Feed me Seymour!
Apr. 13th, 2007 06:37 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
captainsblogThis is not my idea of a fun morning.
Tasha- our older and somewhat special-needs dog- is going in today for her annual checkup. She's healthy as a horse, we're quite sure; the special-needs part is on account of the asshat who brought her up before she ran away from the jerk and we adopted her. She'd been abused, or at least neglected, making her a fear-biter and a very nervous nellie around anyone other than the life forms under this roof. So she has to go under mild sedation for all these routine pokes and prods, and that, in turn, means she's been off her feed since 9:00 last night.
YOU try explaining this to her, because I surely can't. They don't open for well over another hour, and every time I shuffle my ass a micron in the direction of the kitchen, she resumes the Dance of Joy with loud barks, thuddy play-bows and two more cracks in my temporarily broken heart.
Ebony's also going without, and she has a totally different approach. She just plants her kisser in my face, licks my nose and presents the two most mournful eyes you ever will see. Her charms don't work, though; she gets to eat the minute Tasha's out of the house.
The cats, of course, have been fed. In an undisclosed secure location. I may be unfair, but I ain't stupid.
----
As of last night, the felines were finding their own ways to forage for num-nums anyway. The last of the old cabinets to be refinished last month were the two where we keep the dog food- a two-gallon bucket for daily use on top, the big 40-pound Bruiser bag for refills on the bottom. I'd installed a hook-and-eye device on the bottom one because Biggsy and Michelle had gotten to be real pros at pawing their way into the cupboard and basking in Dog Food Heaven.
When we finished the painting and I was reassembling the hardware for these doors, I put the locking gizmo back on. Eleanor balked; it didn't look good, and besides, with Biggs now gone, we should see if we still need to keep them out of there.
We still need to keep them out of there.
For a week or so, Michelle left the booty alone. Maybe she'd forgotten, since while the doors were down we'd moved the Bog of Eternal Dog Food out to the garage. But when a fresh new bag of Bruiser showed up Tuesday night, she quickly remembered her old skills, and no doubt with Biggsy watching approvingly from on high, she proceeded to nail that sucker open at least five times between then and Wednesday night.
Eleanor, not one to admit defeat, promptly put a six-pack of beer in front of the cabinet. This worked until last night, when we were finishing Casino Royale special features and kept hearing clink-clink-meow noises coming from the kitchen.
There was the cat, one paw IN the six-pack, which she'd managed to nudge ever so slightly away from the door, working merrily on getting a second paw into the edge of the door. I wasn't so much worried about her getting stuck in the cabinet, but there was a distinct possibility she never would have made it out of the beer.
The hook and eye are now back up. Michelle went out to the kitchen at least three times last night to meow in frustration. If you see a post here later about "me" wanting to borrow some power tools or an awl, don't believe a word of it; that'll be her.
Tasha- our older and somewhat special-needs dog- is going in today for her annual checkup. She's healthy as a horse, we're quite sure; the special-needs part is on account of the asshat who brought her up before she ran away from the jerk and we adopted her. She'd been abused, or at least neglected, making her a fear-biter and a very nervous nellie around anyone other than the life forms under this roof. So she has to go under mild sedation for all these routine pokes and prods, and that, in turn, means she's been off her feed since 9:00 last night.
YOU try explaining this to her, because I surely can't. They don't open for well over another hour, and every time I shuffle my ass a micron in the direction of the kitchen, she resumes the Dance of Joy with loud barks, thuddy play-bows and two more cracks in my temporarily broken heart.
Ebony's also going without, and she has a totally different approach. She just plants her kisser in my face, licks my nose and presents the two most mournful eyes you ever will see. Her charms don't work, though; she gets to eat the minute Tasha's out of the house.
The cats, of course, have been fed. In an undisclosed secure location. I may be unfair, but I ain't stupid.
----
As of last night, the felines were finding their own ways to forage for num-nums anyway. The last of the old cabinets to be refinished last month were the two where we keep the dog food- a two-gallon bucket for daily use on top, the big 40-pound Bruiser bag for refills on the bottom. I'd installed a hook-and-eye device on the bottom one because Biggsy and Michelle had gotten to be real pros at pawing their way into the cupboard and basking in Dog Food Heaven.
When we finished the painting and I was reassembling the hardware for these doors, I put the locking gizmo back on. Eleanor balked; it didn't look good, and besides, with Biggs now gone, we should see if we still need to keep them out of there.
We still need to keep them out of there.
For a week or so, Michelle left the booty alone. Maybe she'd forgotten, since while the doors were down we'd moved the Bog of Eternal Dog Food out to the garage. But when a fresh new bag of Bruiser showed up Tuesday night, she quickly remembered her old skills, and no doubt with Biggsy watching approvingly from on high, she proceeded to nail that sucker open at least five times between then and Wednesday night.
Eleanor, not one to admit defeat, promptly put a six-pack of beer in front of the cabinet. This worked until last night, when we were finishing Casino Royale special features and kept hearing clink-clink-meow noises coming from the kitchen.
There was the cat, one paw IN the six-pack, which she'd managed to nudge ever so slightly away from the door, working merrily on getting a second paw into the edge of the door. I wasn't so much worried about her getting stuck in the cabinet, but there was a distinct possibility she never would have made it out of the beer.
The hook and eye are now back up. Michelle went out to the kitchen at least three times last night to meow in frustration. If you see a post here later about "me" wanting to borrow some power tools or an awl, don't believe a word of it; that'll be her.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-04-13 10:48 am (UTC)And they say cats are dumb.
no subject
Date: 2007-04-13 10:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-13 01:02 pm (UTC)I remember when we took Dazzle to have his teeth cleaned, he obviously had to be sedated. So, he was off HIS food for the night and morning. He was searching around, meowing pitifully for his breakfast or a snack or...something. He finally found one grain of dried up, moldy cat food underneath the microwave stand, and scraped it out with his paw. My mom and I didn't have the heart to try and take it away from him, and he just looked so sad, eating that pathetic little piece of kibble.
Don't they have this knack for absolutely making you feel like the bottom of a shoe?!
no subject
Date: 2007-04-13 06:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-13 08:42 pm (UTC)He prevailed, that is, until Gertie knocked the screen out of the window NEXT to the door & proceeded to use that as her egress of choice.
Canis familiaris FTW.