Battle Cat vs Skunk: everybody loses

Dear Backyard Skunk,

You should know that your current form of defense - the spraying and the stinking - in no way deters Battle Cat from throwing your smelly butt out of his yard.  It's just not working.  May I suggest you try a different tactic? Something that might actually be effective.  Like honking a horn or martial arts.  Because the shooting off your anal glands does not work against cats with standards as low as mine. 

Sincerely,
Somebody who has better things to do than bathe a belligerent feline at midnight

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After thirteen years, our kitties have recently retired as indoor housecats.  In the morning, I clip on their collars and give them the option of going outside.  Tiny Cat mainly declines.  He's not a fan of the nature and, being a giant chicken, when he goes out, he tends to be gone for way too long as he's most likely hiding somewhere under a shed, paralyzed with fear. 

Battle Cat can't wait to get outside though.  Remember how I said Battle Cat is super chill?  That is all true, unless you happen to be smallish creature that dared to set foot in his yard.  He patrols his territory boundaries, which extends to everything he can see outside from our house windows, and has successfully driven off many aggressive invaders, like squirrels and large beetles.

And the other night, he chased off a skunk.  This was of mixed success.

We have an 'all cats in before dusk' policy because, you know, vampires.  A couple days ago, though, we were gone for the better part of the day and didn't arrive home until nearly dark.  We let Battle Cat outside for one quick rove, feeling sorry for him for being cooped up in a hot house all day. 

Dumb, dumb, dumb.

It's not like we didn't know about the skunks.  A mama and her three babies have been terrorizing The Man for months as he travels between the house and his garage in the evening.  You'd think those little skunks have bombs duct taped to themselves, the way The Man reacts.  He's ever alert for skunks.  I would actually say, he's almost pathologically terrified by them.

Which is probably why he was the one to first notice the stand off between Battle Cat and mama skunk. 

The Man's reaction was to yell at me to get out there and call my cat off because it's MY job to deal with rowdy children.  So I did (while The Man and boy child hid in the house).  My goofy five pound cat responded to my call with his 'coming!'  meow but added a, 'just a sec' chirp.  He would not and did not back down until the skunk had left his domain. The skunk was probably twice the size of my cat, yet Battle Cat did not hiss or growl, and he certainly never raised a paw.  He just slowly walked that skunk towards the fence line.  I think he wins with his pointed looks and general air of disapproval.  The one of time I've seen him in an encounter with another cat, a scarred old tom, he used this same lack of menace to remove him.  Perhaps his name has given him a reputation that other critters are too nervous about to test?  Like how the little guy with multiple tics, scarred face and neck tattoos named 'Skinner' never gets into fights in the pen?

Battle Cat, once he chased off the skunk, came back all perky and proud.  Good job, Battle Cat.  You smell bad, Battle Cat.

The scent was not so much experienced nasally as much as the feeling like someone was squeezing all the air of your lungs. 

In short order and in line with out family policy of having me deal with the icky stuff, Battle Cat and I were sequestered in the bathroom.  I had grabbed the cat, then The Man grabbed my shoulders and steered us both towards the bathroom, then firmly shut the door behind us.  Then, from the other side of the closed door he asked, 'What can I bring you?'

A pair of rubber gloves were pushed underneath the door crack and frantic Googling ensued, trying to find out with what to wash a cat with that has gone and done something so stupid as to get sprayed by a skunk.

Battle Cat's proud demeanor quickly turned to resentful disappointment as the bath commenced.  Oh, bathing a foul and hostile creature at midnight instead of crawling into the bed you so desperately need is super fun.  Reminded me having infants in the house. 

Stop washing off the wash, Battle Cat!

See, Battle Cat, this is the price of being outdoors.  You want adventure and fresh odors to sniff?  Well, congratulations, you've got it.  Indoor kitties don't need baths.  They also don't need flea collars or de-worming pills.  All of life is trade offs.  Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

Good news though!  We pulled the cat in so fast I don't think the skunk oils had time to really settle.  He was being washed with a combination of dish soap, baking soda and hydrogen peroxide less than five minutes after being sprayed.  Another wash with just dish soap and Battle Cat smelled like the after supper dishes.  Granted, I turned nose blind after about ten minutes of being in that bathroom with him so I couldn't say for sure, but the next day he didn't make me feel like I'm suffocating when I put my nose up to him.  Boy child also gave me a thorough sniff after I washed up from washing up the cat.  He is very sensitive to odors and he gave me a thumbs up and allowed me to hug him good night.   

