Cat Chaise

This is a scratchy chaise I bought for the cats. (Matt got one for Ozzy and all the cats loved it so we bought and second one for downstairs.) All the cats think it's just perfect for lounging or scratching. Ozzie says it was $12 well spent. Here he is working on his pinup poses. Can you tell how much he's been eating?

Little brother

Hanging out.

So far, Ozzy's been a pretty good little brother to Gunnar. It's funny to watch him emulate Gunnar and his behaviors.

• He likes the same spots: Hiding under the chairs at the dining table, flopping on the dining room table, sleeping on the foot of the bed.
• He has a similar flop style.
• He likes to wait for Mojo at the front door. So when Mojo comes back from walks, there are two kitties peering out the front door at him.
• Ozzy and Gunnar wrestle. (No claws out.) They'll roll around a little until one of them runs off. 
• They both have a similar obsession with the litter box in the morning. Gunnar used to like to use it as soon as I scooped it, and then use multiple litter boxes. Ozzy's up to the same tricks, using multiple litter boxes within minutes of each other.
• And of course, the morning ritual for all the kitties is to swam outside the bathroom door while I brush my teeth. With three, it's definitely more of a swarm now. And they both follow me around while I'm feeding the cats and Mojo. They are not above begging for treats.

Conversation about Ozzy

Not his most confused look, but he is quite wide-eyed a lot

Me: "Ozzy kind of walks around looking confused a lot of the time."

Matt: "Maybe he's just looking for Sharon."

Matt in a mumbled English accent. "Sharon!?!?"

Life with four pets

This was actually the first night we let Ozzie out into the house. He's just one of the family.

We've been a four-pet family for about three weeks now. That means:

• More cat food. Especially when Ozzie eats about six servings worth a day
• Lots more to clean up in the litter box. It takes a little longer to clean now. And we did add a fourth litter box since you're supposed to have one more litter box that cat. I think the kitchen area is almost all litter box.
• More playing. The cats want to play more. Not necessarily with each other, but Katie demands more shoelace playtime and then all the cats join in. And Gunnar's been playing with his squeaky mouse on a string more.
• Fighting has not increased. (I'm probably jinxing myself here)
• We've been giving the cats more treats just to keep them happy.
(I should add that Gunnar KNOWS the sound of the treat bottle. He even comes running if I open a bottle of Aleve (for me.) Not the right bottle, buddy.)
• More kitties in the bed, but not necessarily more space. Gunnar and Ozzie take turns sleeping at the foot of the bed, though Ozzie's usually sleeping on the chest I keep my spare sheets in come morning.

All in all, I'd say that adding a third cat was amazingly easier than adding a second cat. It helps that Ozzie is a kitten and pretty easy going. And that Gunnar seems to have wanted a little brother/partner in crime. And I suppose Katie has resigned herself to not being an only cat, so what's more? Also, Mojo helps keep the peace around here. But there are always cats under foot in this house. Everywhere I go, there's a cat. It's kind of comical actually.

Four babies. Not sure there's room for me on the couch, but they sure love their dad. 

Mojo and Ozzy

 Mojo and Ozzy seem to be getting along. I snapped this picture. Ozzy was curled up on his usual spot on the couch and Mojo came over to keep him company.

Okay, Mojo was really keeping dad company, but still cute. Here's Mojo comforting his dad and Ozzy napping.

Calico Scarf

That's a nice scarf, Matt. Wherever did you get it? Or possibly this is what happens when you fall asleep on Sunday afternoon. A cat decides to accessorize you.

The name: Ozzy

Grey Kit-A finally has a name. We went through dozens of names. Matt and I couldn't agree on much. We asked the cat dozens of names. He seemed impervious to our suggestions. He ignored them all. They were not to his standard.

I looked up names that meant "brave" because surely this cat had to be brave living on his own outside. I found the name Oswald and thought that was cute, and that we could call him Ozzy.

Matt started singing "We're off to see the Wizard" (We're off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of Oz/ Because, because, because because. Because of the wonderful things he does.) And that got completely stuck in our heads.

So, I asked the kitty if his name was Ozzy and he opened his mouth really wide and let out a big meow. We think he liked it.

