Tag Archives: cat

Alex, the Biscuit Chef

Hello, everyone, you may remember reading a post a bit over a year ago about me losing my Manx cat, Arwen (AKA Baby Arwen, Beans, Lady Bear).  Just recently, something very unexpected happened.  I ended up losing my other cat, as well, to a rare disease that had come up quite suddenly.  Alex (AKA Mr. Man, Wicky, Biscuit King, the last of which will make more sense later) began to have trouble breathing and was diagnosed with chylothorax, a rare condition where liquid from some kind of duct leaks into his chest cavity.  While this liquid was drained, it came back much too quickly, and I had no choice but to put him down, as we were fighting a losing battle.

This all happened on December 18, 2013, and just days prior, I had no idea such a thing was going to happen.  I always commented on how robust and sturdily built he was, as he was always a very healthy cat, with nothing but a bit of asthma.  He was 14 years old or so, and I was certain I’d have a good 6 years left, as 20 years is rumored to be the lifespan of cats (even though, thus far, my experiences have proven this to be a myth).  Kind of fortunately, I’m not having so hard a time with it this time around, as what happened to Arwen feels much too recent, making it feel like I’m currently still in the mood I was when I lost her, which is an easier transition.  A terrible thing has a way of feeling less terrible when you feel like you’ve gotten used to it, in a way.

It was certainly hard at first, of course, though I do have some relatively good memories of those last days, as I had the opportunity to take care of Alex, as he was not feeling well after the liquid was drained from his chest.  I wish he had made more of a recovery his last few days, but he still purred a lot during that time, as I think he appreciated when I brought him food and water throughout the day, and I did get to hold him quite a bit on my lap at the end.  And some unexpected comfort after it happened came in the form of a cat that seems to live at the emergency clinic.  I heard meowing, and when I finally looked over, I found this orange cat staring at me, which then proceeded to come over and rub against my legs a bunch before finally leaving.  It’s nice when even an animal actually cares.

And now that my house is cat-free, I rather miss being harassed for food (he was obsessed with it, which explained his weight) and watching him chase shadows before bed and hearing his old, creaky joints as he walked into the living room.  I even miss the fact that I no longer need to put certain things away to prevent them from being stepped on.  I even miss cleaning up after him.  Yes, I even miss the cleaning of the vomit and the scooping of the litter, even if the vomiting could get a bit ridiculous at times.  I’d be fine with doing it again, if only someone could resurrect him and bring him back (as long as he returns normal and not undead-like).  But, we all go through these bargaining phases where we say, I’ll gladly scoop doo again if my cat returns or I’ll starting giving to charity if my cat returns.  Unfortunately, such tactics have been shown to be largely ineffective, and so I shall stop wasting my time talking about the bad things and spend the rest of this post discussing the good times.

Ah, where to begin?  Alex was a really nice cat.  Really.  He was so darn easy to please, and it was likely either because he simply had low standards or he loved me a bunch.  Hopefully the latter.  You didn’t have to do anything, and he’d start purring and “making biscuits”, as I call it (when cats knead their paws, it looks like they’re kneading dough).  You could pet him.  Yes, that would make him purr, of course.  But sometimes, all it took was talking to him.  Or looking at him.  I could simply look over, and he’d start his purring and his biscuit preparations.  He “made biscuits” so often, in fact, I said he surely would be a pastry chef if he had thumbs.

He was also not the brightest cat, bless his soul, (he rarely was aware of the fact that a partway open door could be pushed open, causing him to just sit there and wait outside a door he could, in actuality, easily move) and rather whiny, too, which was likely because he was such a spoiled thing.  I got him free as a kitten from someone’s house a long time ago in a town far, far away, at only one-month-old, and he was babied ever since then.  His easy life likely made him weak-willed, in stark contrast to Arwen, who was filled with attitude, a bit too much attitude on occasions.  (Okay, I’ll admit it, she was a punk sometimes.)  Arwen spent the fist bit of her life in foster care, and so she was the more mature of my two feline companions, having “grown up on the streets”, as I put it.  Poor Alex was also quite the coward, which wasn’t helped by the fact that Arwen liked to play rough.  I think she just wanted to have fun, but he hated her for it, even requiring me to escort him past her on occasions when he refused to walk by her.