Spikey little pedal paws

The rest of the house also received a super clean up with a degreaser and just in case any skunk oils remain lingering about.  Right now Battle Cat is sitting on my lap and he seems to have forgiven me the bath.  That's great, because with his vet visit last week, the medications he's needing to take and his surgery planned for Friday, he has a lot of stuff he could be resenting me for.  But, he is, as I said, generally, a really chill cat.  Just stay out of his yard.

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This short video helped the childs understand what happened between the cat and skunk and answered boy child's question on, 'how skunk's work'.  It's a little graphic in the anal zone, though, so I do not recommend viewing first thing in the morning or while eating.

Many, many pictures of my cats

I recently brought my kittie, Battle Cat, into the vet to check on some drooling he's been doing.  As I understand it, cats are the classier pet and drooling isn't part of their regular behavior. Turns out he's got a couple of bum teeth that need cleaned, maybe yanked, and a surgery booked for next week. Some of my most miserable moments in life have been centered on trying to do post-surgical care on a cat so nobody is looking forward to that.

The vet was one that Battle Cat hadn't seen before and when she introduced herself, she was a little taken back by Battle Cat's name.  I mean, if you knew you were about to try to pry open a strange animal's jaws and poke around in their needle sharp teeth, wouldn't you rather it be named something more encouraging like 'Totally Relaxed' or 'Weak Guy'?

 

Battle Cat is actually just under 5 pounds of fierce chill.  Both our cats, litter mates (and nearly identical) are small for house cats and not fighters.  They are beta-males (thank you Christopher Moore).  They were rescues and so badly nourished when we acquired them as a foster family nearly thirteen years ago that they were unable to determine how old or even what sex they were.  Eventually it was decided that they were about a year old and male but were sized at about three months with the attendantly sized genitalia.  Poor boys. And there is a long gross story about worms I can revisit another time but probably won't because I actually have, unfortunately, many horrible stories about cats with worms, I don't really want to think about any of them again.

Also, if you are wondering how we started as a foster family and ended up being the forever home, it's because we are weak.

The point is, Battle Cat today is small, dorky and shy. Really, the only time he gets a little intense is when I'm a few minutes late with his daily treat time. Then where did his name come from?

When we received our tiny, sickly foster kittens years earlier, they were bestowed the names 'Button' and 'Tiny' by the lady who removed them from their location and put them into a vet's care.  It's always kind of bothered me that a woman who interacted with our cats for a whole twenty minutes gave them these most humiliating labels.  They already had so many disadvantages and deserved so much more.   Stronger names, such as Tiger or Cowboy or Dirk (which I've always thought was a stoically masculine sounding name). Something with spirit.  But, through the weirdness of fostering and then vet check ups, these poor cats were officially known as Button and Tiny for a tragic amount of time.  

Tiny Cat, the brother, is less happy (though more smug) than our Battle (Button) Cat.  Or he is happy, but only when curled up in a warm safe bed with one of his people who is reading or sleeping and generally not moving around anything more than their fingers, with which they are to pet him.  Yes, he's lazy.  He loves to spoon when I lay down for a nap (I have just embarrassed myself enough with that confession that I may have to quit the Internet).

Most of the time, Tiny is hiding somewhere and difficult to find, unless you open the treats bag or sit down to read a book.  Then he'll suddenly appear and stare intently at your hands until you relent and give him what he wants.  Pets or food.  I don't even think Tiny recognizes there is a whole body attached to his beloved hands.  He's really only interested in the one feature and what I can do for him.

Tiny as a kitten hadn't totally developed his run and hide schtick yet and instead of hiding when approached, he would cowered down and try to become one with the floor.  "That's funny," says my husband, "He's totally like Cringer from He-Man." Because The Man was a huge fan of He-Man. Like all normal adults.

