me a mantra, but I have one anyway:  I love my cats.  I love my cats.  I love my cats . . .