Now that I mentioned the new adoptees, let me say that I am not necessarily a cat person. It’s very dependent on the personality of the feline as to whether or not we become friends. I love dogs, but not enough to endure my allergy to them, or the treatment of it for very long. I play with everyone else’s pooches and then hit the shower. Same thing for some cats, especially ones with long or fine hair.




Recently I had a lapse where my emotional side overrode the logical and adopted these two fur balls without doing quite enough research about them, or their previous owner. As I mentioned in my previous blog they have both been spoiled by regular feedings of anything other than cat food. One is adjusting easily to the ready dish of what she should be eating, but the other seems to be in nearly perpetual begging mode. Fortunately the beggar is the sweet, affectionate and otherwise quiet one, so we humans will make allowances as she learns her new dietary rules. The one who doesn’t beg is actually the wild child.



Bitchy, once known as Betty, was renamed within hours of her moving into the house. Before you say it, I will. Yes, it takes one to know one, and this is test of who can be the bigger bitch. Given that it’s my house, I am many times larger than she is and I am the eldest, I will prevail ….. eventually …..somehow.



Miss B (the more affectionate of several other names she has acquired) is a cat rescued from the streets by her former owner. Thankfully she is not feral, but neither is she quiet tamed. She is clear to alert you when she thinks you have stepped out of line. A round of hisses is the split second alert that teeth are about to be sunk into your flesh. At least you are spared being shredde by claws as well, because the former owner had them removed. The least interference with what ever her plan or desire of the moment will trigger this action. We learned rather quickly that in the case of Miss B, rubbing up against your leg and meowing is NOT a request to be petted. Sometimes it is, but listen carefully as you reach for her so that you can spare your hand if you have misinterpretted her actions.



When she discovered the comfort of my bed (uninvited) I was informed, via puncture wounds to the thumb, that any disturbance of her hiney-ness without being given the approval signal (usually a headbutt) would not be tolerated. In turn, she soon discovered a swiftly moving foot under the covers was more than a match for her sprawled mass, and she found herself summarily relocated to the floor. Our ritual is now repeated at various times throughout the night. It would appear that I am winning this battle, except that she usually returns to stake her claim in less than 10 minutes, and I am the one losing the most sleep over it.



All cat owners that experience various forms and levels of power struggles with their oh-so-independent pets, so these experiences may sound familiar. Bitchy is not the first feline I have had skirmishes with. At least she is not 25 lbs. of pure muscle hanging from the grout of the bathroom wall by razor sharp claws, like my dear Louie the first time the vet insisted I bathe him. However, this blog was inspired by a truly unique experience Bitchy visited upon me this past weekend.



After a few swats from her paws and a warning hiss, I backed away from the Psycho-kitty perched on the corner of my bed and began some light strecthing exercises for my injured shoulder, before risking sutures in a hand or arm. As I completed the 20 reps of raising a piece of doweling over my head while laying on the bed for support, a rather docile, almost snoozing, Bitchy watched. When I finished I dropped my equipment on the floor and brought my arms down to my side for relief from the aching shoulder as Bitchy stood and stretched, seeming to be having a hard time rousing from her boredom. Then before I could defend myself she stepped across my face and slowly continued to the other side of me. I say slowly because her furry belly dragging across my face, that is so opposed to contact with fur, seemed to take far too long. In reality, given my response time, it could only have taken seconds. Thoroughly displeased with this stunt, I turned to shout my objection. Wrong move! I was now face to face with the base of her upraised tail. Repelled, literally and physically, I jumped back only to watch as she stayed motionless, ass in the air, tail straight up, apparently enjoying my comprehension of her commentary. Bitchy is the first cat I have ever known to clearly tell their owner to “kiss my ass.”

 Groovy - Her sweet, plaintiff, feed-me look......

Bitchy, the psycho kitty.....

