Mojo, snuggled under an afghan, makes a great combo footwarmer/footrest.
1) professional diagnosis
BBOB's not sick, he's just crazy.
We went to Adobe yesterday to see Dr. Shandro, then I left him there so he could pee and they could test but he wouldn't give it up. She had to extract urine from his bladder with a syringe (not fun for sure) and saw some blood but chalked it up to having to use a needle instead of getting it the old fashioned way.
When I picked BBOB up, Dr. Shandro gave me a thick sheaf of pages on inappropriate urination. Possible causes, besides illness:
I need to start a "pee countdown/pee alert", something to show how many days since the last inappropriate act. A geeky project! So far, it's day 10.
2) little ones
I've been feeling anxious about the outdoor infants. And today, the worst of all: I found a little one dead on my patio, tucked in a corner under the potting bench, now a deccimated carcass. It must have been out there during the big rainstorms two weeks ago. The one I dried off and returned is fine, but I didn't see the other. Poor little thing. I feel so very bad.
The others are growing and running around, but they've got to be caught and fostered. Very, very soon, before it's too late. And I can't do it. What with BBOB's peeing and me keeping an eye on the old man (he'll be 15 in February), I don't have the space, time, bandwidth, energy...
There's gotta be some solutions, to both problems; any kind thoughts or ideas would be appreciated, by both me and the fuzzy muffins.
all you need is love and nature's miracle
BBOB has been a peeing fool these past few weeks: Shoes, my purses, clothing, now furrniture - the big, green chair. Three times. Even after getting that Comfort Zone plug-in.
It hit me with a flash of clarity, my breaking point. If he pees on the dormeuse or on my work clothes, he's gone. Gotta go. Love him dearly, but I couldn't take it. I know, poor BBOB. But he'd be better off as an only child. With a mommy who stays home all day, whose lap is constantly available. And no mean baby cat chewing on him, and no mean monster cat smacking him around.
After the third green chair peeing, and my resultant frenzied reaction, the bedroom is now off limits.
Between cleaning and using Nature's Miracle to de-scent, then following with Febreze for that freshly clean aroma, then with green tea house spray (someone's advice on a cat-oriented board: Use perfume on the spot to confuse/deter), and each and every day, my grabbing up the knucklehead first thing, soon as I run in the door, cooing at him, hugging him, and smushing his face against mine, making up for him being on the bottom of the pecking order by giving him extra catnip and Fancy Feast...
Something's gotta work.
In fact, I'm spending more cuddle time with everyone, trying to do so consciously since there's no sleeping with Mommy anymore. Of an evening, I'm usually flanked with two, and they rotate around, with the third grabbing a vacated spot when it's open. If they all got along with each other, I'd be covered in cats... but then again, we wouldn't be in this spot, would we?
I saw her Saturday, sitting on the fence, looking fat and sassy like always. She and I had a little chat, then she jumped off the fence and headed back off through the woods.
And Chip (aka Little Mommy) has three more tiny ones. Last weekend, with all the rain, I found one half-drowned straggler on my porch, crying for all it was worth. After drying the little one off and returning it to home base on the porch next door, I saw the other two. The next day I found the three of them huddled outside my backdoor, curled up on my doormat. Now they have a cozy little covered bed next door.
One is solid grey like Moji, one - already hissing! - is a brown and black tabby, and the third is a grey and white tabby. All have white chins, shirts, and shoes. If I didn't know better, I'd think the daddy was Sparky, but the math isn't quite right; it would have to had happen a few days before he was altered, back in early August. Chip's been relatively sweet although she's hard pressed to share food with the babies, and lets me pick them up and chat with them.
These guys look as if they are almost old enough for fostering, the little monsters. But I can't do it. When it was just Wacky, he didn't care enough about it (my secure big fella) so it was easy. And BBOB loves babies, his maternal instinct, you know. But Moji's way too territorial. He likes Wacky (even though the Wackster doesn't like him) and he tolerates BBOB these days (although he kicks his butt as often as he can), but he doesn't want to share me with the folks outside.
Every time I'm out there with anyone other than Spark or Darwin, he sits at the screen door and yells as loud as he can; I wish I could record it, it's so funny. My translation: "Mommy! Get in here! You don't know those strangers! You're my mommy, Mommy! Leave them alone!"
how we're doing now
Darwin: I'm trying not to worry, but I haven't seen her in several weeks.
Stubby (aka Spark): Something got hold of the tip of his tail back in September and broke it off. Eek!! I know; very icky. But he's fine now, and as sweet as ever.
Back in September I tried trapping again, but the furry folks were much too elusive this time: They kept getting in, tripping the mechanism, then figuring out how to get out. Like little feline Houdinis. The first time was strange. The second time was puzzling. The third was just plain spooky. I'm hoping that my Havahart just needs adjusting/fixing and not that the remaining three are that smart or strong.