But, such traits only added to his lovable character.  Maybe he would come to you just because he wanted food.  Maybe he never greeted me when I got home like Arwen did.  Maybe he’d run because something’s cooking in a pot on the stove, and that’s apparently very terrifying, but he was sweet.  And a rather lovely cat, too, with black and white fur and green eyes.  And just one leg with stripes, like he was wearing a single sock.  (He misplaced the other three socks, however.)  Actually, he was the most adorable kitten in existence, too.  I’m not kidding you.  His cuteness was ridiculous.  And he was so tiny, he’d sleep under picture frames like they were tents.

He was a good cat.  Not as fun as Arwen, and a bit of a spoiled baby, but that doesn’t matter really, and cats can get away with stuff like that.  He wouldn’t play with toys (too much effort, I expect), but he enjoyed running after shadows.  He also didn’t enjoy cat treats, though he would shove his head into cups of milk if he was allowed.  And while he was lazy, he would occasionally attempt a light jog after me when I ran from him, when we wouldn’t simply walk together to another room.  He had the loudest meow, but it was always nice having a conversation going back and forth, where each of us would make a sound at the other, even if you had no idea what he was saying or what you were meowing back at him.  And like I said before, he was easy to please.  It was so easy to make him purr.  And it was fun to do it.  And while I miss Arwen, I am happy he got a much more peaceful life for a while, and he seemed to really enjoy the extra attention he received, causing him to spend much more time out with me and less time hiding, as he no longer needed to avoid his arch-nemesis.  And I will miss him, but as long as these memories remain, that makes it a bit better.  And now he can join Arwen, where he can practice his baking and let her try the results.  As long as she promises not to play too rough anymore, of course.

The Duck Says Send Me Some Biscuits from Kitty Heaven, Wicky, But Don’t Get Hair in Them This Time

That Confirms It, The Duck Has One Lovely Blog Again

I was just recently nominated for the One Lovely Blog Award by Sam Leung of “Cheeese Toastie and Video Games” (three things I like, cheese, toast, and video games).  Thanks very much!  (I also just got nominated by Naughty Nefarious of “Station Deva“.  Thanks to you, too!)  This is actually my third (and fourth) nomination, but since some time has passed since the last two, I shall follow the rules again.  And those rules are:

  • Thank the one that nominated you.  I did.  Get off my back already, rules.
  • Put up the picture for the One Lovely Blog Award.  I will.  Why do you automatically assume I wasn’t going to, rules!
  • Tell everyone seven things about yourself.
  • And nominate seven other people and tell them in their blogs that you nominated them.
The picture's even lovely
The picture’s even lovely

            Now that the picture is done, that means it is time to tell you guys some stuff about me, which will likely be vague and tell you nothing actually substantial or worth knowing about my life or myself, as is often what I do.  I’m a mystery like that.  Like a snail.  In those shells.  Who knows what they look like under that shell.  Ahem.

