Somehow related to shoes

If not just by this picture.

This one is a splash of sandy blond against a black canvas and she wears it so well. I am so fond of my tortie even if the majority is not. Sakura gets a lot of hate just because she’s an unpopular shade and pattern. And when I say hate I don’t actually mean hate hate. People just overlook her or think she's scary. I haven't a clue as to why. She's as cute as a button and doesn't hiss or snarl at people. In fact, she'd be the first to greet you if you came over and she will win you over.

We’ve been feeling drugged by the saturnine weather lately. It cloaks us with a sleepy, sluggish, wet atmosphere. Rainfall by the crock-load. The sun coming out only through a sliver parting of the gray clouds. The cats' health always seems to be somewhat affected by the weather. Whenever it gets like this they tend to be on the down low, choosing to spend the day snoozing indoors.

Kecik had a bad case of diarrhea a few weeks ago that lasted for quite a long while. It got pretty severe when she started excreting a nasty smelling liquid instead of something solid. She lost a significant amount of weight. After giving her only 2 pills of her medication I let her off to heal on her own and thankfully she has recovered.

Kecik channeling Queen Sheba.

I didn’t complete her medication because the first round of pills that I obtained from the clinic had a powdery texture and were too big and too bitter for us to administer to her. The moment it touched her tongue she spat it out like we just fed her a dung beetle. Even when the vet gave her the meds at the clinic she started hypersalivating for a good minute or two. I went back to get something else. This time these pills were much smaller and had a shiny coating which I knew would go down more easily. I went home and gave her one. All was fine until 10 minutes later she started foaming at the mouth and spitting all over the house leaving a trail of clear white bubbly saliva in her path. I put her in a cage to observe. She was hypersalivating just as she did at the clinic but this time it was worse and it didn’t look like she was anywhere near done. Freaking out, I thought she had somehow overdosed on the medication although I only gave her one pill as instructed. So I phoned the clinic and told the vet. She assured me that it was a normal reaction to the meds because it’s uber bitter in taste and even though she swallowed it with ease it must of left a rising aftertaste. Also, apparently, all diarrhea medication had that same side effect. I don’t know how accurate this information is but it came from a vet I didn't quite have full trust in. Anyhow, I was given reassurance that the salivating would subside in less than an hour and not to worry unless she starts vomiting. I kept her in the cage, periodically wiping the saliva off her mouth. Luckily, it passed and Kecik was back to her usual self.

She no longer appears lethargic and is back to tumbling around with her kids. Although she was actually playing around with them even when she had pooping problems. Yes, she still plays with them even though they’re about her own size now. They particularly love the game of chase and would run about the entire house bumping into whatever that’s in the way if not leap over them. Like the couch. Don’t be surprised if you’re lying there minding your own business and suddenly you see a cat in midair above you. They would jump right across you, one after the other like you’re the obstacle in an agility race. Today they knocked over my mom’s vase on the stairs, cracking it in two. It’s funny how they only stop to breathe once there's an accident. A moment of silence follows the crash and everyone looks at everyone else before bolting and then quietly waiting a distance away from the crime scene. Anticipating the scolding that was sure to come. I like it how they then sit there blinking in innocence.

It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve ruin property out of the sake of good fun. We’ve had two phone chargers bitten in two and the cable of my headphones has teeth marks all over it. Our couch has been mercilessly scratched until a gaping hole materialized. I had my beloved bracelet dented when Peekaboo wrestle my arm and tried to pull it off with his teeth. That’s just the inanimate objects. Our skin has never been safe from their claws. It might cause you horror to know that they’ve scratched our faces some. I’ve had the experience with Pat and Peekaboo. My kid brother has gotten it from Peekaboo and Mama Ayeow (though this is entirely his own fault and not exactly uncalled for as he likes to bother them when they do not want to be bothered). My sister Afah has also seen her face injured and today, my mom received one to the side of her nose just centimeters away from her eyes also on account of Peekaboo. All to the face. Fortunately, all injuries where only superficial and were in no way severe. No one has been scarred for life. You just need to be careful when the cats are agitated and tetchy. But in Peekaboo’s case, you just have to be on your guard because he doesn’t mean to cause you harm, he’s just playful like that and doesn’t really know the extent of damage he can do to us with his claws. To him, biting and scratching is simply an act of play.

EXHIBIT NO. 1: Syafiq's nose.

This one is from Peekaboo because when P.Boo said “I AM NOT YOUR PERSONAL RUBBER DUCKY” – he meant it. Should we say lesson learned here? Unfortunately no, this brother of mine doesn’t really listen.

EXHIBIT 2: Afah's cheek.

