Tag Archives: pet

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

100 Theme Blog Challenge No. 1: Introduction

I was thinking about this 100 Theme Challenge.  There are different versions, like a drawing challenge or a writing challenge, where you draw or write something based off 100 themes.  I had done it before with drawing, and I thought I might try again.  Perhaps with drawing again.  Perhaps with poetry.  And I thought, perhaps it would work with blog posts, too.  (Not that I’m running out of ideas or anything.  I can’t believe you’d suggest such a thing.  That was hurtful.)  So let’s get started on theme #1, introduction.

            Gar, it gets hard already.  Uh…introductions, well, hi, I’m the duck.  No, that won’t work.  I’m not good at introducing myself.  Whenever I do, people either don’t hear me or get my name wrong (is “the duck” really that hard to pronounce, really?).  And then you’re expected to shake hands, and who knows what disease they have or what disease I have.  It’s terrible.  Just terrible.  Really my only successful introduction was in second grade.  I was new to the school, and I didn’t know anyone.  But, this girl was standing in the middle of the playground alone.  I forgot what I said, but we became friends right then.  I won’t say names, but if she reads this, she knows who she is.

            But, enough about me.  What I really want to introduce is someone many people don’t want to be introduced to.  I used to have a pet rat.  I named him Olimar after the main character in “Pikmin”, and even though he was quite a nice fellow, some people didn’t want to meet him, specifically my mom’s friend, who also shall remain nameless.  For whatever reason, she didn’t want my dear rodent companion anywhere near her.  Quite a mystery.

            Like I said, Olimar was a nice rat.  Filthy.  Stinky.  Incontinent.  But nice.  Wouldn’t hurt a fly (though, he bit the cats when they harassed him, and he did terrible things to scrambled eggs, but I never saw him hurt a fly).  He liked attention and would stare at me from his cage.  I would put him on my lap sometimes, and he’d always crawl right up onto my shoulders.  He also liked snacks.  I know I shouldn’t give rats food people (or ducks) would eat, but he loved it.  I gave him all kinds of snacks, including miniature sandwiches, though he never ate them properly.  Always took it apart and ate each part separately.  Sometimes, I would put water on my hands, and he would lick it off with his soft tongue.  I’m sure few people know that rats have very soft tongues.  They do.  And now you know that they do.

            So does he sound like such a bad chap?  Wouldn’t you have liked to meet him?  So don’t go fleeing the scene when someone wants you to meet their pet rat.  They’re nice.  And like eggs.  And have soft tongues.

The Duck Implores You to Befriend a Rat Today, But Not a Wild One or One That Gives You the Evil Eye

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

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