Do you have a pet who reminds you of a famous human? Who?

I could say that Coney reminds me of Lester B. Pearson but that might be exaggerating.

However, back when I got Mitzi, whenever I told someone about my gorgeous new horse I would say, "She looks just like Audrey Hepburn, if Audrey Hepburn had freckles! And, um, was a horse."

And It's true! It's totally true!

Ahem. Anyone else?

I sleep wrong one night and end up with a sore, gimpy leg for a week.

And yet Coney? ( Sleeps like this all the time! )

Also, for sagitare--I know you love his fangs, so here is a good yawn for you!

I still haven't listened to the whole CD all the way through because I haven't been home at night lately, and I don't like to listen to new CDs in my car. I distract so easily.

However--I listened to about half of Up the Bracket last night (I got as far as "one for the boys in the band," and now dachelle's journal layout makes more sense to me) and now I think that, rather than futzing around with the library, or downloading files to iTunes and all (I really appreciate the trouble you took, dachelle, but for some reason downloads on this thing take forever)--anyway, I think I'll just buy a couple of CDs on Tuesday when I get the new Trews one. I have a list!

Also, as the CD was playing I noticed that Coney was missing. I found him here:



Note CD player in the background. Yes, he went over to listen. (Coney has previously been mostly a U2 fan.)

So, we agree!

Happy fourteenth birthday to Coney.

( Cut for massive Coney picspam. )

It seems like only yesterday he was small enough to sleep in my shoes!

( As long as I'm engaging in picspam--here are a few of Coney and Vladimir! )

You may note that, while Vlad seems capable of embarrassment, Coney has no shame, or dignity, or sense of proportion. Which is why we love him (and his tummy.)

We got a new chair over the weekend from my parents. (Well, new to us.) Coney loves the new chair.



Bojo loves the new chair too, and also Coney. Who is beginning to love him too. Really.

My parents are coming to visit for the weekend (and incidentally bringing me their old large TV, so when I watch the CFL I can see what's going on.) They may come to the barn barbecue, I'll have to check with them when they arrive tonight. We may also hit the Bedford Waterfront cancer benefit thing.

Now, my guest room (read, "full of junk but you can sleep there") used to have an air bed in it. When Mum and Dad moved out of the house and into the apartment they gave me one of their guest beds, the three-quarter size one from my brother's room. So now I don't have to be afraid of the bed deflating under a guest, but I did have to put it together so I can sleep in it this weekend.

I just want to tell you that Coney is an excellent foreman, but Bojo was the one who really got in there and got his paws dirty putting the bed together. He's a really helpful cat. So much so that he nearly ended up made up into the bed, which he did not find one bit funny.

Anyway, we're set for the weekend. Tonight I'll swap out the duvet on my own bed because my mother has allergies, and put on a new clean one I have.

And the vacuuming job from last night will have to do.

I just heard from the woman from whom I got Coney and his late sister Kinsey. It seems their actual mama, a tiny Siamese named Sushi, is still alive and well. She's sixteen years old and as far as I know is an indoor-outdoor cat, in a community where there are not only loose dogs, but coyotes. She's either very lucky or tougher than a regimental sergeant-major. Or both.

It was good to hear.

1) Last night Vlad was sitting on an end table when Bojo jumped up to say hello. Immediate ferocious growling from Vlad. Bojo reacted by going over and industriously sniffing his face. Which is pretty much how Coney handled episodes of growling from Vlad. Either the growling is getting less fierce or else nobody takes Vlad seriously.

2) Coney and Bojo have advanced to the point of wrestling, but I notice that when Bojo pounces on Coney, Coney retains his feet. Which is only interesting if you know that when Coney is pounced upon by kittens, he immediately keels over in a "you got me" fashion. Come to think of it, I don't think he used to keel over for Kinsey, either. Clearly, Coney knows (a) who to humour, and (b) who might accidentally disembowel him.

3) Hertel is good for removing stains from carpeting, including the blood and guts of Coney's prey. By which I mean he got raspberry juice all over the floor the other night, but Hertel got the stain out. Hey, he might be a vegetarian, but he still has fangs!

I've been feeding the cats in two different places, because after Bojo claimed the downstairs food dish both Coney and Vlad were afraid to eat there. Last night when I came in I filled the secondary food dish first because it's near the door. I always do that. Coney followed me into the bathroom it's housed in and chowed down.

And then Bojo came in too, and the next thing I knew I had two grey-tabby heads stuck in the food dish together, no problems at all.

I think peaceful coexistence is accomplished.

At least among the tabby cats. Vlad, we're working on!

Before I get into the Tribeca post, I would like to report this morning began with two elderly tabby-cats on my pillow. Bojo was washing Coney's face.

Everyone eventually succumbs to Coney, but it looks like they also eventually succumb to Bojo.

Vlad--is a work in progress, but he's growling less.

Despite having only three of them.

Because there is a new application inside Facebook called (of course) "Catbook." And I added it, and then created profiles for Coney, Vlad, and Bojo.

I know, I know, I'm embarrassed. But I notice I'm not deleting the profiles.