Therefore, we think the kitty's name is Ozzy. And if we're feeling whimsical we can call him the "Great and Powerful Oz."

And as an added bonus, he is kind of a mumbly cat with an odd meow. (No, he does not bite the heads off bats.)

And in case you're interested here are some of the names suggested, considered and/or laughed at

• Harry Houdini (because he's an escape artist)
• 50 Shades (of Grey)
• Earl Grey (my favorite. Matt nixed)
• Oliver
• Zed
• Merlin
• Elton
• Winston
• Sherlock
• Watson
• Aslan
• Simba
• Axel
• Regalus Grey
• Poe
• Waldo
• Gandalf (the grey)
• Scout

Ozzy on the Loose

Today was Ozzy's first day unsupervised and loose in the house. I was nervous. I worried there would be shredded furniture with the stuffing falling out, broken possessions, general chaos. Did he know how to be a house cat? I sure seemed like it.


Matt went home and lunch and texted me that all was well.

I went home too an hour later. And this is the sight that greeted me

Ozzy hopped up and cuddled Mojo. Mojo wasn't too sure about it, but cuddled him anyway instead of walking off.

Theories are that he was looking for Mojo to protect him, but I think Ozzy just likes Mojo.

We let Ozzy out into the house today. I'll admit, I was a little worried.

Ozzy is definitely part of the family. He fits right in.

Ozzy hanging out in the kitty jungle gym.

Ozzy on Gunnar's table. 

Little kitty day #3

I sleep here, k?

Today, kitty (still no name) crawled up in my lap. ! It was completely his idea. !!! How did I get a cat so sweet? On the down side, he wanted to crawl in my lap and knead me—and his claws are WAAY to sharp. He's young enough that we can teach him to be gentle.

Later that night he had his paw out under the door and was playing. He managed to get claw me and there was copious amounts of blood. I need to look up places to get his nails trimmed.

Gunnar continues to be curious about the cat—watching him from the corner of the bed or sitting on the floor a few feet away from the bathroom door. They've seen each other across the room a few times now. It's pretty non aggressive. Grey kitty just wants to come out of the room and is very persistent about it.

Katie is, of course, the most affected by all of this. She hates change and has been napping on the downstairs couch (as opposed to the bed) and hiding out in one of the extra bedrooms. She just doesn't want to acknowledge the cat. I bought her some ham—her favorite—and she started to come around a little more. She even came into the bedroom. She looked at the bathroom door some, which I counted as progress. She even crawled into bed at night. She hasn't seen the cat or pawed at the door, but she's coming around.

Kitty contentment or contempt for not staying still enough?

Announcement

It's boy! 9 pounds 7 ounces

We brought home baby #4 today. 

After I asked all the neighbors, made signs and scoured Craigslist for an owner, we decided that grey kitty was indeed homeless (and had been for at least a month). He's outside at all hours of the day—I could find him any time of the day. There's no time that he appears at his house. He weathers storms, comes to me with tree sap and pine straw in his fur. And he really wanted to live with us.

Hey mom, there's a cat outside.

Mom, there's still a cat outside.

He's sleeping on our doormat.

Kitty rubbing against my ankles. "Please! I can live with youz?"

He picked us. He adopted us. He'd nap on our porch. He had a spot under a bush to the side of our porch that he'd nap in. And for the last few days, he's been persistent in getting in the house. This morning he got so far as to put a foot on the silver door jam. He tries to sneak in every time we bring Mojo in or out.

And finally Matt decided that kitty needed a home. We could either tell him YES or NO for living with us.

We told him MAYBE. Get a clean bill of health from the vet and we'll consider it.

But did I really want another cat? The closer we got to actually adopting the cat, the more filled with dread I became. Matt told me I could take him to the vet. I put it off a day—trying to decide. I woke up Thursday morning wanting a sign, any sign YES OR NO. Am I supposed to have this cat?

I walked down the stairs and closed my eyes. I told myself that if he was sleeping on our doormat, then it was meant to be. If he wasn't there, then maybe not.

I rounded the corner, and there he was, sleeping on the doormat.

I called the vet as soon as they opened and made the appointment.