  1. I recently found Youtube on the Wii to be one of the greatest things mankind has ever invented.  I’m usually the kind of person that loves peace and quiet above all else, but getting to conveniently make an unnecessarily epic sandwich to “One Winged Angel” is a good time if there ever was one, plus I get to watch “Kingdom Hearts: Dream Drop Distance” on a big TV because I’m too cheap to buy a 3DS (and even if I did buy one, it would be on a wee screen).
  2. I bought the HD collections of “Jak and Daxter” and “Ratchet and Clank” more as back up copies rather than to actually play.  That way, if anything ever happens to my original copies (which likely never will, as I have found a way to make electronics effectively immortal), then I have them waiting for me.  And even then, I’ll probably be sad and just buy the original PS2 versions again anyway.
  3. I have mentioned this before, but I’m really mad I never got Spock’s autograph when I had the chance.  Really, really mad.  I mean, I have lost all respect for myself, if I ever even had any to begin with.
  4. I really want to get a Sora costume so I have some excuse for taking my Keyblade out in public (only to comicons, not to the grocery store or anything, I’m not that insane).  And to further prove to any that were not yet convinced of the fact that I live in happy-sugar-lala-fun-land, I have also been tempted to get an Organization XIII coat…just for around the house (and for when I play their theme on the piano, the most difficult song I can currently play, which I learned from my hardcore TV-Youtube hybrid mentioned earlier).  Hmm, I need a Link costume, too, so I can bring my Master Sword places….
  5. I’m currently not that fond of my cat.  He’s seriously driving me nuts lately.  He just harasses me constantly (including when I’m in the middle of watching Youtube on TV) for food, meowing and meowing and meowing.  And no matter how long he’s been dieting, he’s still fat.  And I can hardly feed him in the morning because if you give him much, he eats it, promptly turns around, proceeds to stick his tongue out, then manages to puke up more than he even ate, then, meows for more.  It’s not even just in the living room anymore!  He comes in my room and walks loops around my computer chair!  He peeves me so much!
  6. I have gotten a bit obsessed lately with ingredients in food.  Dr. Oz had to frighten me with the knowledge of terrible things that will befall me if I eat artificial ingredients, especially fake butter, so I often won’t buy anything with fake stuff in it anymore.  It’s good for me, but it also greatly narrows down what I can buy.  I also only stock popcorn with real butter in my house.  It’s delicious.
  7.  I think I am obsessed with bakeries, too.  I dream about them.  I have these dreams where I go to bakeries and get a whole variety of treats.  I love pastries.  I love occasionally driving the half hour (well, I don’t love the drive) to the nearest decent bakery, where I proceed to get pretty much anything with chocolate on it (hey, I don’t go often, so I have to get thirty things, have to).  But, you’d think I’d be large by now, but I’m not.  I have found that eating tortilla chips and salsa (salsa is like 5 calories per serving, darn it!) makes me gain weight, but I can eat cookies all day and be fine.  (I actually currently have a box of treats from that bakery waiting to be devoured after I eat a scrumptious cheese sandwich.  Oh, I also love kettle cooked potato chips.  Just so you know.  The other kind just doesn’t do it for me anymore.)

            Wow, these were a lot more video game-centered than I intended.  Anyway, it is now time for the seven nominees, without descriptions, as I always get nervous …describing things for some reason.

            Behold my generosity!  The fact that it was required doesn’t make my kindness any less magnificent, though.

 One Lovely Duck

Is it Minty in Here or is it Just My Floss?

I was thinking about how my cat, Arwen, used to love playing with floss.  She is no longer here, but I’m sure God plays with her much better than I can, with heavenly floss.  Anyway, she loved string, and the thinner the string the better, making floss the perfect object for good times.  But, one time it simply didn’t live up to her expectations.

            I remember a couple years ago, Arwen was on the bathroom counter, back when I allowed her to plant her grimy fanny up there.  I had mint floss, though.  Well, she looked like she wanted to play, so I obliged.  So she started with a great deal of enthusiasm, and the floss went in her mouth, and then she stopped.  I didn’t know what was going on at first, but then she hung her head and just started drooling all over the counter, and I realized she was trying to get the strong minty taste out of her mouth.  It was gross, but also funny, and I never played with her with minty floss ever again.

A Minty Duck

The Life of Baby Arwen

Not long ago, on August 5 of this year, my Manx cat Arwen died.  She was the best pet I’ve ever had, and I miss her so much.  I keep finding her fur in different places.  On tables, on my bed, on this basket she always sat on, all along the back of this chair where she’d visit me after I finished my video games.  Seeing her hair all over makes me sad thinking about what I lost, but it also makes me happy.  I love to see her fur all over, right where she left it.  Evidence of a happy time that has come to an end.  But, I’ve already discussed the sad times.  Now it’s time to talk about the happy times, the life of Arwen.

