Teethmarks and Tantrums

I’ve not heard any updates today, but yesterday the mother was ready to return Taz to the yard. Apparently, the baby is going through some feline form of the terrible twos.

He can be so perfectly sweet one minute. And the next? Think Linda Blair in the Exorcist.

And almost quickly as the flashes of evil go off, little Mr. Sweetness and Light returns. Just look at that “Who, me?” expression. See what I mean?

What’s In a Name?

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet."

-- Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet


While the kitten is still largely referred to as “the baby” by both the mother and I, there has been a virtual tug of war going on for weeks now as to what to name him. And I beg to differ with Juliet. There's a lot in a name.

I like my name. I didn't when I was little. Kids used to make fun of it. Then, when every other female child on the planet starting being named "Nicole," the teasing ceased. So, I have always taken naming seriously. And I was feeling bad that our newest little guy has been around for weeks with no clear identity.

Part of the delay has been that his gender was unclear. That’s no longer an issue. He is clearly on his way to male catdom! The other part has been the mother’s insistence on giving him a “T” name. Tigger (1992-2009) was our original T-man, followed by Toby in 2006. “All our cats have T names,” quoth the mother.

We went through a list of names ranging from the ridiculous to the sublime before squaring off with our personal favorites. The mother was stuck on Todd/Toddy. (Immediately made me think of Robert Preston’s character of the same name in Victor/Victoria. I’m sorry. This little guy is not a gay showcat. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s just not him.) Also, my mother had an aunt who went by Toddy. “My aunt was not gay or a showgirl,” insisted the mother. "I like that name."

Still, I would not give up on Taz. I think Taz is a perfectly adorable name and to me, it brings to mind images of the Tazmanian Devil of Bugs Bunny fame. This seems to fit our little resident ankle-biter to a T. (Pun intended.)

I was even more encouraged by Vicki over at NotSoSAHM who reported that she and her hubby’s first kitty was dubbed Taz as a unisex name. And Why from the House on Red Hill pointed out that Ozzie, Toby and Toddy just did not have the proper ring to it. How right you are!

Even so, the battle waged on. I have been defiantly calling the kitten Taz and he has even started to respond to it. Meanwhile, the mother has been decrying the name as stupid. But finally, last night, I heard for the first time, the mother call him Taz! “It’s like the Tazmanian Devil. He kind of is like that,” says the mother. (Seriously, he is. Don't be fooled for a second by that cute face.)

Yes! The V in NV today stands for victory …

Thrifty Consumerism Strikes Again

We all know my penchant for tools and for getting something to work in a way that maybe the manufacturer didn’t intend. Well, Mustang Sally over at Absurd and Askew managed to appeal to both of those character flaws of mine in a post she did on the Pledge Fabric Sweeper.

First, I like this product. I don’t, however, like not being able to empty it. It’s not very environmentally friendly to put that much plastic back into the waste stream, and it does fill up pretty fast. I can see from a manufacturer’s perspective where that would be an asset, though as a consumer buying a product that costs $5-$6, it’s anything but.

I use it about every other night on the loveseat and sofa. We have waffled slipcovers on both pieces of furniture, where both Ozzie and Toby are frequent fixtures, and it does a good job of nabbing the hairs that lodge in the crevices. I also use it religiously before tossing either these slipcovers or any one of the mongrels’ beds into the wash.

In that post, Sally links to this post which offers some instructions on modifying this otherwise disposable product (and what a waste to do that!) There are also some other good ideas in the comment section of that post.


You just know that I’m going to try one or more of them!

Going to the Dogs

Coal the Labrador got to make his guest blogger debut following in the footsteps of our Yorkie pals Wylie and Marcel. So, it only seems fair that Ozzie gets to put his two cents in – or so he says. (Because he's older than all three of those guys combined. Hey, that's HIS reasoning, not mine.) So here goes Ozzie’s first meme!

What breed are you? I’m a Yorkie through and through but I have the constitution of a Doberman, especially when the mailman comes. My Co-dee (better known as NV to you) says I’m part moose.
How old are you? I’m a very young 11.5 years, thank you very much.
What is your full name? My Yorkie papers say I’m Sir Ozmund, but my girls named me Ozmund Anthony. Everyone calls me Ozzie though.
Do you have any nicknames? TONS! The Moose is the most common one, but that has become a whole bunch of other names including Mooberry Hill, Mooman, Mooby Doo, Mooie, Mootie Moo, and just plain Moo. There are some other ones when I’m bad, but since this is a PG-rated blog, I don’t think I should say ‘em.
Where do you sleep? Anywhere I want. I have my own bed and I start out there every night. Sometime before the alarm goes off or on the weekends, I bunk with the Co-dee. (That’s my favorite place.) After she goes to work, I go hang with the mother or else I lounge on the sofa. If the Co-dee is gone, the mother is my stand-in.
What is your favorite thing to do? Eat. There are only a handful of things I don’t like: shrimp, mushrooms, and tomatoes are chief among them. A close second is play. I live for squeaky toys or talking toys!
What is something interesting/unusual about you? I am one popular dude! There are a ton of Christmas cards on top of the entertainment center. They came from dozens of states and even from foreign countries. Guess who most of them were addressed to? Just guess! Oh – and I’m a calendar dog. I got a feature spot in the 2009 YorkieTalk calendar. But a lot of my Yorkie buds did, too. I think it’s cool.
Who is your best friend? The Co-dee. I would walk through fire to get to her. She feeds me, plays with me and fulfills my overwhelming need to snuggle.
Did you go to obedience school? I went to puppy kindergarten when I was about 6 months old. I graduated – with honors. It didn’t take though.
Can you do any tricks? I make food disappear. And I can destroy any squeaky toy ever made. It’s a hobby of mine.

Consider yourself tagged! Let your furry friends speak. And if you do, leave us a comment and let us know!

You'd Be So Nice to Come Home To

I can't remember a time in my life when I didn't have a pet. When I was a baby, there were cats and birds. I got my first dog at 7 and my own cat at 8. And since then there have been more dogs, more cats, birds, mice, even a bunny. A menagerie to say the least. So, I have a very hard time relating to people who don't like animals and/or who knock those of who are a bit on the fanatical side. Frankly, I feel sorry for them as I think they're missing out on something truly wonderful.

I understand why some people who like animals don't have animals. They don't feel they have the time or energy to take care of them. I'll admit, animals are a lot of work. I don't even have the lion's share for mine because I'm not home with them all day -- Mom is. I do my share though.

Some nights, I wish they would clean up after, feed, and otherwise care for themselves. But they also have an ROI that can't be beat. This photo is a perfect example of what I mean. It's what I often see in the door of This D*mn House when I get off the bus at night. Ozzie gets SO excited. He just hunkers down and shakes, waiting for me to reach and then open the door, before he explodes into a flurry of barking and erratic movement. He is a welcome wagon extraordinaire!

A greeting like that is the perfect kind after a tough day at the office! (Assuming, of course, you can't get Antonio Banderas with a margarita.) Ozzie's one guy in my life who will never ever care what I look like, how old I get, or how much money I don't have. Which, after picking up the car, ain't much ...