The Pet Wars Are Not Over!

Well, the mouse to cat ratio in the house is down to 1:1.

Yep. Another mouse has been stalked, caught and killed around here.

R.I.P. Bubbles.

I’m starting to think maybe mice aren’t a good pet when you have a predatory feline in the house as well…

Okay, I admit, I thought that from the beginning.

(See my previous post about what happened to the other mouse here, if you want.)

This most recent mouse execution was the result of a long-term campaign on the part of the cat. For several months he’s been hanging around the cage in ET’s room, especially at night, working on a plan of attack. Often she’s awakened to find the cat sitting on top of the glass aquarium the mouse lived in, just watching. Periodically he would wake her up by slamming himself into the plastic cover, and she’d chase him off.

She complained to me about it.

ET: Why does Kitty want to eat my mouse?
Me: Well, he’s a predator. He can’t help wanting to eat a mouse.
ET: But, he has his own food in his dish. He should eat that.
Me: Think of it this way. Suppose YOU were the pet, and we fed you nice healthy food every day in your dish. But we kept a delicious treat sitting in the middle of the room in an impenetrable glass box. Just to look at. And then we said, “Forget about that lovely-looking cheeseburger in the cage. Go eat your bowl of salad!”
ET: Oh.

Anyways, it turns out the glass box was not as impenetrable as we’d thought.

Last weekend, while ET was sleeping over at a friend’s house, Kitty made his move. In the morning the plastic cover on the aquarium was cracked down the middle and the mouse was gone.

I guess one of the times the cat body-slammed the cover it finally gave way. Persistence pays off.

So that’s it for poor Bubbles.

Now the cat has been watching the other mouse cage in GG and Boo’s room…

BTW the above silhouette of the dead mouse is available on a mouse pad at etsy.com. If you're into that sort of thing...

Pet vs. Pet, Part Two

It’s not an easy thing, being a pet in our house. Apparently it’s kill or be killed around here sometimes.

When I wrote about our kitty eating one of the mice the other day, I forgot to mention that we had a fish too.

It’s not too difficult to forget about fish. As I’ve said before, they’re The Most Boring Pets on Earth.

We have a fish because one of our neighbors moved and couldn’t take their fish along, so the kids begged until I agreed we would keep it.

This is not the first time this has happened to us. A few years ago we ended up taking a whole tank full of fish from a neighbor who was moving away.

That time, however, I feel I was ambushed. The conversation went like this:

Neighbor: So we’re moving in a few weeks. When do you want me to bring the fish tank over?
Me: What?
Neighbor: The fish tank. When do you want me to bring it over?
Me: What?
Neighbor: Remember, you said you’d take the fish when we moved.
Me: When did I say that?
Neighbor: When I asked you. Remember?
Me: What?!

By the way, the kids were present for this conversation, so just imagine them in the background like a Greek chorus, chanting, “The FISH, the FISH, we’re going to get the FISH!”

Now, in my neighbor’s defense, I guess it’s possible that I HAD agreed to take the fish and was subsequently (a) hit over the head with something large and heavy, or (b) abducted by aliens and had my memory wiped. Or that I just had a case of “mommy brain” and genuinely forgot.

But I don’t think so.

I kind of think I was ambushed.

But anyways, the kids were excited about the fish, so we got them. It turned out they were Betta fish, the kind that you’re supposed to keep separated or they’ll kill each other.

You’ve seen these things in the pet store, right? A whole shelf full of tiny bowls with one solitary fish floating in each one, like fish isolation chambers. It’s a little creepy, isn’t it?

The pet store guy had told me that if you put two Betta fish together they would fight until one of them was dead. Like that movie, The Highlander. Remember, “There can be only ONE!”

But this tank had six or ten of the little buggers all together.

My neighbor said it was okay, that they never fought because there was only one male and the rest were females. Which made sense in a way.

Once they got to my house, however, it was a different story.

Maybe it was the trauma of having their tank moved, or maybe my house really IS a dangerous place for pets, but that single male suddenly went on the attack. He was like, “I don’t care if you ARE a bunch of girls. You’re going DOWN!”