I got Arwen about nine years ago at a pet store.  She was eight months old (her birthday was 4/24/03), originally named Maria.  She had apparently been rather sickly for a while.  I have this paper with notes such as “still sneezing” and “red/runny eyes”, the poor thing, but she was all fine by the time I got her.  She was a very friendly thing, and so I took her.  I considered naming her Eowyn or Arwen from “The Lord of the Rings” (I’m not even a huge fan of the books or movies, but I liked the names), and I went with Arwen, being a bit prettier and easier to say.

And it turned out to be a great decision.  Arwen was smart.  Friendly.  Playful far longer than my older cat, Alex.  And what made her most endearing was the fact that she actually cared.  It’s hard sometimes to believe she was just a cat.  It’s like she was meant to be a human, but instead got stuck in the body of a small cat.  She was very much like a person.  She’d visit me when I got home, putting herself at risk of having bags set on top of her as she followed at my feet.  If you got close to her, she’d get closer, too, and let you give her a little kiss.  She’d wait until my video games were done, knowing I’d be distracted, and then once everything was turned off, she’d march right in to see me.  She’d visit often throughout the day.  She took over her own chair in the living room.  She even knew I went to the bathroom before bed every night and would wait in there for me to come in.

And she was smart, as well.  You could see it in her eyes.  I have trouble explaining just how I knew, but I can at least tell you about her expertise in doors.  While she couldn’t open closed doors, she was smart enough to know when to push the door or stick her paw around to the other side and pull.  (Alex still doesn’t realize open doors can be moved.)  She was great at sliding doors, intruding often in the bathroom in one house I lived (why did they give a bathroom a sliding door anyway!).

And the most amazing thing, I think, about her intelligence was that sometimes she thanked me.  She actually appreciated when I did things for her.  I set a blanket out for her when she wasn’t feeling well, and she got up even though it was uncomfortable to do so and laid on it and purred, as if to say thank you for trying to help.  Once she was trying to pull the blankets away from the back of my bed.  She liked to move the top layer, then, lay there with the top blanket bunched around her.  But once, she just couldn’t get it.  So I moved it back for her, and instead of jumping right up, she looked at it, walked to me first, and then went onto my bed.  That was a thank you for sure.  And then there were the times when I didn’t see her and would accidentally step on her.  She’d start to run, and I’d say I’m sorry, and she’d come right back, as if she understood.

And I loved to come into my room and see her under the blankets.  She’d make little caves for herself, and I’d find a lump on the bed, and I’d pet it, and she’d move around under there.  Sometimes, I’d stand still nearby and do nothing.  She would then start making sounds, and eventually she’d have to come out, as if it drove her crazy wondering what I was doing back there.

And as much as I needed her and enjoyed her company, she also needed me.  She needed people.  She loved to be around others.  Not only would she visit, but sometimes she just wouldn’t leave me alone.  She sometimes would just follow me everywhere, and I just couldn’t escape.  I couldn’t open the fridge without her sticking her head in, and whenever the closet door was open, she’d always be there to try to sneak in.  I just could not get away from her sometimes.  Cats are supposed to sleep most of the day, but not her.  She was always around.

And when she thought she was alone and couldn’t find me, she’d cry and cry.  She was a Manx, and not only did she have a short stump instead of a tail, but she also didn’t meow like other cats.  It was almost a trill, usually quiet.  But, she could also be noisy and make these loud, mournful sounds when she was sad.  I’d be in another room and hear that sound and know she was missing me.  And sometimes I’d come home to find items brought to the front door.  Or wake up to find things she left by my bedroom door.  Sometimes I was home, right in the living room, and she still felt the need to bring things out.  Like she was saying, look, I need love.  Look at me already.  She needed attention.  That’s why she greeted me when I came home.  She needed the love.  She needed someone to be with her.  She was actually happy to see me walk through the door.  And I was happy to see her.