Since I got home from Ottawa Coney, who you may not be surprised to learn is a bit of a mama's boy, has decided to conquer his fear of Bojo and go back to his routine of morning snuggles before we get up. I think he pretends Bojo isn't there, at least until Bo makes anything Coney interprets as a threatening move. (Like, you know, breathing.)

There has been a little minor growling but nothing serious.

I may have mentioned that a large purring cat makes a fine backup alarm clock. Nice to have him back!

Okay, it's not snuggling--yet--but it's getting there:

Yes, I'm talking about the cats. It's been a while since I posted about the cats. In fact, the last time I did I believe Bojo was still kind of throwing his weight around, Coney had a stress-induced eye ulcer and scratches in his face, and Vlad was growling and hissing.

Well. Things are beginning to show signs of settling down. However, it is indeed true that you reap what you sow, because now Bojo has decided he likes his new brothers and thinks they would be fun to play with. Vlad, who really has no sense of humour at all, reacts to Bojo's mock-charges the same way he once reacted to Coney's: he hisses furiously and takes refuge on top of the fridge. Bojo could totally fly up there after him, but so far he's restrained himself. Thank God.

Coney--you recall that Coney initially tried to be friendly. Well, of course he did! But that was before he got scratched. In his face. And now he wants nothing to do with Bojo, and growls whenever he comes near. Or, actually that's not quite true: Coney is fine as long as Bojo approaches him slowly and carefully and makes no sudden or aggressive movements. But anything like a fast move and Coney growls and then dives under the dining room table. Bojo shows signs of being very tired of the whole forcefield situation, but he's at least respecting the hiding-behind-the-chair thing.

What's really funny is, when they make eye contact Bojo looks away. He seems to be doing his best to convince Coney that he's a nice cat with honourable intentions. Coney keeps replying, "Yes, but you scratched me! In my face!" I don't know if it's so much that he's carrying a grudge as that he hasn't gotten over the shock yet. I mean, despite the fact Bojo is being really pretty submissive these days, Coney still tiptoes around him like he's afraid to be eaten.

With that said, for some reason Coney overcame his fears and got in bed with me on Saturday morning, while Bojo was right there, and had a snuggle.

I think we'll eventually get over this, it's just going to take a while. Indications are that patience will be rewarded. I just hope Bojo knows that.

So, just when I had started to think everything had settled down--the last couple of nights I've had cats triangulated on the easy chair and both ends of the couch, quite peacefully--there was another flareup this morning. Bojo was in the bedroom chatting with me (he's very talky) when Vlad went past in the hall, headed for the food dishes.

Bojo flew off the bed and charged. There was a flurry, some yowling, and Vlad fled. I caught up to everyone in the kitchen, Vlad was on the divider between the kitchen and dining room and Bojo was obviously telling him not to come down if he knew what was good for him. Coney, in the big rocking chair, just kept his head down.

So I chased Bojo under the couch, not as a training maneuvre but out of sheer bad temper. Yeah, I know they're settling the peck order and just being cats, but I was mighty pissed off.

Seeing Vlad in the character of innocent victim is, I'll admit, a new one for me!

Incidentally, when I got Coney home from the vet last night, Vlad ran away from the smell of vets but Bojo wandered over and sniffed noses with him. ("You doin' all right, man?" "Yeah, I'm cool.") It was really funny and quite reassuring. Of course, later Coney remembered he fears Bojo, but Bojo doesn't seem to have anything at all against Coney.

Mind you, why would he?

As antibiotics, I mean. I just had Coney to the vet and she was much more concerned about the scratches on his nose (Bojo? Or Vlad?--who sometimes hits the one he's with instead of the one he's mad at) than she was about his eye. In fact, the eye is apparently perfect again. And as long as there's no steroid included in the eyedrops, it's okay to use the people kind if you're home on a weekend with your pupils the size of dinner plates and don't feel like it's safe to drive to Dartmouth. Whether it was an ulcer or a scratch, whatever it was has totally cleared up so I can stop pestering the poor dear.

And I can start pestering Bojo about trimming his claws. Just in case it was him.

I started the day off with an eye appointment and pupil dilation. My brother kindly gave me a lift home afterward. Turns out I have a hole in my right cornea so at some point fairly soon I'll have to have laser corrective surgery, not to fix my vision but to ensure nothing falls out. Nice.

And Coney got another of his stress-related eye problems over the weekend. I gave him some Polysporin antibiotic drops and he seemed to respond well, so I'm taking him in to be checked tomorrow evening but I think he's fine. Although the tech who answered the phone at the vet told me they don't recommend those drops as first aid "because they aren't antibiotics or anything, they just make them more comfortable." Okay, if they're not antibiotic drops, why are they allowed to label them antibiotic drops and recommend them for treatment of minor eye infections?

I am going to have to start insisting on talking to a vet when I call my clinic, for though I love my vets, I have gotten some mighty conflicting information out of the front-line staff. One of the vets has a message to give me a ring this evening so we can talk real quick about the problem. I mean, if what I did was wrong I won't do it again, I'll just take him straight to the emergency clinic, but I don't think I believe what I got from the person I spoke to this morning.

Argh. However, as I say, he's not squinting or in any distress so I think the problem is clearing. I just want him checked to make sure it is, and get proper drops if not.