The day we came home without a dog

Mojo giving kisses. 

“Mojo, do you want to go outside?” I called up the stairs like I had every morning for 10 years.  

I expected a splat, the sound of nails scrambling across the floor, and then the metal-on-metal jangle of a dog collar as a 74-pound ball of tan and black fluff would come bounding down the stairs. 

 

But that day, I heard the splat of him jumping down from our queen size bed. I heard him pad over to the stairs, but he didn’t clamber swiftly down at all. He just parked himself on the third step and didn’t come. 

 

Mojo had been diagnosed with arthritis at age 3. X-rays showed a talon-like bone-spur on his elbow. It meant no more dog park visits and that he had to keep his weight down. These days, mobility was becoming an issue. He took more breaks on walks and took longer and longer naps during the day. Had he played too hard the night before? Was playing catch with his orange ball too hard on his joints? 

I met him at the stairs and coaxed him down the stairs, one at a time, just like I did when he was a 6-pound teddy-bear faced puppy.  

 

We adopted Mojo when he weighed 4 pounds.
He grew to 74 pounds. 

Outside, he walked as far as the bushes bordering the porch, not even venturing to the yard. He didn’t even have the energy to lift his leg to pee.

 

Inside, he collapsed in a heap on the middle of the floor, not even making it to the food bowl. I held my hand out and offered him diced sweet potato—so soft he wouldn’t even have to chew. I remembered puppy class, when the instructor told us to hand-feed our puppies kibble one piece at a time to bond with them. 

 

One bite. To make me happy. Then a second. Then nothing. His left leg started spasming. 

 

I looked at Mojo and decided that we’d move our bed downstairs. No more stairs for our senior dog. 

 

Only, Mojo’s eyes widened, and shoulders heaved. 

My husband carried Mojo to the car. Mojo usually loved car rides. That day, he just sat there attempting to perk up a few times, but too weary to watch his surroundings. 

 

Matt getting Mojo out of the car at the vet. 

At the vet

 

At the vet, Mojo would usually spring out of the Subaru, unable to wait to start his round of goofy grins and kisses for all the vet techs and employees. On that day, he just sat on his beach towel, breathing heavily, desperately in trouble.

 Matt hoisted Mojo up, his arms under the dog’s torso, not wanting to waste a single second.

 

Maybe the sight of a grown man carrying a large dog in what surely be the “this dog just got hit by a car” pose is a red alert for vet techs, because the vet employees rushed out to meet us and ushered us into the side door and into the cat exam room, closest to us. There was no time to walk the 20 feet to the dog exam room. 

Mojo stayed on the table, where our three cats had all of their rabies shots and dental examinations. His breath limped along at an irregular pace, coming out of the sides of his mouths in fits. And we waited and waited for Dr. Pinson, the vet he’s seen since he was a 4-week-old stray

Mojo getting laser therapy for his arthritis. 

“He needs help,” Matt kept saying in a voice rising in despair, cracking into a cry. 

 

Dr. Pinson finally came in. He was worried about Mojo’s breathing and said the dog’s belly was puffy. He said maybe Mojo had a mass on his spleen that had ruptured, and he took Mojo back from an X-ray. 

 

I had nothing but faith and optimism. The vet would fix our dog. The worst-case scenario was a surgery that might cost us several thousand dollars.   

 

And we waited, and waited, and waited. 

Family picture. 

What happened 

Mojo’s blood pressure was very low. His veins were bad. They couldn’t find a vein to do blood work.

 

And then, while on the table, Mojo went into cardiac arrest. They performed CPR on him. The vet said they were trying to stabilize him but need a few more minutes. 

 

At that point, I realized Mojo is dying. He’s not coming home. Between 4:30 a.m. and 10 a.m., he died. 

 

We went to say goodbye. In a back room, Mojo is lying on a sterile silver steel table, under a red Georgia blanket. He’s got an IV in one of his front paws. He’s got a dog ventilator breathing for him.

 

I looked at my fluffy, shaggy dog. He has so much fur—tan and black fur everywhere, like a haybale rained down on the table. I looked at his eyes. They’re dead and blank. There’s no Mojo there anymore. That light, that happiness is gone.

