Posts tagged ‘Cody Shoo Bear’
Separated at birth?
Congrats to Pekingese Malachy, the little “stump of a dog” who “wobbled” away with top honors at Westminster this year.
Someone compared him to an “alien footstool”, but I just see Cody the Shoo Bear when I look at him.
Malachy (image from B985.com)
Cody
Is it possible that the nation’s top dog is a dead ringer for a cat?
Pets on Prozac
Yes, I know, cats are inherently evil, (Angie sent me this link as proof: http://www.catswhothrowupgrass.com/kill.php) so short of smothering sleeping infants there’s hardly anything a cat can do that would surprise anyone. Maybe that’s why they try so hard.
"Actually, evil comes quite easily to me"
Our cats, specifically the three males (someone from the Greek chorus shouts “Why do you have three male cats to begin with?”) vent their anger, frustration or sheer meanness by what is euphemistically termed “spraying”. But you know what that really means, which is why, anytime you see a cat back up to draperies, furniture or the clothes you left laying on the floor, you go all Rambo and heave the closest heavy object in reach directly at said cat’s noggin.
Just in case you need the diagram (from www.sprayalert.com)
Or you purchase large quantities of scat mats, which has been a chosen approach since neither of us has a decent aim.
Scat Mat (from www.smarthomeusa.com)
According to the product description, a scat mat produces “startling, unpleasant static” and “memorable deterrence”, which, having mistakenly stepped on them numerous times in bare feet, I can attest to as being an accurate statement. Cats being cats, you can even buy ”faux” scat mats, which look like the real ones but minus the battery apparatus, they cost a bit less. Don’t bother with these, because, cats being cats, they quickly figure out the ruse (Greek chorus in unison: “You expected less?”) and will spray defiantly on the bogus mat, leaving fragrant pools of cat urine for the man of the house to clean up.
Did I mention that cats are evil?
It wasn’t always thus. Harmony reigned until Dodger showed up. Maybe the other cats don’t like the color orange?
The Artful Dodge
Whatever the reason, soonafter Dodger’s debut, the problems began. And persisted. Being the new kid on the block, Dodger was blamed and the CE laid down the law: “If he pees, he leaves”.
Here are the things you do when you have a cat that sprays:
1. Spend a fortune ordering “cat attract” litter and a black light (http://tallyville.com/litterboxhelp.html) that helps you identify where the cat is spraying so you can remove as much of the offending stain and odor as possible to deter the cat from returning to “his” spot.
Cat Attract litter, available from amazon.com and many other vendors
2. Take your cat to the vet and spend another small fortune running tests to determine if he has a urinary problem
3. Skip steps one and two because (at least in our experience) they were a waste of time and money, and ask the vet for a Prozac prescription (for the cat, not yourself), as it has inexplicably been known to curb spraying behavior in cats. (Here is a good web site on the subject: http://tallyville.com/litterboxhelp.html)
Then, be patient. It takes awhile. Months. But amazingly, Dodger now greets me every morning and obediently jumps up on the counter so I can jam his Prozac pill down his throat.
Good boy!
This has worked so well with Dodger that as of this week, Dizzy and Cody have their own Prozac prescriptions. I’m choosing to ignore the Greek Chorus comments about just how dysfunctional my life must be if my cats are on anti-depressants and I am not. Perhaps it should be the other way around, but hey, I get the occasional jolt of electro-shock therapy from the scat mats, which keeps me sane enough to not bring home any new kittens…
"Proof of a world gone mad: they're giving ME the Prozac"
Quality time.
He wasn’t here for very long, but it was oh so nice to have Daniel at home! He headed back to the city today to move into his dorm for summer school, where he will be learning Greek (not the oops-our-country-is-broke contemporary language, but the ancient Greek of Homer and Herodotus.) Hey, why major in Poli Sci or Econ when you can do something REALLY easy like Classics, right? Our sympathies are with you, dear Booookie…
We celebrated his 20th birthday a few weeks early with the traditional family spaghetti dinner. Big gift this year: two tix to Lady Gaga’s Monster Ball Tour concert at Madison Square Garden (thanks, Bobby, for helping out with the broker!) I was hoping he would ask me to be his date, but no such luck. Best gift: Granny bestowed upon Daniel the Steiff bear I gave her as a thank-you gift twenty years ago when she came to help out after Daniel was born. What a special present!
How can my baby be 20?
