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Last month I was graced with the task of taking Chewy for his last car ride to the vet. It was not fun at all. In fact, I’m pretty sure his last moments were filled with discontent for someone who had loved him so much.

Chewy had an interesting beginning. His momma, a black lab,  was one of three dogs that my father took in from one of his acquaintances. I’m not sure if if was a known fact that Puppy-doo was in-tact, but it became apparent a few weeks after the neighbors German Shepard had paid her a visit. When Chewy was about six weeks old he was kicked out of the doghouse. Maybe he was a biter. Maybe he was the runt. I can not recall. But us kids somehow convinced our mom to let us keep him because someone had to love him.

Chewy, or Chewbacca, was the most well-behaved, well trained  dog we ever had. He wanted nothing more than to play - all the damn time. He’d chase balls, rocks, sticks, a frisbee or anything else he could fit into his mouth. Even when he was having trouble seeing and walking, he’d get excited whenever I rolled a tennis ball his way - immediately trying to get up and run for the door. And pats on the head. He loved being pet and hugged and just being talked to. The slightest bit of attention made him so happy, and there was never a shortage of attention for the Chewbug.

He loved car rides, and never took issue with the four-hour rides to Iowa or the cabin up north. Even though he was too fat to climb into the truck himself in later years, whenever any vehicle door was opened, he’d run over and put those two big paws on the running board and look back as if to say “lets go!” I was baffled at his love for car rides since he has such bad luck with cars as a little guy. He was in a terrible accident with myself and my brothers, and also got hit by a car not long after recovering.

He loved unconditionally and never failed to make me feel better if I was having a bad day. I’m really glad that I was able to spend nearly every day with him for the last two years. I think he was too.  No dog will ever take his place or be as special. Losing him was extremely tough because of the special bond we all had with him.  He was our special little guy.

Rest well my friend. I hope you know I was just doing what was best for you.

Cleo is retarded. It’s the only answer to my current problem involving two very stupid, yet loving cats.

Last week Link had to go into the vet because he was feeling quite ill and not acting like himself. While I welcomed the lack of constant meowing and head-butting, I was a bit concerned for my fat lump of a cat who used to wake me up in the morning by stepping on my face meowing in a “FEED ME” kind of tone.  His check-up did not go particularly well, however his issues seem to be worthy of improvement. Not certain yet if the odds are greatly increased by pocket depth or miracle pills. That will be decided after a few follow up visits.

For now, the problem plaguing the apartment is that Cleo has not been kind to Link since he returned home on Wednesday. She has appeared to flip out completely and hisses and/or growls when he comes within 10 feet. Mind you, the two are litter-mates. They have lived together for over 9 years. They have always gotten along in that time. Link has been to the vet in the past and returned home with Cleo none the wiser. Not this time. She has retreated to the upper level and won’t come down.

I must say that despite the initial irritation of having to transfer food, water and litter accessories to the upstairs for Cleo, I quite enjoy having one cat per floor. I actually get to sleep on my pillow at night and I don’t have to trip over hungry cats as I walk downstairs in the mornings.

Ever since Peepi passed away I’ve been kind of wanting another hamster. Actually I didn’t want another one because Peepi was so god damn awesome, but I missed having another pocket-sized buddy to watch. Every trip to the pet shop for supplies has never been without a few minutes spent watching the little furballs run and play in their cages. And as cute as they were, they just weren’t what I wanted. Not cute enough, not playful enough, not enough like Peepi.

Last night I was heading home from the craft store when I passed the pet store. I had no reason to stop in other than to go look at the little hamsters. And I did. And I was smitten. There were two little Roborovski girls just bounding around and having a grand ole time. I couldn’t help but fall in love with them instantly. I must have watched them for a good 10 minutes before I made the decision to think about maybe buying them. I was just kidding myself though, I knew I was going to get them. I just had to!

My only complaint about these two is that they never stop moving. Getting clear photos of them is near impossible. I’m still not even sure I can tell them apart with absolute certainty. It doesn’t matter though, they are adorable and amusing to watch run in the wheel together.

This site isn’t much yet, I admit. But then again, I’m lazy. Or is it overworked? Probably the former. I’ve been terribly ill lately, but managed to start uploading my glorious posts from the past, just recently finishing up 2006 and most of 2003. Hopefully the rest will follow and be completed by the end of the week. That should buy me enough time to come up with something interesting to say!

In other news, one of my shrimp has become heavily laden with eggs. This means I should be a proud owner of baby Ghost Shrimp in a few weeks, and can start up that ghost army I’ve always wanted. I’ll make little helmets and boots and have them march around the big tank and keep the fishes in line. Here’s the proud mom-to-be on her leaf of Java Fernlets

If any babies hatch and survive, I will try to take some photos. Actually, it’ll be a good excuse to rent a few of the macro lenses I’ve had my eye on.