Stupidly semi-permeable

I am not going to tell myself that “accidents just happen” and to get over it anymore - at least not anymore today. There are those that say the younger generation is too self centered, inconsiderate and down-right obnoxious. Maybe so, but guess where they learned those fine arts. You guessed it; from our generation. Or at least the slightly younger portion of my generation that I see during my daily commute to and from work.


A rainy day, even if I can’t lounge around the house to enjoy it, is usually something I find relaxing and refreshing. Ok, that’s odd to many of you, but maybe it’s my childhood in England coming through. However, today’s very welcome morning rainstorm was not to be one of those days.

An hour before the alarm roused me I was awakened by the rumble of thunder, but without a pause I smiled and just rolled over and snuggled deeper under the light cover. A moment later I was confronted by two loud and distraught felines. Now these are relatively new adoptees in the household so if a little thunder unnerves them, it’s understandable. But realizing the human was awake brought on persistent howling for not cat food, but people food. Thank you, previous owner, who seems to have hand fed these two from your own plate on continual basis. You risked their health, taught them bad habits and totally sabotaged any future human’s contact with these two beggars. Thank you for your lack of responsible pet ownership.

Leaving the whining girls to their full bowls of nutritious food designed for their species, I escaped to the car with the remains of my toast and tea and headed for the train station. By now the rain had stopped and the air was refreshing. It seemed as though the morning was going to right itself for me. Wrong! As I had driven barely a block from the house when I nearly ran over someone. Not the usual squirrel or stray pet, or even the occasional coyote on the prowl. No, this was an adult human jogging in the middle of the street, in the dark and dressed in a either a dark gray or faded black jogging suit. She was about as invisible as a moving, live body could possibly be ….. until she was between my headlights about 6 feet from the bumper headed right for me as if she couldn’t see the thing in the area with lights on – my oncoming car. I slammed on the brakes and cut the wheel sharply as she loped by, more attuned to whatever was blaring through her earplugs, than the environment she was moving through.

Once the adrenalin surge subsided, I continued my drive to the train station with an increased appreciation for the latter part of my route with copious lighting. But the invasion of idiots and insensitivity was not over. It was just gearing up for the final round.

Parking the car and finding my way to my usual spot on the platform to wait for my ride to work was unremarkable, unless you are traumatized by sporadic drizzle in the absence of an umbrella. Though sometimes compared with Dorothy’s Wicked Witch of the West, I am not related and I do not melt from contact with water and only torrential downpours are incentive for me to carry one. However, like most people, especially when dressed for work, I do not appreciate being unnecessarily splashed. Apparently there are those fellow travelers who feel that as long as it is not them being doused, all is well. More than once in the 10 minute wait I was treated to a sprinkling as someone shook their umbrella vigorously in my direction to dry it. Apparently they consider it better that I be wet than their accessory designed for use when water falls from above. At least making me dodge to keep from being gouged in the eye by the points of the contraption as they walked along in crowds, heedless of where they were aiming their portable shelter.

When the train arrived I hurried aboard ahead of those once again opening and shutting their umbrellas and found my seat. And it was this positioning that afforded me a view of the climax of the morning’s stupidity without being one of its victims. Closer to the door we board through, a man had taken one of the aisle facing seats and then set his cup of coffee down while making himself comfortable. The train lurched on takeoff and instantly the aisle and adjacent flooring of that half of the car was coated in a solution of hot coffee, cream and sweetener of some sort. Not exactly recommended for washing such flooring. You see this otherwise normal looking gentleman apparently thought (1) trains glide smoothly along the tracks, (2) oversized, top heavy paper cups are stable and unlikely to tip and (3) those covers provided at the coffee shop are just for decoration and to slow down your enjoyment of the beverage. Three stops later when I was departing the train, the hard working conductor had managed to mop that half of the car with all the available paper towels, why the six riders that would have been seated in area stood for their ride across town.

Ironically, when I finally sat down at my desk, I was greeted with a challenge to use the term “semi-permeable” in a sentence. There were oh so many options. Brains that were only semi-permeable to learning or common sense? No, it is my stupidity deflector membrane that must have been only semi-permeable this morning.