sienamystic: (DADA)
Asleep in front of the keyboard
We begin with the placement of the Orange Cat in front of the keyboard. This is obnoxious, as he will stretch and push the keyboard in various directions to suit his comfort, but he is still mostly out of the way.

The Progression Continues )


Jan. 3rd, 2012 08:29 pm
sienamystic: (Festina Lente)
Thanks for all your kind words, guys.

In thanks, I bring you a pic of two of my goofy, goofy cats, who have cheerfully accepted that dishwasher cart=bunkbeds. I put the bedding down after they decided they needed to sleep on it, because I am a sucker. Since Ratchet just cost me a bunch of money in tuna-flavored antibiotics, he's got to make it up in cute. Or get a job.

sienamystic: (LIfe)
Two days, two dogs! Not my dogs, alas, although now is now the time for us to own one.

Yesterday, a visiting gallery owner and art dealer brought her Sheltie with her, a very self-possessed puppy named Chloe who was interested in everything:

Chloe the Sheltie

And today I met one of the two therapy dogs that Bemo's therapist owns. Holly the Bernese Mountain Dog was not there, but the newest, in-training Walter the St. Bernard was:

Walter the St. Bernard

Walter was a formerly emaciated rescue dog who is very happy to lie on your feet and let you scratch his belly. It was a pleasure to meet him.
sienamystic: (Drown)

She of the delicate manners and the lightning-quick paw to the head if you get between her and the food bowl.
sienamystic: (Venice)
He just knows how to pose, that's why he gets photographed the most. Kit wants to show you her butt, and Gracie is disdainful of the very idea.

Ratchet 2
sienamystic: (Let them eat cake)
Sometimes, when I'm washing the dishes, I'll look up and see this.

Ratchet in the pass-through
sienamystic: (Annie from Community)
A great day until about five minutes ago, when I discovered that Kit has what looks like a bite wound on her flank. Have called the vet to try and get her in tomorrow after cleaning it and dumping a wad of antibiotic cream on it. She's in good spirits and eating (I never would have known she had an issue if I hadn't felt it on her), so I think we're ok waiting because I can't afford to go the emergency vet route. Hell, even as cheap as the vets are around here, we're going to have to dip into savings to get her taken care of. Or the credit card. Oy.

Likely culprit is Ratchet, who feuds with Kit at every available opportunity. But this is the first time it's come to anything this serious - mostly it's just a lot of yelling and then one of us squirts Ratchet with the water bottle and he goes and sulks under the bed for a while.

sienamystic: (iron man)
Ratchet loves to sleep on the computer desk while I'm working there.

cat at rest
sienamystic: (DADA)
So I get home from work yesterday to find Bemo in the throes of the worst migraine he's ever had. He's standing in the bathroom, nauseated, light and sound sensitive, and with a head that feels like a railroad spike has been driven through his left eye. Oh, and he's got the chills. I help him back into bed, start a series of hot washcloths on his face, which seem to help, and then run off to Target to buy a thermometer, because we haven't had one for approximately five years. (Did you know that glass thermometers are scarce, now? Target didn't have any on the shelves at all, but a cheap digital one is only about two bucks. Huh. I spent all that time learning to read glass thermometers for nothing.)

Bemo's not running a fever, but he's miserable, so I hang out with him for a while. Then I potter around the house (forgetting that I'm supposed to be making pasta salad for an office party, which results in my spending an assload on deli counter pasta salad this morning). And then I go to bed.

Only to wake up about a half-hour later, because I have heard an ominous noise. A noise I subconsciously recognize.

I walk out into the living room, blind because I don't have my glasses on, still half-asleep, to see my small fishbowl with Ahab the betta fish has been pushed off the bookshelf where it sat for a while before I moved it into the bedroom and then back out to the bookshelf because the bedroom is colder and Ahab was going all torpid and not eating. The room is a scene of disaster, with a plant and gravel and water everywhere. A certain white kitten is spotted hiding under a chair, hoping I don't see her. I run to get my glasses and paper towels, because of course, there's fish water all over my books, and I'm simultaneously really sad that my fish is most certainly dead (either eaten or suffocated) but I really don't want to put my hand down on him because ewwww, and I'm also feeling guilty because if I hadn't moved the bowl out of the bedroom, my fish would be alive today WOE.

I spot Ahab on the floor, scoop him up in a little plastic cup, and...
He wriggles. I add water, and declorinator. He swims, sort of lopsidedly, mind you, but his little fins are flapping and he looks really indignant, and he's ALIVE. I refill the bowl and put the plant back in and don't worry about his little Roman columns that also go in his bowl, and gently release him into his home.

He's still alive as of this morning, and he ate cheerfully.

I may have an immortal fish on my hands.

The kitten tried to gain my forgiveness by vigorously massaging my spleen this morning at five am, which indicates that she really has learned nothing at all from the incident.


sienamystic: (Default)

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