One by one the fish started dying. I never saw any actual fighting, but every once in a while you’d see one of the fish swimming around with half a fin torn off.

And there was the one who cowered next to the filter all the time, perhaps trying to work up the courage to make a break for it, Finding Nemo style. All drains lead to the ocean, right?

Eventually only the male was left. And I guess he liked it that way.

But back to the current fish, the one a neighbor here in Hawaii bequeathed to us.

The fish is named Angel, by the way, although it hardly matters. I don’t think any animal care LESS what name a human gives it than a fish.

Anyways, I’d been noticing recently that Kitty has been showing a lot of interest in the fish bowl. Not really a good sign for our little friend Angel I think. Remember what happened when he took a shine to the mouse cage…

(If you've forgotten what happened a little while ago in the cat versus mouse game, click HERE.)

You can probably guess where this story is going by now, right?

Today the kids asked me where the fish was. Apparently, his bowl was in its regular place on the counter, but Angel was nowhere to be found.

As best we can tell, Kitty strikes again.

There can be only ONE!

Pet vs. Pet, or What Has the Cat Been Up To?

You may have been wondering about our cat.

Remember the injured kitten ET rescued and saddled with the improbable name of “Bunny” back in May?

(By the way, I discovered that she chose the name because the car that she saw hit the kitten was covered in bunny bumper stickers. That’s just a LITTLE sick, don’t you think?)

Click here to read Bunny's rescue story, if desired

Anyways, Bunny is doing fine now, after his unfortunate tail amputation, and he’s growing bigger every day.

At first he spent most of his time hiding from us, and even now he’s definitely more skittish than the average cat. It’s like he really wants to be petted, but he’s also terrified of it. He’s a very conflicted animal.

We usually just call him “Kitty” now, as I think almost every cat owner ends up doing. In my experience, most cats refuse to learn their names but can always be summoned with a call of, “Here kitty, kitty!”

However, Kitty is not our only pet. Last January, at the end of a way-too-long Christmas break, a bunch of whining and begging kids hit me when my resistance was low and we ended up with some pet mice.

Just to show you how beaten-down I was at that point, I actually let them buy a mother and father mouse along with their litter of three babies.

As my husband said at the time, “What was Mommy smoking?”

Let the record show he didn’t say anything until AFTER the mouse purchase had gone through, even though I asked him repeatedly what he thought about the Mouse Acquisition Plan.

But anyways, the day after we bought the mice, we held a Mouse Inspection and Forcible Segregation of the Sexes, putting the two girl mice in one cage and the three boy mice in the other.

All seemed well in the Ladies’ Cage, but apparently the Men’s Cage was a tougher environment. My daughters reported that Daddy Mouse was forcing his offspring (Cinnamon and Ginger by name) into a subservient role, making them wait in the corner when the food dish was filled until he’d eaten his fill. Only when Daddy Mouse had gone into his little tube home were the boys allowed to come out and eat. There were also some unconfirmed reports of defecation abuse. Rodents can be so cruel.

I guess this was difficult for any red-blooded mouse to tolerate. So one day, Cinnamon decided to make a break for it, squeezing through the bars and heading for freedom.

That’s right, our mouse escaped from his cage. (I know this is a shocker here; whoever hears about pet rodents escaping confinement? That’s sarcasm if you weren’t aware.)

He didn’t come back. We can only hope Cinnamon found his own mouse group to dominate outside somewhere.

In any case, now that we knew the mice could get out, some cage adjustments were necessary. We purchased glass aquariums with locking plastic lids, and all was well in the mouse kingdoms.

And then we added a cat to the house.

I think maybe you can see where this story is going.

Kitty was fascinated by the mouse cages. He’d sit on the desk next to the glass box in GG and Boo’s room for hours, just watching the mice.

And finally, last week, his moment came. SOMEONE forgot to lock the lid onto the cage after feeding the mice.

We woke up one morning to scene that looked like “Stuart Little” meets “The Godfather:” There was half a mouse artfully arranged in the center of the couch.

I know. EW!!!!