Mojo was a happy dog.

 

It’s the worst sight I’ve ever seen. 

 

Blank dog eyes. All black. No spark. 

 

“I love you so much, I love you, I love you, I love you,” that’s what I wanted him to know. 

But he wasn’t there to hear. 

 

And I knew it was a mistake to even try to say goodbye. I put my hand on his shoulder and said the words anyway. In case he could hear, but I know he can’t. I repeat myself and repeat myself before I leave the room.

Mojo tackling me with kisses. 

The aftermath

 

I cry so hard, a random lady in green flannel walks up and hugs me. “I heard there was a pet emergency,” she said. And I knew my dog is the reason that her pet’s appointment—maybe an annual checkup or flu vaccination—was late.

 

I’m a notoriously no-touch person. I am not a hugger. But I don’t shy away. “He died.” I crumble as the words fall out the sides of my down swept mouth. 

 

$538. That how much it costs for a dog you’ve raised since he was 4 pounds to die.

 

We paid. We sobbed in the empty car. And that was that.

 

We went home without a dog.

 

 

Keeping me company

The kids all decided to keep me company while dad was working today. It's so cute when they're all in the same spot. But I was on my laptop and they all gathered around the bed. Love these guys.

Now if only, they could clean my house.

Cuddle Fest

I don't know if all the pets just wanted the same corner of the bed or they were trying to keep each other warm. But even cuddling, Gunnar still looks a tad like the evil emperor he is.

(And clearly Katie wanted no part of this.)

2013: Year in Review

2013 apparently was a year I didn't blog very much.

The biggest thing that happened in pet news was that now we have four pets. We added a cat, Ozzy.

Ozzy adopted us. He decided he was going to live on our front porch. He camped out. I was sure we couldn't have another cat. He gave Mojo kisses when we would take him out. He was always around, meowing, rubbing against our legs. Rain or shine. Even in the middle of the night. After a month of cuteness and kisses, he wore us down. Mojo asked why the kitty couldn't come inside when it was so hot out. We gave in. Took the cat to the vet. He got a clean bill of health and the rest is history.

I was very skeptical that this would work out. Another cat! Another boy cat!?!

I shouldn't have worried. Ozzy is a joy and it was the easiest transition ever. Going from 1-2 cats was DIFFICULT. Katie pouted for a year. A year. Going from 2-3 cats—ridiculously easy. Ozzy and Gunnar became fast friends. They nap together. They bathe each other. They play. They are besties and bros and love each other so much. Seriously, I didn't know Gunnar wanted a brother so badly. And because Gunnar now has Ozzy, Gunnar really doesn't bully Katie anymore. Everyone is happier.

I should say that three is a lot of cats. There are cats everywhere at my house. They swarm when it's meal time. Cats are constantly under foot. Any more cats and it's probably crazy cat lady status for me.

And Ozzy. He went from a 9 pound kitten to a GIANT cat. He's easily 15 pounds. The vet warned us he would be big. We thought he had medium length fur when we adopted him, but not only has he filled out, so has his fur. And he's an extremely long haired cat. I've never had a cat with fur this long and luxurious before. And he gets static really badly. We get shocked when we pet the baby. Ozzy's also....obese. When we took him in, he ate like he'd never see another meal. And after 4+ months, he hasn't slowed down. He gets fed the same time every day and overeating is a problem. He eats fast, like he's in one of those televised hot dog eating contests. He eats Katie's food. He eats and eats. Now he waddles around the house and can barely fit through the baby gates. He needs desperately to diet in the New Year.

As for the other kids:

Mojo is still fabulous. He's a happy dog with a contagious smile. He likes walks and other dogs and all of his siblings. He's also very sensitive and doesn't like it when dad yells at the football games on TV. His arthritis is still not great. When he goes over to his grandparents, he tends to overdo it, running up and down their stairs and going crazy in their backyard. He needs pain pills then. He has slimmed down some. He's looking super athletic. He's gone from 73 pounds to a sporty 68.