And of course, she liked to play.  Sometimes, I’d simply run across the house, and she’d chase me as fast as she could go.  She almost looked like she was skipping sometimes.  And when I wasn’t feeling lazy, I’d bring out some toys for her.  She loved this thin string and would run all over the place after it.  When she starts to slow down, I hide from her, and then when I peek around the corner, she’s there.  Sometimes without a toy, I’d hide from her, and she’d come looking for me.  I’d hide from her behind the island in the kitchen, and she’d come over, and I’d keep going around in circles.  I’d peek around the corner to see her looking around another corner for me.  This would go on for some time before we ran into each other.  She tried hiding herself, as well, like when she’d hide behind the laundry basket.  Or she’d hide behind this one wall, and I’d stick a finger around the corner, and she’d slap it as hard as she could.  It hurt, actually, but I kept doing it, and she would hit me many times before getting bored.

She also had many nicknames.  She was always called Baby Arwen, long after she stopped being a baby.  She was also called Baby Bear, Bear Baby, Chips, Peaches and Cweam, Beans (one of my favorites), Angel May, Princess Angel Butterfly Flower (all one nickname), and one of my grandpas called her P. T. Cruiser because of the way her back end was higher than the front.  I’m sure there are more silly names, but I forgot.

She was also quite naughty.  She loved harassing Alex, biting him and chasing him and making him cry, but I think she just wanted to play.  She had a problem with toilet paper, and I’d find bites in it in the morning. In one place I lived, the toilet paper went on the counter.  She’d walk around up there, then, give the paper the biggest whack ever.  It would fly across the room and bounce against the wall.  I’d put it up again, and she’d keep doing it.  You’d just see her arm go back, and she just kept hitting it as hard as she could.  She attacked a GameCube controller wire her first day with me (which I quickly put a stop to).  She made a much bigger mess with her food than Alex.  She left teeth marks in a stuffed cat my mom gave me.  She twanged the doorstops and eventually pulled the end off one.  And I could tell when she got up on my computer desk.

But, she cared.  She was the main animal who ever seemed to really care.  She was happy to see me and put effort into visiting me instead of waiting for me to come to her.  She licked me when Alex never did.  She even licked Alex once after a visit to the vet, I think, and seemed concerned when he was quarantined to the bathroom once when he was sick.  She was more than a pet.  She was one of the best companions anyone could ever have.  She wanted to be a part of your life.  You had no choice.  Some cats you can almost forget you have them, but not Arwen.  She was confident and made herself known.  She loved you, and she knew you loved her back, and she was going to visit you because she just knew you’d be happy to see her.

Arwen will be missed dearly.  I think Alex notices, too.  The day she went away, he led me into the room where Arwen often slept.  He still sometimes brings me there and then promptly leaves.  It’s odd, and it just seems like he must be trying to say something.

Anyway, special thanks to Carl and Cary for their support.  I appreciate your comments from the earlier post very much.

Baby Arwen and the Duck

My Cat Has Died

My cat, Arwen, has been having issues for years.  Diarrhea.  Making messes all over.  But, she seemed fine.  I thought she just had runny potty.  But, last night, it was worse.  This morning, it was worse.  She dripped all over and threw up.  Went to the emergency place.  We can’t seem to get her better.  The vet or anyone.  It seems to be irritable bowel right now, though the special food for it doesn’t work.  They said it would turn into stomach cancer if it hasn’t already.  It always does.  So they put her down.  I didn’t say goodbye because I didn’t want to say it, and she wouldn’t know anyway, but I pet her.  Got her paw prints in clay first, too.  Clay in the shape of a heart, with little things put into it.  Her name, little cat shapes and a daisy and a glittery heart.  And that’s that.