Actually though, I think Kitty was pretty proud of himself, and he just wanted to show us how clever he was. He’s a natural predator; you can’t really blame him.

But now, Ginger is gone. Daddy Mouse lives alone. All the food is his own, but there’s no one to push around anymore either. It’s sad. I guess.

An uneasy truce exists between the pets of the house.

And a heavy object sits on top of the mouse cage, holding down the lid.

A Fish Story

My niece, who is in college, was watching her friend’s fish over the summer.


That means, all summer long, she’s feeding the fish, and cleaning their tank, and all the other stuff you do for a totally boring pet like a fish.

As the summer drew to a close, she was looking forward to turning the fish to their rightful owner.

And then ONE WEEK before school started back, the fish died.

Seriously?

First off, a fish is The Most Thankless Pet on Earth. I mean, really! A pet you can only look at, never touch? It’s the animal equivalent of that china doll your great-aunt got you for Christmas as a kid.

Little Girl: Ooh, what a pretty doll!

Great Aunt: Now don’t play with it; you just let it sit on this high shelf and look at it!

Little Girl: What the heck kind of present is THAT to give a kid?

(Little Girl earns a spanking, or a turn in the Uncoopertive Chair, depending on progressiveness of parents.)

So, to recap: My niece is stuck taking care of the fish for three months, and WHAM! It kicks the bucket right before she’s supposed to give it back.

Ouch.

She might as well have just killed it on Day One, because it would have been the same result then as the one she’s getting now.

Dead Fish=1
Good Friend Points=0

Now THAT stinks!

An Eventful and Expensive Monday

In the mornings I always sit on the screened porch in front of our house and watch the kids until they catch the bus. Monday at 6:40 a.m. I was sitting there as usual, calmly reading my devotional book, when my oldest daughter came running back from the bus stop.

She was holding something in front of her with both hands, way out from her body, and the kid I call Crutches Boy was trailing her. (I call him Crutches Boy because he had a broken leg at the beginning of the school year, and I don’t know his actual name. He is not currently on crutches, however, so it’s a bit of a misnomer, I guess.)

I sighed and got up, slipping on my shoes to cross the yard and say, “Okay, what nasty thing are you bringing home NOW?” As you might guess from that statement, she has a history of bringing home nasty things. We won’t go into that now. (And I hope poor Crutches Boy didn’t think I meant him. Whoops.)

She said, all in a rush, “Mom, it’s a hurt kitten; I think it was hit by a car.” Crutches Boy bobbed and hovered behind her.

I could see that it was indeed a kitten. It had a little spot of blood on its nose, but it looked okay from the front other than that. I said, “What do you want me to do with it?”

“Take it to the vet or something!” she said.

I sighed and said, “Just put it down and go catch your bus.” I knew the middle school bus was due any minute. When she set the kitten down in front of the house I saw that from the back it was definitely not okay. Its poor little tail had been stripped somehow; it was nothing but bone and blood. It lay down on the porch and looked pitiful. Well, I couldn’t just LEAVE it there, could I? I went to get a towel or something to wrap it in.

I went into my younger daughters’ room --they were still sleeping-- and said, “Wake up girls! I need your help with something.” As might be expected, the response to THAT statement was unenthusiastic mumbling muffled by pillows. I added what I knew would get them moving.

“Your sister found a kitten.”

Two heads popped up and they both bounded from bed. I told them it was on the front porch and I followed them out with the towel. When we all came out the poor kitten was re-energized by fear and tried to run away. It was quickly caught and wrapped in the towel. We brought it inside, and I set the girls on the tasks of comforting it and seeing if it would take some milk from an eyedropper.

While that was going on, my cell phone started buzzing. There were two new messages. My oldest daughter was texting from the bus. “kitten?” and “wat happened”

I texted back “kitty ok,” and took a picture of her sister holding it to send her.

My phone buzzed again. “can we keep it” she was asking. I answered that one with the classic “we’ll see.” Momspeak is good in text language too!

Then she texted me again. “it’s name is bunny” At the same time, her sister was saying, “We should call it Lucky!” I decided to table that discussion for later.