Granny returned from her trip to Florida in time to join us for spaghetti
As usual, Victoria had to share her seat with Dizzy
Daniel and Dad
Daniel, Granny and the bear
There's still time to invite me, Daniel!
Worth coming all the way home just to wear a Shoo Shoo Shooby Doo
Do not try this at home!
He got in a wee bit of piano time
Headed back to the city
We'll miss you, Daniel!
Why Cody is a bird’s best friend.
People often tell us about their fine “mousers”, cats that keep their owners’ (or, rather staff’s) yards impeccably clear of riff-raff like gophers and mice. We tell them about Cody, who will wait for hours on end bent over a gopher hole, just to say g’day when its head pops up. Then he blinks and goes back into a deep Himalayan slumber.
He demonstrated his pacifist approach yesterday when the chickens were free-ranging under the oaks.
This is how Cody stalks chickens
"Mmmm...I do love the taste of chicken"
"Sigh...but that would mean work..."
"I'll just wait here until the humans bring me some take-out"
"And you think I'M a ridiculous creature?"
Spared once again from the clutches of the dreaded Himalayan...
Rude Awakening.
“Yes, I believe the universe actually does revolve around me.”
This is our-speak for the collective ritual that involves letting the dogs out for the last time, making sure Birdie gets a sip of water (from a cup, of course) and is tucked away in his cage for the night, locking up the house, turning off the lights, and putting out the “midnight buffet”. Midnight, which for us can be anywhere forward of 10 pm, is more or less the cats’ alarm clock for nocturnal fun and games, which is why we’ve devised the buffet scheme to entice them our of our bedroom for the night. Four cats. Four plates of Fancy Feast. And eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. Yeah, right.
"Hahahahaha - those cats have you SO under their thumbs - wait, do they have thumbs?"
These four cats have grown so jaded in their entitlement that it would take a can of caviar to rouse them. Cody the Shoo Bear has to be bodily removed from the upturned lid of the towel hamper; Dizzy does not deign to move, either, as he is convinced his rightful place is at the right hand of the CE. Dodger, antsy and antic anytime after 8 pm (we believe he may be at least part monkey) will follow the plates down the hall but then tends to double back into the bedroom, and Rosie just hunkers down under the bed and hisses and growls, daring anyone to pry her from her spot. Where, oh where, is the Cat Whisperer?
"Let's keep it straight here - I'm the one who rescued YOU, got it?"
I finally woke up the CE to eject Cody and Dizzy and wrangle Dodger in the general direction of Outside the Room, but we were both too tired for a face-off with Rosie. If it had been Cody under the bed we would have been spurred to action, since he is given to 4:00 am bouts of racing upside-down, back and forth across the bottom of the box springs of the mattress, a sound that not only wakes a person, but reminds him/her that he/she is basically providing housing and affection to vermin that purr. But Rosie is quieter – and scarier – all claws and spitting black cat saliva – so we let her be.
"I would do it again in a heartbeat, and turn your arm flesh into ravioli while I'm at it."
Poor choice. Sometime on the dark side of 5 am, Rosie emerged from beneath the bed and let loose with a protracted episode of Hairball Hack-Up. These are sounds that should not be heard anywhere other than a science fiction alien film, and most definitely not any time before the sun comes up. Lying in the dark and listening to strangled, gurgling, retching cat sounds is bad enough, but once she had finished – her tortured soliloquy took place in two or three different parts of the room -there was the realization that getting up was tantamount to waltzing in a mine field. Any misstep in the dark could land me in the slime and that is just not where I want to be before dawn.
As it turned out, Rosie was just getting warmed up, and there was nothing awaiting us on the carpet, although, now that I think of it, I haven’t yet looked under the bed. I realize I have probably now lost any potential houseguests (or housesitters) among you, but you just have to believe me when I say it’s really, truly, a nice place to stay…just watch where you step.
"I'm just so tired of the abuse."
Never, never, never, never give up.
Someone told Cody that the chickens would come home to roost, so he headed up a tree in front of the house yesterday morning to wait for them.
Counting his chickens
Oh, but before I go…
Wanted you all to see that Cody (aka Shoo Bear, Shoo Shoobie the Shoob, Shoobington) still has not given up. My brother and sister-in-law gave me this lovely egg basket a while back for my birthday. Guess who claimed it…
Told you I'd be back...
Okay. Now I’m really leaving on vacation…
I’ll be back.
Pondering his options: "Just call me the Chickenator"