Sometime later, I’ll do more.  I wasn’t prepared, and it’s unexpected, but I’ll write more about her another time.  I was afraid this would happen.  Last night, I said I’d get a video camera.  I would take all kinds of pictures.  I haven’t in a while.  I would also take all kinds of videos.  I have none.  I’d take videos of her playing, running to me, moving the blankets around on my bed.  I would always be able to see her.  See how she walked, shaking her tailless behind back and forth.  Always remember what she sounded like.  Her meow a trill that I’ve never heard from any other cat.  A sound I may never be able to hear again.  I was going to play with her extra and give her extra love, and she’d be the happiest she ever was.  But, I didn’t.

I had her just over nine years.  She should’ve lived longer.  Alex is four years older and fine.  And I wonder if he notices.  They never got along, but I wonder if he notices the difference.  I’ll never know because he has no way of showing it.  And even with my regrets, I’ll still likely not take more pictures or videos of him, either.  Just days ago, Arwen waited in the bathroom for me around bed time.  She knows I always go to the bathroom before bed, so she waited in there.  But, I didn’t pet her with my hands, just my feet.  I didn’t want cat hair on my hands.  I pet her with my feet and talked a little, and then I went to bed.  She looked disappointed, but I just went to bed.

So right now, my eyes burn, and I wish it was a few days ago.  If I had known, I would’ve stayed up with her that night instead of going to sleep.  I would’ve stayed up and pet her until she got bored of me and left on her own.  I regret all the times I got mad at her or didn’t give her much attention because I was too busy on the computer or I wanted to play my video games.  I wish I could pet her again.  Sometimes, I just stand quietly, and I make myself believe I did come home with her this morning, and I let her out of her carrier, and she’s just under the bed.  I’ll look under later, and there she’ll be.  I actually believed it for a second, not long after coming home.  I pet Alex, and as I walked towards the other side of the house, I wondered for a moment if I’d find Arwen, but then I remembered.

They say cats don’t have souls.  No animals do.  But, when we get to heaven, will there be no animals there?  I’ve sometimes wondered.  And so I hope maybe they will be there.  Heaven’s the greatest place, after all, so why would animals be confined only to our times when we were alive?  I just wonder if there’s any chance Arwen will be there.  And all the other animals.  Olimar the rat.  And Imhotep the fish.  And the pets I lost as a duckling.

But anyway, I’ll be back with more on her later.

Sad Duck

My Immoral Cat

My cat, Arwen, likes to take things.  I can only assume that either she’s a thief or is redecorating and thinks the stolen object looks much nicer where she put it.  She loves to steal this weird brush the most.  I don’t even know what the brush is or what it’s even doing here, but she likes it.  Many times I come home to find it in the entryway.  There have been times she’s left it outside rooms I’m in, too.  In somewhere else I lived, she would grab the brush, which was downstairs, and she would start crying and crying.  And then you would hear it clanking up the stairs as she dragged it along, and then when her long climb was over, she’d leave it there.

            She also steals guitar-cleaning rags.  That also often gets brought to the entryway.  Sometimes, I hear her crying, and then she appears from the hallway with it in her mouth.  Once, she kept stepping on it as she carried it and kept tripping.

            She also used to grab this little troll I have by the hair and leave it places.  She also used to love stealing this very simple, small stuffed cat.  She wouldn’t stop taking it, so I had to put it somewhere where she couldn’t get it.  She left fang marks in the poor thing.  The most annoying and baffling thing she took was my PlayStation Portable.  I kept it in the small bag it came in, on a low shelf on the bookcase where, if it fell, it would stand a chance at survival.  One day, I come home, and my expensive PSP is in the entryway.  I was quite annoyed.  I checked it out, and it was undamaged and worked fine, to my relief.  But, I put it in the closet where she couldn’t get to it again.  It is funny that she must have carried it, not dragged it, through the hallway and set it down gently.  I’m really glad she didn’t have to carry it along stairs, though.  That could have ended badly.