Recently, a crime of epic proportions had been committed in the once peaceful home of Windy. A crime so heinous that, until today, details had not been revealed to the general public. I speak of a hate crime, attempted murder towards an innocent…thing. The two primary suspects, fluffy little rabbits that go by the names of Captain Murphy and White Debbie, have been apprehended and punished accordingly.

A few years ago I received a dancing JarJar Binks from one of my family members as a gift. I’m not a huge fan of JarJar, in fact I hate that character, but I love Star Wars. The dancing freak fit in nicely with my jedi/sith fighting banks. If you place JarJar between them it’s as if they are trying to sever his limbs with light sabers. Good fun. So I’ve had this JarJar high on a shelf, and then eventually in a box that I thought the bunnies could not get into. They not only got into the box, but they destroyed a once charismatic fool(along with a few books and stuffed toys).

It was Thursday evening that I went upstairs to collect Murphy and put him away for the night. At first I could not find him in his cage or running around. Then I heard a noise, a crunching noise, such as a hungry rabbit makes when devouring something tasty. It was coming from the corner of the room inside that box of old things. I wandered over to the box to find the most hilariously horrifying thing that could only happen in my home. Captain Murphy was eating JarJar Binks! Oh man, it hurt to contain the laughter. I mean, look at it! Ears completely missing, arms devoured to the elbows. Even the eyes had been nibbled upon.

I was stunned. Do I reward him for destroying a character that destroyed Star Wars, or punish him for eating something that was off-limits for bunnies? On one hand it showed that he was definitely a smart rabbit, but on the other hand, he had proven himself to be a naughty rabbit. My only concern was that he had not acted alone, and that Debbie may have been in on it. She is quite the instigator. Because I could not prove that Murphy acted alone, both rabbits suffered incarceration for the weekend.

Friday was tough to get through. I had hardly slept, worrying about the rabbits. The earliest appointment to the vet couldn’t be had until Monday, so the next three days were spent with routine monitoring of the vitals. Were they - Eating enough? Drinking plenty of water? Experiencing normal eliminations? Energy levels set to “annoy”? Everything was a go. Nothing visibly wrong from what I could tell.

Monday morning met with an early trip to the vet for check-ups and x-rays. Three hundred dollars later, I learned that both were just fine despite someone having ingested more rubber and plastic than any bunny should ever consume.

How was your weekend?

Last night I was peacefully relaxing on the sofa watching the Olympics as I have for the past two weeks. Oshinko was making a ton of noise in her cage like any little hamster will do, only it was more noise than usual for the time of night. I looked over to see her standing on top of her wheel in the cage, biting at the screen top and eventually falling onto the cage floor. (Her wheel is broken currently because she treats it more like a trampoline than anything, and ended up cracking the plastic bit that supports the wheel). I didn’t want to continue watching the Olympics with her suicide attempts interrupting so I switched the wheel out for a little jungle gym.

All was fine and I went back to my tv viewing. Oshinko was happily climbing up and over everything in her cage looking for buried treats. She was only making a small amount of noise for the first hour, but then apparently became bored as I started hearing “thunk thunk” of the gym banging on the cage sides. Oh, Oshinko, you little butt. After about ten minutes the noise stopped and she resumed her chewing on the screen top. I had been ignoring her fairly well, because I didn’t even notice she had gotten out. Something caught my eye and I looked over to see Oshinko standing on top of her cage with fatty link staring at her, waiting for her to fall. I managed to scoop her up and dump her back in the cage safely. Crisis averted, this time.

Life in my apartment has slowly been settling back into it’s normal boring routine for the first time in five weeks. The past month I have been raising those little hellians known forever as Mushkin and Pixel no matter what silly names my sister wants to call them(Yeah, you HEARD me ) She came over to pick them up on Sunday and Cleo could not have been happier. She hated the kittens with such a passion that she wore out her meow for a week due to all the hissing and growling. Link could care less. He didn’t like them, but he didn’t really hate them as much as Cleo does. In fact she hissed at Link because he would tolerate the kittens. Debbie misses them, her little playmates. Murph had fun, but doesn’t seem to notice their absence since he really didn’t meet them until a few days before they left.

About three weeks ago I told Dougie that I was going to make a montage of kitten photos set to music. Well, I finally got around to doing it tonight. I hope you enjoy my crappy attempt at movie-making.

The girls are doing well and even dressed as Ewoks in the spirit of Halloween. I made the little cloaks myself, don’t blame them for the crumby design, they’re just responsible for fuzzy photos(never sit still!)

Mushkin

Pixel

The past few days have been a zoo here in the home of Windy. The bunnies are driving me nuts and constantly want to be out of their respective cages to terrorize Link. Cleo and Link have been freaking out about the kittens. Not so much freaking out as acting out due to jealousy. Jerks. The kittens have been occupying almost all of my free time as I have to feed them three times a day and feeding time takes an hour or more because, well, they’re too damn cute and demand that I play with them. Since life has revolved around the little mites I shall update about them in case you’re wondering how they’re doing. That, and I don’t have time to write about anything proper like panda bear babies and hurricanes galore.