Katie could stand to eat a little more. (Ozzy!) She's a sweet cat, who at times will demand cuddles. She often can be found sitting in her dad's lap. She's a daddy's girl. She still likes ham, so when she's looking too thin, that's what we give her. She still likes to jump on my chest 20 minutes after lights out and then demand under the blanket a few times, and then she would really like to sleep in the spot between our heads. Seriously.

Gunnar is still our evil emperor. He likes to follow me around, sleep in the bed, oversee any exercising I do. But now he has a partner in crime. Gunnar and Ozzy like to chase each other around the house. They like to play king of the mountain and wrestle at the foot of the bed, until one or both of them fall off of the bed. The wrestle often starts with licks and is the weird combination of sweet grooming and bopping each other in the face. I guess that's what brothers do.

So, we live in a house full of pet fur. And with all of the pets trying to sneak in the bed during the night, I'm not sure our bed is really big enough for two people, a large dog and three cats. My allergist isn't too happy with that....but you can't tell cats what to do.

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.

Eight-legged playdate

I was working at home the other day. It's always interesting to see what the pets do during the day. Gunnar seems to play a lot. He's very kitten-like, though I was marveling at his pouncing earlier, only to take a look at what he was playing with—MASSIVE WOLF SPIDER. About gave me a heart attack. He chased the thing under the couch, which I moved.....didn't find the spider, but found a piece of glass from a glass my other cat knocked off the coffee table a few weeks ago. Sigh. 

The spider did die later when it came out from under the couch. I felt a little bad but I hate spiders. 

What do the other pets do? Mojo sleeps. Katie hides. Mojo did run up and down the stairs a few times when he realized I was staying home. What does the cat normally do when I'm at work? How many of his lives has he gone through?

Back to Work

After more than 2 weeks off work, it was back to the office today. And I don't know who was more upset about me: me or these guys.

How cute are Mojo's sad little eyebrows? 

These guys loved having their people home all day. They stayed in the same room with me. The kitties followed me around. Mojo lounged and smiled a lot.

Here's Mojo and Katie in the bed with me. I think I had the laptop and was doing some writing.

One morning I woke up to find Mojo to my left, Katie to my right and Gunnar curled up by my legs. All in all, they were excellent snuggle buddies.

Pets Year in Review

2011 was a good year for the pets. Pretty much they were spoiled beyond belief.

Mojo
Mojo is a happy dog who smiles all the time. He’s always wagging his shaggy tail. He still thinks he’s a lap dog and likes to lounge on the couch. But this plus all of those treats in his foods and after going potty means he’s packing on the pounds.

He didn’t have as many playdates at the dogpark as he might like. He did have a birthday party and several dates at Sandy Creek Park. He did get a new football, though (fun!). He and Gunnar are best good friends. They play together, nap together, groom each other. Each time they lick each other it’s still the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

Sadly, yesterday he got diagnosed with arthritis, but if he loses some weight hopefully that will be under control.

Gunnar
Gunnar had a good year. There was lots of pushing things of table ledges and bullying of Katie. He stomped around the house like a little emperor, only switching to stealth mode when plotting an ambush. He played with a lot of boxes, straws, pipe cleaners, pieces of dog kibble, pretty much anything we didn’t want him to have. All in all, he’s a happy evil kitty, who purrs a lot and lets us carry him around like a baby.

Katie
Katie is a happier kitty. It really took her a year to get used to us having Gunnar. She talks more now and hides under the bed less. She takes naps on Matt’s lap and is a lot more affectionate. She has this really funny tick though. If she’s trying to sneak past Gunnar, she walks in slow motion like it makes her invisible.

So that was the year with the pets. There was lots of fur. Lots of cuddles. Sleeping in the bed.

Oh, and I almost forgot....

Dust bunnies
Or rather the dust elephants. We live with a horrible amount of pet fur. Tufts of it even find their way into corners of rooms the pets don't go into. Sometimes it rolls around like tumbleweeds in the Wild West. We just resigned to the fact that there is always going to be a fine layer of pet fur on the furniture and that our clothes, especially black clothing, is just going to be pet-owner chic (i.e. covered in fur).

What do the pets do all day?

I've been home all week. And if you were wondering what the pets do all day, I have the answer. Nothing. They sleep a lot. That's it.