In the meantime, I was trying to look up a vet in the yellow pages. It looked like an animal hospital was in order, and I found one that was nearby. I also found a cardboard box left from last week’s trip to Costco to transport the kitten.

Once the kitten was in the box, I told the girls to get their clothes on and get ready to catch their bus. I went to get the twins up. I was already exhausted and it was only about 7:05 a.m.!

By the time my daughters boarded the bus to elementary school, I was in the car with the twins and the kitten in its box. I followed the bus out of the neighborhood and headed out.

Weirdly, the animal hospital was right next door to the “Hawaii Sperm Bank.” I didn’t know they were even really CALLED sperm banks! I thought that was just on TV or something; in real life shouldn’t they be called infertility clinics or something! That distracted me for a minute, but then the task of getting into the door of the animal hospital claimed all my attention.

Maneuvering an injured animal in a cardboard box, along with a double stroller that’s just a SMIDGE too wide for the average doorway takes a lot of concentration. After a while one of the ladies behind the desk took pity on me and came to help hold the door.

I explained why I was there and they called for a someone to come “assess” the kitten. They asked me, “Are you willing to adopt this animal as your own?” That seemed a little formal. Was I taking some sort of vow? I said okay.

A lady in scrubs came out and looked in the box. She said they would take a look at the kitten in the back and then come out and tell me what it needed.

Then the lady behind the desk gave me some forms to fill out “as best I could.” She asked me if we had a name for it. I said, “That’s under a bit of a dispute.” Personally, I thought Bunny was a stupid name for a cat. I mean, you don’t call your dog “Horsey,” you know?

I texted my daughter, since it was still before eight and I knew she’d keep her phone on until school started. “your sister wants to call it lucky,” I told her.

Quick as a flash, the answer came back, “too bad I saved it,” and then a moment later, “it’s name is bunny!!!!!!!!!!” I sighed and wrote “Bunny” on the form.

While I waited for the doctor to come speak to me several people came in with animals. One lady came in with a young Dalmatian that had a cone on its head. It really wanted to smell everything in the room, but its nose was just a little shorter than the cone, so it just kept clunking the edges of its cone into everything it wanted to sniff, making the sound a plastic cup hitting a table makes. The twins were pretty entertained by this, yelling, “Doggy!” periodically. Someone else had a little Yorkie and a baby in a carrier. The twins added an occasional yell of “Baby!” to the conversation.

Another lady came in with a bunny in her purse. There was discussion at the desk over this, because the rabbit specialist wasn’t in that day. (I’m like, There’s a bunny SPECIALIST? Aren‘t veterinarians supposed to be able to take a lizard/a chicken/a pig/a frog all in the same day, like Kramer said on Seinfeld? I feel so disillusioned!)

While that was going on, lady in scrubs came out and said, “Bunny?” Dalmatian Lady and I pointed at the purse on the desk. She looked in the purse and then said, “No, I mean the kitten NAMED Bunny.”

So I had to say, “Oh. That’s me.” You see! This is EXACTLY why I didn’t want to name the thing Bunny in the FIRST place! Now I look like a moron in front of the veterinarian.

She told me Bunny needed his tail amputated. (And that he was a he, by the way.) This seemed reasonable to me, until we discussed how much it would COST to amputate the tail! Animal surgery is just as complicated as people surgery apparently! But at this point, I felt like I was committed. Especially since I’d vowed I would adopt the animal for my own. So I said go ahead and do the blood work, and the x-rays, and the surgery, AND the overnight stay.

I also went to Wal-Mart and picked up a litterbox and food for when Bunny comes home. The expenses are mounting up already! (The twins thought the cat food might be for them.)

Like I told my husband later, once I picked up the injured kitten in a towel, I was pretty much stuck with footing the bill for him. But my husband suggested the name “Stumpy” or “Money Pit” might be more appropriate than “Bunny.” We’ll see…

Okay, so here's Bunny, groggy from surgery and wearing a cone on his poor little head. I hope other cats don't have internet access to see this or he will be SO embarrassed! But seriously, how could I have resisted this face!