The Duck with a Thieving Cat


Arwen already got some attention, so now it’s time to tell you a little bit about my other cat, Alex, nicknamed Wicky.  His nickname was an odd process.  At first, I called him Awex, which turned into Awicky, then Wicky.  He is a fat kitty and is quite nice, which causes him to get terrorized by Arwen a lot.  Occasionally, he gets mad and knocks her down.  And sometimes, he gets down low, ready to attack, then Arwen catches him, and he chickens out and she runs after him.  He really needs to just follow through with his plans, even though they still would have likely resulted in him getting his butt kicked.

Alex also enjoys playing in his water bowl, which displeases me and gets him a scolding.  He doesn’t do it as much anymore, and now he often just lays on his tummy and drinks.  But sometimes, he sticks his paw in the water, holds it up, and tries to catch the drips.  Other times, he just watches his drippy paw, for whatever reason.  Arwen must have seen him do this, as she’s occasionally stuck her paw in the water, as well.

Alex can also be quite talkative and meows at me a lot.  Sometimes, he then leads me somewhere, such as the food bowls that he thinks need refilling, even when they don’t.  He also bumps his head against things when he’s happy.  And it’s often not hard to make him happy.  Sure, he likes being pet, but sometimes he gets happy just from being talked to or even from simply being looked at.  He doesn’t play much because he’s about 11 and grew out of that a while ago (even though Arwen is about 6 or 7 and still likes to play with mice and balls and string), but sometimes he follows my shadow and tries to attack it.

A few weeks ago, Alex unintentionally did something funny.  It was dark, being early morning, and he was laying on the floor, looking at me.  He started to roll a little on the carpet, picking up static, resulting in little glowing sparks on the edges of his body.  I have never seen that before.

Arwen must know what I’m doing right now because as I finish typing this, she keeps bugging me.  She just finally left.

A Duck and Two Cats

A Prime Spot for a Nap

I have two cats, an older boy named Alex and a younger girl named Arwen, and they just don’t get along.  Sometimes she simply looms over Alex when he’s lying down or traps him in rooms.  He’s afraid of her, even though he’s twice her size, so if she blocks a doorway, he just can’t get out, and I have to escort him to safety.  Other times, things get more violent.  Everything is peaceful, and then I hear this screeching, and I run out to find Arwen chewing on his head.  Or pulling on his tail.  This appendage of his must be a great mystery to her, as she is a Manx and possesses no tail of her own.  She just has a very short thing that wiggles sometimes, which I call her “butt stump”.  I know, mature.

But, despite her violent tendencies, she is rather adorable, and since there is too much to write about her, I’ll focus on one thing, her napping habits.  Sometimes she likes to make “nests”, especially when she’s cold.  She may just lie in a bowl of blankets, but there have been times I’ve caught her under the covers of my bed with her head on a pillow.  I don’t know if she’s seen me do it or if she thought it up herself.  Recently, though, she’s taken up something unnecessarily complex.

For some reason, Arwen has now decided that she likes to pull the cover off the end of my bed (not the easier pillow end, mind you), tug it back to reveal the blanket beneath, and then sleep there.  Several times, I have watched her struggle, leaning over the side to such an extent that I’m surprised she hasn’t flipped over.  There was one time, after a short struggle with the cover, she jumped to the floor and looked up at the stubborn piece of fabric, no doubt pondering the next course of action.  I decided to help her out, but as I stepped forward, she sped off, apparently thinking she was in trouble.  I don’t know why she’d care.  It’s not like I do much of anything when she’s naughty, except to get her away from Alex.

So I went looking for her and found her on the other side of the living room.  I called to her a distance away, reassuring her that I wasn’t cross at all, and she came running.  I went into my room, pulled the cover up, and called for her to follow me in.  She did, looked at what I had done, then, came over to be pet, as if to say thank you.

Then, she jumped up to her preferred sleeping spot for a much needed rest.  Of course, this didn’t prevent her from trying to bite me when I pet her shortly afterward.  Figures.

Kitty Duck