I get up and they do their morning routine. The cats run downstairs with me. I pour their food. Gunnar chows down. I change their water. Katie waits for the new water. I clean their litter boxes. Gunnar promptly uses the clean litter box. I take Mojo out. I feed Mojo. The end. That's pretty much all of the excitement until Mojo goes out for lunch. And then until dad comes home. They're a little more active in the evening. Gunnar has a 6:10 p.m. appointment with crazy. He darts up the stairs, meows up a storm, jumps on things, trashes some papers, maybe jumps in a box, then takes a nap on the bed until about 9 when he goes to see Matt. Katie stays downstairs with Matt in the evenings.

The pets tend to stay in whatever room I'm in and there's surprisingly little pet drama during the day. They usually fight in the morning, but they must get it out of their system, or save it until bedtime when they always have a fight. During the day, Gunnar might go off destructing but shortly thereafter he'll have to sleep it off. Katie wanders quietly away and naps in a sunny spot. Mojo sleeps. He doesn't even get up to bark that much. I knew he was lazy, but I'm not sure I thought he was this lazy.

Mojo gets comfortable.

Water Bowl Mystery

Woke up this  morning to find a pair of Matt's socks in the water bowl. Hmm.....Wonder who put them there. The cats are usually the ones who put things in the water bowl, but these socks are heavy. But I don't think Mojo would do this on purpose. I guess Gunnar wanted to keep them safe...

UPDATE 12/29/11: Mystery Solved
I ate a bowl of soup upstairs and while I was doing some chores I heard bowls clinking around. I thought it was just Matt pouring himself a bowl of soup.....but he was on the couch. So I go in to bedroom to see Gunnar playing in my discarded bowl. And what's in the bowl? One of my socks.

Picture of a Saturday

This is what Saturdays usually look like at my house. I write. Katie naps while keeping me company. Mojo is bored. Gunnar is off destroying things ;)

Writing help

I spend a lot of my evenings and weekends writing fiction. Last weekend I was doing final edits and rewrites to a chapter and the gang assembled to help me. Though if I'm being honest Gunnar hates everything I write, Mojo is a little too enthusiastic and Katie thinks I need to write more scenes with cats in them.

Thanks guys!

My boys

These are my boys: Mojo and Gunnar. They are best good buddies. They hang out all the time. Gunnar comes and gives Mojo kisses every night. They even have a nightly bathing ritual where they lick each other.

They  play flight. And occasionally it gets a little rough. Mojo will step on Gunnar or bite his head. Gunanr will sink his claws into Mojo's snout. But I suppose it's all in good fun.

I never knew a dog and cat could get along so well.

Dinner Dangers

I love our little brood, but some times it can be dangerous to have so many pets. Case in point: Dinner. Last night I made crockpot chicken. And all three love chicken.

Gunnar uses his super kitty glaring powers to try and get some of Matt's chicken.

It started out simply enough: Gunnar glaring at Matt to get some chicken. From there Gunnar decided that he would just eat off Matt's plate.

Matt feeds Gunnar with a hungry dog looking on. 

Mojo licking his chops that chicken looks so good.

Then Mojo joined in the begging game. And Mojo is the champion of begging. Gunnar will just jump in a grab your food. He'll get on your plate or bat it from you. Mojo, however, has mastered the SAD EYES. Look at that sad intent face.

All three pets begged dad for some chicken.

Not to be outdone, even shy Katie decided she had to get in on the action. So here we have Mojo with his best sad eyes, Gunnar and Katie's climbed up in Matt's lap. All three kids, all begging for chicken. Poor Matt, I don't think he got to eat that much chicken.

House sitting

Matt and I went to Savannah for a few days and we got a house sitter for the kids. We've gone on very few vacations since getting our brood since they don't really like to be left. Mojo especially doesn't like staying overnight at Pawtropolis, so we tried a house sitter. The other alternative is not going anywhere, and that's not fun.

My brother has watched the kids here and there. We had him come over the day before we left. He played with Mojo. I showed him how Mojo likes to play keep-away with his orange ball and Mojo plopped down on his lap (he thinks he's a lapdog.) They had fun and we told Mojo that it was going to be a Mojo and Danny party for a few days. Mojo thought this sounded great.