I'd been calling the vet all week—the secretary was remembering me and all of my questions about adopting strays: how much would it cost to get all of his tests, no, he's not allowed in the house, etc.

And taking kitty to the vet was surprisingly easy.

I left work an hour early and called for the kitty when I got home. I went inside and changed and kitty was sitting on the porch. It took two shoves to get him in the carrier and then put  him in the car. He cried a lot at first, but after about five minutes, he decided that he liked the air conditioning and he was supposed to be taking an afternoon nap anyway.

Really, he didn't meow nearly as much as Katie. And I was brainstorming names like Meredith Grey and Roxie.

It's a boy!
We got to the vet very early to out appointment. The cat isn't microchipped and the vet tells me he's a boy. A neutered male. And I was instantly in shock.

A boy!

I had thought girl. The cat was affectionate. And I was so sure the cat was in heat a month ago—with all the MEOWING!! and rolling around.

Then I ask the vet, "so that means he's not pregnant."

The vet laughed. "Yes, that means he's not pregnant."

I was so worried SHE was pregnant and I'd have to worry about kittens that I don't have time for or the cost of spaying. What a relief! The pregnant cats always seem to find me. I think I have SUCKER written in catnip across my forehead.

But being a boy confused me thoroughly. In my head, the cat was a girl. And then we'd have two boys and two girls. A boy meant three boys and one girl. Poor Katie.

The cat was also neutered, which saves me time and money. But that was problematic. Because it means he was someone's pet—someone spent the money to neuter him, cared about him.

And while I went to the vet full of hope and optimism that THIS WAS MY NEW CAT, I was confused, guilt-ridden.

Is this someone's cat? What am I supposed to do?

There was a lot of indecisiveness as I called Matt and tried to figure out what to do.

But this cat was not being taken care of—he was not being fed (except occasionally by a neighbor who said the cat wasn't his), he was not being looked after. He was clearly in distress and needed a house.
So I told the vet to go ahead and do the tests. They came back clean. And a few minutes later I told him to go ahead and give him all of his shots and deworm him—just in case. If he'd had the shots before, getting them again wouldn't hurt him.

The new cat did wonderfully at the vet. He was well behaved. He was prowling the exam room like a seasoned pro. Even the vet complimented his behavior and said he was really good when getting weighed and getting bloodwork done. He was SOOO good. He squirmed a little when getting his shots—but other than that, he was better than I had hoped. (I worried that he would go in the vet spitting and hissing like a feral cat.)  And really when he did hide under the vet or squirm, I couldn't blame him. Probably, the last time he was at the vet, he lost his balls :(

$150 later and it's time to take the kitty home.

I got him in the carrier, but when I got to the hall, he popped the side door open.

"Kitty on the loose," I yelled, as I tried to wrangle the kitty back into the pepto pink carrier.

It was grooming day at the vet and the vet techs had been very concerned about all the dogs in the lobby. The nice girl (who I'd been on the phone with all week) rushed over to help secure my little escape artist and finally we were on our way home. Not too much crying and again the kitty was digging the A/C. (He cried a lot before the AC got cranked up).

Home
And then we were home. Kitty was home. I brought him in the pink carrier and it was his first taste of being inside our house. Gunnar saw kitty right away. This was the kitty that he'd been ferociously attacking the door trying to get at. But Gunnar just seemed curious and asked to sniff the carrier. He did and it went well. Then I went up to the upstairs bathroom.

Matt got the kitty a litter box and something to scratch. I found some new toys in our pet cabinet and we gave them to kitty.

Kitty just wanted to sleep and hide. Poor guy was beat, which is understandable. He had a big day. Getting crammed in a carrier by the lady you thought was nice. Getting shots. Getting shoved into a small tiled room.

He kept trying to hide behind the hamper. Finally, he curled up on a towel we set out for him, and just slept. He had no interest in toys, but he did eat like he'd never see food again. He wolfed his kibble down (it was heart breaking really) and licked all the crumbs.

"Please sir, can I have some more?"

Poor starving kitty. You have a house now. You have people and air conditioning—even a dog to play with! We let Mojo go in the bathroom to play with the dog and then we turned off the lights and went to bed.

More on little kitty later.