We like cats, that's certainly not a secret. We do have one dog - a slobber-generating lab mix named Gozer - but we also have five cats. Abbie, Cooper, Puufy, Echo and Peanut.
Why five? The joke is because we don't want six. ;) The truth, however, is because while we love cats - and all of ours are sweet and affectionate - they're often a pain in the butt, too, and five is pushing our limits.
|Echo, this morning, wondering what I was doing with the thing in my hand.|
Take Echo, for example. She's about a year old, is an accomplished hunter, and has a habit of bringing her victims into the house. Alive. Which then means that we get to chase down the bird/rodent/frog, catch it, and put it back outside before one of the other cats gets ahold of it. I rescued a finch Sunday afternoon. Was kinda cool, actually. Anyway, she's sweet and smart and ruthless, just about the perfect all around cat.
Then there's Abbie. She's thirteen, Cooper and Puufy's mama, and never saw a closed door she didn't want to go through. Closet door. Front door. Pantry cupboard door. She has this thing about doors. I swear, I spend too much of my life being her doorman. She will cry and beg and bitch and drive us crazy until we open the door to show her that there's nothing out there, in there, or whatever. But does she believe us? Nope. She has to go on through and check it out for herself. And then, within moments, she wants back through the door, in the other direction. That's fine with most doors - we just leave them open - but regardless of weather, she wants in and out and in and out and in and out the front or back door, all day, every day. It's exhausting. I can't tell you how many times she wants out. Out out out, let me OUT!! While we can ignore her for a while, it kinda grates on our nerves, so we'll break down and let her out. As soon as our butts hit our chair, she's hanging or banging on the screen door demanding to be let in. Yep, Abbie and her damn doors = super cool fun times.
Btw, Abbie does not believe in Echo's catch-and-release nonsense. She catches something, it's lunch. Always.
|Cooper doesn't like cameras.|
Ten year old Cooper is a big (he's about 22lbs), fuzzy baby. He's very cuddly, very sweet, and not all that bright. He also sheds clumps of fluff the size of grapes or bigger. All over the house. All day, every day, year round. Clump, clump, clump, showing his trek through the house like Hansel and Gretel's breadcrumbs. For some reason, he thinks that if we can poop in the bathroom, he can, too. So we have to leave the bathroom door closed, which, of course, drives Abbie nuts. I spend a good part of every day picking up Cooper's 'fluffdcrumbs' wherever I go. He is a sweetie, though, even if he weighs a ton.
|There's a nut on my shoulder!!|
Then we have The Nut, or Peanut as her paperwork at the vet says. She is a nut. She's a year old and Echo's lovey sister. She's also wacky, prone to explosions of silliness, and she really, really loves jumping onto people's backs (if they're bent over), or shoulders (if they're sitting). Doesn't matter what you're doing at the time, if she sees an opportunity to perch, she's gonna take it. Honestly, the jumping onto us isn't a big deal, she's not a big, heavy cat like Cooper, but once she's there, she doesn't want to leave. And holds on. Which hurts. Because of this, she's the first cat we've ever talked about getting declawed. We won't do it, though, because, like the others, Peanut does go outside sometimes. She's the most indoor of our cats, though and would - we think - adjust to 'strictly indoor' life without losing her mind, or ours. Peanut also likes to get into things, small, confined spaces, and we occasionally have to help her get back out again.
|Puufy and Goz. Goz is an 85lb lab. At about 20lbs, Puufy is not a little cat.|
Lastly, we have Puufy, or the Puu-Man. Puufy is eight years old, and, like his brother Cooper, is a big boy. Not quite as big as Cooper, but close. Puuf has the hugest paws, and we've often wondered how big he would have gotten if he hadn't been neutered as a kitten. Puufy is very talkative and, well, he bitches a lot. Me-ah, me-ah, me-ah! (Seriously, we think it translates to 'where's my milk, bitch?' at least it certainly sounds that way.) We can just tell by the tone of his voice when he's griping or trying to sweet talk us. He's also a milk addict and while I flat out refuse to feed his addiction, he has Bill totally wrapped around his little fluffy toe. Despite his addiction, he's a sweetheart cuddle baby, and him's my boy!
Our cats all get along with one another, and they'll often sleep clumped together and touch noses and play, so that's good, much, much better than constant fighting. And we love and adore every one, for their good points and bad. But we don't want six. ;)