So we packed up. Gunnar played in my suitcase. I don't think he'd have fun on a 4-hour car ride or in a hotel room, so he had to stay.

Fast forward to Friday....We came home to an open door. We were scared to death Gunnar had escaped, and so I ran in the house to check on the cat. (Not even thinking about WHY the door might have been ajar: burglars, etcs.)

But my brother was in the kitchen cleaning and all the pets were in tact. Mostly.

The house was in the mid-80's as my brother apparently didn't understand the note on how to fix the A/C. And he tried to use our broken toilet (same note.)

As soon as we got home, my phone beeped with an hours old message that Mojo had a bathroom problem and had needed a bath. Joy.

My brother left and Mojo barfed a few times. (Someone had left the baby gates up and Mojo ate something he shouldn't have. Kitty litter is my theory.)

Otherwise, Mojo was fine. He was happy he got someone to play with. The last time we left him, he was mopey/mad at us for a month. So, cleanup aside, having a house sitter worked for him.

Gunnar was completely unfazed. Really, he couldn't care less as long as he got food, cuddles and play time. But I expected as much. Crazy cat.

As expected, Katie hid the entire time and didn't eat much. After my brother left, she finally came out from under the bed and was skittish for a few hours, then gave us extra loves. She seemed to be happy we were home.

So, will they let us leave again? Maybe, but I doubt my brother will offer to house sit again.

Mojo and Gunnar playing

Mojo and Gunnar have a unique way of playfighting/ wrestling with each other. (There's a little bit of a size difference.)  Gunnar kind of wrestles with Mojo's head. Sometimes he grabs onto Mojo's snout with his paws. Sometimes Mojo mouths on Gunnar's head. It's the system they have worked out.

Mojo likes to play with socks. That's why there are socks in the background.

No Gunnars were harmed in the making of this video.

Hmm....These videos are kind of grainy. I'll have to look into how to save videos for blogger.

Come Running

It's no secret that I spoil my pets. They live the plush life.

The other day I had some deli meat that was about to go bad. I couldn't eat it all so I added a few scraps to Mojo's food. Only the cats smelled it and came running. I gave them both a few pieces and played referee to make sure there was no kitty fighting over food. That became the standard process: if the dog gets some turkey, so do the cats.

The turkey was eaten and I thought that was the end of it until I went to the grocery store again. BUT the turkey came in a reusable container. I put some leftover fettuccini in the container and when I opened it up today Gunanr came running. "Turkey?" he looked up at me with big eyes. Sorry cat, it's noodles. But it's cute that he recognized the sound.

Guess I need to go to the store.

Lots-O-Fur

I love any picture that has ALL of my pets in it. It's hard to get them in the same place and harder  to get them all to hold still long enough to get a shot. The best time for me to get them all together is when they're...(guess!) sleeping in the bed. Then, they're all still. Though Katie usually gets annoyed and runs off after one frame. Mojo thinks he needs to sit up when he hears the shutter and Gunnar, upon being woken up, decides he has better things to do. But they all like the bed. And they're most likely to all be in the bed, either in the morning after I'd gotten up and Matt's still in the bed or this picture was taken when I was up too late on a Saturday night. I was sitting on the floor watching DVR'd So You Think You Can Dance and they were all passed out. Mojo is a stickler for bedtimes. And like a child, if we keep him up too late, he lets us know. The cats just like to sleep in the bed.

And no they don't all sleep in the bed at night. They wouldn't all fit, though they try. Mojo tries to sleep at the foot of the bed (though I'm adamant that he no)  and some mornings I wake up and Katie is sleeping in between Matt and me. Gunnar usually chills in the kitty condo.

Happy Father's Day

The kids would like to wish a Happy Father's Day to Matt. They sure think he's the best dad ever. He takes Mojo on walks and to the park. He's an excellent pillow for the cats and Mojo thinks his lap is the best spot in the house.

Pet Salon

Katie is fascinated by foam toe separators. Every time I paint my toe nails she tries to run off with one.

Gunnar is obsessed with Q-tips. He thinks they're the best toy ever.

If Mojo did hair, we could have a pet salon ;)