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Phennig

Conservation of Fatness

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Something has happened to the cats since Cricket’s illness. (She’s doing better, by the way.) We started feeding them Iams instead of their weird mix of bladder-health food, and they switched roles.

17 pounds each year.

In this house, Pfennig has always been fat and stupid pretty, while Cricket has been thinner and meaner. (They have strange dangly pooches on their bellies, but that’s beside the point.) Now, however, Pfennig is scrawny like an old granny and Cricket is hefty, hefty cinch sack. They weigh 7 and 10 pounds, respectively, but at least Cricket isn’t as bad as this. The odd thing is that they eat exactly the same, rationed amount. What’s up with that?

The most interesting part of this whole transformation is that Lloyd is much, much nicer to Pfennig. When she jumps up by him while he’s reading, he snuggles with her. “I don’t like her, I just feel sorry for her,” is his defense.

Dear Brad,

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Thank you for agreeing to feed the cats while we are away.  A few things have changed.  We’re feeding them Iams cat food to try and help Cricket’s diarrhea problem, which ain’t really working but we’re going with it anyway.  Anyway, I keep it in the green coffee can in the freezer.  Don’t ask why it’s in the freezer- Lloyd has his reasons. (Don’t feed them coffee by mistake. That always ends badly.) You can also feed them the rest of the stuff in the can in the fridge, but be warned that they’ll keep bugging you for more and there isn’t any more.  Your choice.  Morning and night is when I feed them, or when they’re annoying.  Or when they seem bored.  Or when I want to reward them for good grades.

A smorgasboard.

Oh, I think they need water, too.

Stupid cats.

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It was a gorgeous afternoon. I had thrown our sheets into the washer before church and wanted to hang them up outside on the sheet-drying contraption. I was like a crazy person – checking on them every fifteen minutes, fiddling with them, smelling the fabulous smell that only laundry dried in the fresh breeze can get. After a while, Snickers, the outside cat that I feed, came over and actually sat by me! (Take that, Mr. “That cat won’t even let you pet it” Royuk. It was a cutting remark Brad made during the summer. *sniff*) Anyway, I petted the cat, enjoyed the sunshine, then went inside to get something from upstairs. Looking out the window – that dnag cat was spraying my laundry!!!! Arrrggghh!!! Rewash. Dry inside.

Fuzzy cats are hard to draw.

To add to the naughty cat list, Cricket found out where I hid the cat food bag.

Whoever would have thought that Pfennig is my favorite?

Prototypin’ for Cats

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We’re leaving for a few days to attend my *sigh* twenty-year high school reunion.   The house is clean enough that we could die without shame, the stuff is almost packed up, and I’ve been working on attending to the cats’ needs.  Leaving cats when you go out of town is so easy –  just a pile of food and some clean litter.  Of course, being paranoid me, I’ve set up extra litter boxes to ensure they don’t devalue the floors.

Regarding water, I’ve got some of those plastic waterers for Pfennig, but Cricket always gets a nasty face infection when she drinks from those.  Tonight I rigged up an all-glass model for her.  I’m sure it will sell millions!

Trust me, it works.

That’s right – a board with a hole cut out of it. The mat is there to catch all the water I spilled when testing it out. I’ll be sure it’s full before we leave. (The bottle, not the mat.)

Everybody pray for us!  We’re going to try driving the whole way in one shot.  I haven’t done that since college.

Love the kitty

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Our goddaughter, Bethany, has a deep love for Pfennig. Her silly ol’ mama is allergic to cats, so pets are banned from their home. (Actually, it’s because Deborah has a past involving rabbits almost as dark and ugly as Brad’s. Cats would not be safe.)

In the past, Bethany and Macy’s adoration was limited to offering Pfennig limitless Yummy Crunchies, which was right up her alley. (They’re properly leery of Cricket, though. Her name is “Mean Mean Kitty” to all children who visit.) Lately, though, somebody must have told Bethany that you can actually pick up cats. That probably works with most of them, but not our pfatty Pfenning. She has some serious extra poundage on her frame, so when Bethany picks her up like Frieda’s boneless cat from Peanuts, Pfennig has difficutly breathing…. and making her heart beat. Pfennig is used to being Cricket’s punching bag, so she has no way to express her displeasure except by flicking the tip of her tail.  Actually, last time she actually raised a warning paw – but she didn’t know what to do with it.

Thanks, Bethany. You’re nothing but good for my lazy cat!

Poor stupid kitty.