Cringer didn't stick.  It's just not fun to say and you feel sort of bad when you call the sick kitten, like you're making fun of him.  It's not really fun picking on someone who doesn't fight back.  Nope, Tiny Cat he stayed. But the nearly identical cat right beside him, the feisty, fun one who loved to play and cuddle and fought off all those disgusting parasitical worms eventually, definitely appeared to be Cringer's tough fighting alter ego, Battle Cat.

That one stuck.
 

The fun thing about sticking Tiny with his unfortunate name is that it's become ironic, as he's the cat who, while maintaining his small stature, still managed to make himself look like a fluffy shoe box with his short legs and body and barrel round tummy.  That kitty loves his treats and lazing around.

 

Battle Cat, on the other hand, has recently retired as a house cat and decided to start venturing outside.  He basically patrols the our and the neighbor's yards, making sure that all the sunny spots with good dirt to roll in are safe from intruders.  He's had confrontations with blue jays, rabbits and skunks and lived, so he's not totally helpless.

All of this naming trivia, of course, I didn't explain to our most recent vet.  Mainly because we had no time for chit chat when the exam begun and we were confronted with a mouth full of cat halitosis. Almost as terrible as worms.

As we await Battle Cat's surgery next week, I have dubbed him Battle Breath, as it seems more suited.

 

playing studio

I hope you are out enjoying yourself on this long weekend. I am feeling rather pleased with myself lately. As I mentioned in my last post, I am borrowing a friend's spare room during the days over a five day weekend to use as a studio.  It's kind of like playing 'house', except I'm playing 'studio', like a real grown up with a place to go during the day. 

See sometimes, with my days consisting of home, kids, schoolwork, dolls, and, if I'm really lucky, going to play roller derby in the evening, it's hard to remember that I am not, actually, a kid myself.  So I'm going to put on some adult accessories, like a job and out of the home obligations, just to see if I can do it and what exactly it is that I'm missing out on. 

So now, for a limited time, every morning I arrive at nine am and get to work.  With no kids, no housework, no homeschool work, no internet, no interruptions.

(If you are worried about the childs, don't worry, The Man has got them.  He's even running them through their homeschool paces every morning.  Good timing too, girl child is learning long division and, I admit, I have a certain weakness in this area.)

Three days in and I've gotten a few projects done.  And I've discovered that I can totally lose track of time until the six hour mark when the pain in my fingers and wrist scream me awake and I have to stop.  Still, tomorrow I can't wait to try out a new doll design I've been working on... hopefully I'll get a chance to finish it before my time is up.

Just to let you know that I am making trying to replicate the experience of working (studioing), I even managed to show up for my first day a little bit hungover.  You see, it's been really hot as of late and sometimes I can't sleep.

This is the cat situation the night before my first day:

What is with cats and books?  I'm sure if someone took the time to do the stats, you've find a correlation between a society's development of written language and the domestication of cats.  My kitties have never met a book they wouldn't lay on. 

And this was the wine situation:

So, obviously, the next morning was a bit rough.  But, I was intrepid and did not chuck the whole experiment out the window when I woke underslept and headachy.  I can adult!

Back soon with some pictures.

spring break

It's spring break week for the school kids and, I don't know about other homeschoolers, but I find this week to be frantic and disruptive to our usual meanderings. The sudden influx of available friends during the day means that most of our routines fly out the window and I've got a house full of children. Have I mentioned how small my house is? A couple of extras in a six hundred an forty four square foot house is a significant alteration of the space/human ratio.
 
My style of supervising play is to chuck a pile of craft/art supplies at them and then run away.  If they start fighting, I call them to the table for snacks.  For children that are not mine that become problems, I will bring out the Lego.  The sheer amount of Lego we own overwhelms even the most belligerent of children and they will sit quietly for at an hour to look through it all.  And then they build something.  Nobody leaves until everything is cleaned up and put away.  This is all I do.

I find it very difficult to work on my own projects even when the kids are busy with their friends.  I work best with quiet.  It is not quiet.  I don't know how the cat is doing this:

Mostly I just wander the house with my pair of industrial ear muffs, puttering, drinking coffee.  

Do you see behind the kitty is a couple of pillows girl child has made?  This is what happens when I leave out any fabric, including quilt squares.  Maybe I should put together a few more quilt squares and 'accidentally' leave them out and see what she does with them?

How are you all surviving spring break?  Any other homeschoolers ready for the school to be back in?