Friday I brought the fuzzballs home and they weren’t eating. It seemed as though they were content on crying, and doing lots of it. They were obviously distressed and upset at all the fuss made over them in one afternoon. Vet visit, car rides in a box, trip to the pet store. And after all that they were locked inside a crate in the bathroom where minimal contact was made. Quarantined. The bathroom seemed a perfect location because, I’ll be honest, it’s the cleanest room in my place and it also doesn’t have carpeting. The girls had gookey eyes and possibly fleas and maybe even worms. To avoid four more trips to the vet and a ginormous bill, it was just easier to shove them in the bathroom.

Saturday morning the girls still weren’t eating. Fussy little things. I began to think they just hated the bottle but I didn’t understand why. I suppose if I was s little kitty I wouldn’t like the taste of rubber in my mouth either, but really…when you’re starving you’ve gotta put aside the finicky. I pretty much just washed them up with a damp cloth and did another flea check before running off to a stamping party. The party ran a little long but I was home in time to try feeding the little buggers before they turned cannibalistic. Again, no-go. WHY. I went to the pet shop which conveniently closed at six, and then to my last-resort Wal*Mart for a different brand of bottle. Perhaps the nipple(go on, snigger) on this one would have a better feel and encourage the girls to eat. It didn’t work. I scrounged around and found a glass dropper for feeding which worked. Thank god. Finally food in the tummies.

Sunday morning I went to the pet shop before anything. I got a feeding syringe with flexi tips and replacements for less than what a new bottle would have cost. This my friends, this was the answer I had been looking for. It worked like a charm and saved so much time when it came to feedings. I could do .5oz at a time instead of six or so drops. The coats were looking a lot better now after many rub downs with a damp cloth and being brushed about ten times a day. They were hobbling around more instead of just laying around, and have started purring when I come in the room. I also found something I wasn’t hoping to come across…fleas. Five big fat fleas on Mushkin. I promptly squashed them though.

Monday brought a lot of fun. Pixel and Mushface had improved leaps and bounds from Friday and all that food renewed their energy. Both were quite active and playful, as well as hungry. Those little piggies just ate and ate at all three feedings. Unfortunately they’re still not going to the bathroom on their own at this point so I’m stuck with potty duty. No more fleas at least.

Yesterday I woke up early to feed the critters before work. As much as I wanted to stay and play with them I had to shower and run off. It seems I need to get up more than an hour early for this task After work I went through the whole routine: brush, potty, feed, clean, potty, brush. Repeat. I was a little concerned because neither one had pooped since Friday and, well, that’s a long time to go without expelling necessary waste. So, I called the vet and ended up rushing the kitties in to be looked at just in case. It’s a good thing too because both were pretty stopped up. Poor little things, they had to have an enema and I could hear the wailing all the way out in the waiting room. The vets office was dead still other than a random muffled bark or a mew from the girls. I almost fell asleep. After about twenty minutes the vet brought out my little kitties. They were wrapped up in a plastic-ish blanket. Apparently they got a bath after all the torture. They also were purring through the whole ordeal of getting enemas. Sick little monkeys!

I thanked the vet for all her help because she’s been really cool about everything. I know it’s her job and all, but I haven’t seen her coo over and cuddle any other pets like she has my kittens. I think if I’m not careful, she’s gonna steal them. I don’t blame her either, they’re god damn cute. Word about them has spread around the office as well because one of the aides knew mine were the abandoned kittens even though she wasn’t around last week.

Being a foster parent is hard, but I watched every episode of Punky Brewster so I’m golden.

Having the kittens is a real blast despite all the work that goes into caring for them. I don’t think I would have jumped at the chance as quickly if I didn’t already have prior experience and some knowledge about raising orphaned kittens. I will definitely be sad to see them go in a month or two, but at least I get them when they’re CUTE and tiny and super fun. Right now I’m trying hard to tame them and make sure they work properly before giving them away. Sure, I could have dumped them off at the humane society, but they’re overrun with kitties as it is. I don’t mind suffering a bit, especially when I am repaid with moments like this:

I have two new kittens in my care. It wasn’t planned, I didn’t want them, but they were going to be left for dead and I couldn’t see that happening, not to fat little fluffballs. They were well looked after, and I’m sure the momma is looking for them now, but she hasn’t been around for over a day and well, it’s rather cold outside. They’re little tortie girls, mostly black with some spots of brown and gray. I’ve not named either of them yet because I don’t plan on getting too attached. However, forced to choose, they may end up Pixel and Mushkin. I wanted to go with Walter and Perry but my sister was all You can’t give them boys names, so there you go. She wins I guess.

After a vet visit and supplies I am almost $80 invested in these critters. Link and Cleo haven’t seemed too interested in them which is good. I don’t need them mucking with the kittens right now, not until I know they are completely healthy. I have yet to get them to eat, which reminds me, it’s time to try again. If you want to see some photos visit my flickr site.  Nothing fancy, just quick shots I took at work and when I got them settled in at home.