When Rodents Go Postal

Ever since Sufie got sick she's been an indoor cat. In fact, I'm not even letting her in the basement these days because she always comes back covered with cobwebs with dirty paws. So imagine my shock when I heard a strange, "Chuck, chuck aaaroooyee" sound coming from under the couch.

I'd just come from work. Sufie met me at the door. Everything about her spelled excitment - inability to concentrate, raised fur, active tail, etc. To the couch she went. Butt in the air, she reached under as far as her fat little body would let her. "Chuck, chuck aaarooyee," I heard. The noise terrified me. What kind of creature says that? If it was a lizard, I swear I'd still be locked in the bedroom. But the beast squeaked, and that's when I knew it was a squirrel.

I equipped myself with thick leather gardening gloves and went in for the capture. Sufie drove the squirrel into the drapes. I grabbed. He climbed. I grabbed again. This time I got him cornered in the folds. I put my hands around him and gently pried him from the curtain.

When I got to the door disaster struck. I had to let go with one hand to turn the knob. My captive sunk his long nut-cracking incisors into the pinky of my right hand. "You bastard," I said. Being of legitimate parentage, the squirrel bit harder.

I got him out the door and put him on his back in the ivy. Still, he kept his grip. "Isn't this better than being inside?" I pleaded. "You can let go now."
The squirrel relinquished nothing until I eased my hand out of the glove. When he realized he was biting leather, he squeaked twice, flipped over and dove into the ivy.

Fortunately, such gray-furred menaces do not usually carry rabies, as I found out later at the emergency room. All is well. My finger has healed and Sufie's sleeping soundly.

My Absence, My Excuse

Sufie got sick -- a bad case of asthma brought on by trying to poison her fleas. I nearly killed her with all the crap I was using: sprays, Frontline, powder, flea shampoo, two types of collars. None of it worked, but Sufie could scarcely draw breath. Then she started tremoring.

I took her to the vet through it all, each time describing all the products I was using to rid the house of fleas. No one ever said, "Stop using them."

Finally, after spending about $1,000 to have her x-rayed, stuffed in an oxygen cage, checked, double-checked, triple-checked, I went online. Feline asthma -- buy an Areokat nebulizer and administer the same spray human's use. Flea toxins -- wash the cat in mild soap to remove the Frontline (which totally doesn't work), the flea collar poisons and the shampoo; have the powered rugs cleaned by a professional; scrub all sprayed areas with water (because you don't want to add more chemicals to the atmosphere) and vaccum every day for two weeks.

These measures stopped her tremors, but the only thing that ended the flea infestation was Revolution, another product like Frontline, (except it works). Sufie gets a little sick when I put it on her, but the fleas have disappeared.

So now that she's well again, I'm going to try to post my blog once a week. Sort of lame for a blog titled "The Daily Activities of my Cat," but the best I can do.

'Till next week.

The Teasing of the Shrew

I swear, now that Sufie has an audience she's gone into high hunting gear. On Friday she brought me a shrew -- a blind, black, confused, squeaking little shrew. Again, I donned my trusty oven mitts and went in for the capture. The shrew offered no resistance, except that after releasing the beast the mitts reaked of something horrible. I don't know if shrews are scented or if this guy peed on me, but the mitts had to be doused in dish detergent and stuffed in the wash. Sufie, no skunks, please.

A Visitor

An upset! Today a marauding kitty came onto Sufie's property. There was no hiss or spat. Sufie just ran through the open door at top speed. For the next ten minutes she was puffed like a sea sponge attached to a bottle cleaner.

I saw the kitty. He was quite handsome. Round yellow eyes, pretty gray tabby stripes. I told him to go on. Scat. He did that stop, start thing -- looking back at me. That means he'll be back, the rogue.

Sufie posed for this picture this morning next to the flowers I got for my birthday.

My Birthday Present

Today is my birthday. Sufie, my cat, brought me the gift of a live chipmunk. She cornered it in the bathroom. The electric excitment she had chasing that poor chipper ricocheted throughout the house. The moment I heard the scuffle I knew exactly what was happening.

I whooshed Sufie from the bathroom, donned my oven mitts and went in for the rescue. The chipper dashed alternately between the back of the toilet, the sink and the magazine rack. Once, I was squatting in front of him, about to close in, when he vaulted over my mitted hands and dove between my legs.

Ultimately, I won the chase. I put the chipper back on his wall, but he was so upset he dashed across the patio and dove three feet into the ivy. So tonight I shall celebrate my birthday with filet mingon on the grill not roast chipmunk on a spit, much to Sufie's chagrin. It was a nice gesture though.