This Picasso inspired piece happened on one bright drowsy morning. Now this here I believe was an accident because Angie was the culprit and on normal days Angie does not do any hating. She LOVES people. Seriously. Sometimes Angie likes to sleep with us (it’s an on and off thing) and she also likes to give people massages. Usually not to the face. I think on that morning she somehow mistook Afah’s face for a sore muscle.

You might not want to dangle anything to entice the cats right in front of your own face either. Needless to say that’s like calling a nyah a whore. OUT LOUD. And you KNOW when you do that you’re going to get your face punched in and if you think you’re safe in a car and you try to talk trash from a crack in the window, remember this: Nyahs wear stilettos and stilettos can break windows and possibly your skull too.

From me and the catty kids

2010's Message – I must warn you it might be a tad bit long. But only just a little.

I am a struggling, aspiring vegetarian and I'm miserable at it but the keyword here that I must reiterate is ASPIRING. Say it with me now, ASSS-Pie-Ring. Now that I've managed to make you swear sin say it with me, I feel like we know each other as close as a tapeworm would know the intestines it has hooked itself to and we can now have a slumber party and share deep and dark secrets, hopes and aspirations. Also, New Year’s resolutions.

I habitually do not make New Year’s resolutions because it's just one of those things people do just because it's the New Year and doesn't amount to much of anything once the year is over. But I suppose this aspiration of mine could also become my New Year’s resolution just because. My aspiration as I was saying is to become a vegetarian. I’m still treading on the inchoate stages of making the transition which I fear may take a long long long time at the chagrin of the farm animals. Oh wait, I should clarify because the term vegetarian may not be apt. I want to become a pescetarian. Because I do not want to quit on the offerings of the sea. I embrace the sea and its underwater life forms for the magnificent beauty of what it is. The sea always ALWAYS reminds me of the greatness of God. It's so mind-blowingly gorgeous in its complexity and mysterious in its best kept secrets yet to be discovered. I’m not particularly in love with the vast selection of seafood for I do not eat a lot of sea life such as shellfish and squid, but I do favor fish and prawns and consistently include them both in my everyday meals.

Currently I eat meat and have been doing so since I was weaned off milk (or so I assume as I’ve never asked my mother and lets just accept that as a solid fact because I'm too lazy to ask her but not too lazy to add this totally unnecessary sentence).But I set limits for myself on how much and what kind I consume. There are some animals that I naturally do not eat such as rabbits, camels, goats and ligers because I'm well known to be a picky eater. And then there are the animals that I consciously have made the decision to stop eating entirely. (Maybe I should add the word TRY somewhere in that sentence). Like turkey which was/is particularly difficult for me to refrain from as I LOVE the taste of turkey. I only started eating turkey fairly recently in the last 3-4 years and only on occasions at that. But as good as they are, I don't want to eat them anymore because they’re intelligent, tetchy, head-bobbing poultry. NOT to say that chickens aren't but it is a lot easier to quit eating something less accessible.

Sadly, I admit I may be somewhat of a specist. Favoring one species over another when it comes to having them on my plate. Like just knowing of the ongoing suffering is NOT enough for me to just STOP contributing to the demand of meat in the food industry and trust me, I feel the guilt. I FEEL THE GUILT. So much so that I sometimes feel like a useless hypocrite. Especially when I see actual livestock being transported in lorries on the road or see those agricultural shows on how they farm these animals for the satisfaction of our tummies.

I eat VERY LITTLE red meat. Reasons being:

A) I don't like having their faces flashing through my head (in this case I'm speaking of cows)

And

B) I don't even prefer the taste.

I eat a lot of chicken and a lot of fish. But most of the time I don't eat at all because I'm anorexic. Or at least I've been told (and some of those naysayers are so CONVINCED that anything I say to debunk their claims goes unnoticed because for some reason they're under the impression that skinny people lie and will willingly hand you the authority to speak for us).

In truth, I don't think it is WRONG to eat meat and I do not think those who stuff their faces with it should be burned at the stake to a tender crisp (or medium rare, depending on what you feel like having). Everyone has a right to choose for themselves what they want to eat especially since God gave us those animals for us to benefit from. It is the METHOD of farming and producing the meat for the masses that bothers me to no end and affects me greatly because A LOT OF SUFFERING is endured by those animals just to feed the human population. That is what gets to me. That is what eats away at my soul. The suffering and the cruelty these animals are subjected to before they reach our dinner table. The conditions they are kept in are substandard and not to mention unsanitary. Cramped dirty cages, no space to even stretch their legs, insufficient basic facilities such as water and ventilation, exposure to diseases and malnourishment. Injected with hormones and other various enhancers so they'd be plump and juicy mutant chickens. Living a brief tormented life. And then there's the method in which these animals are culled. Have you ever seen the crude merciless inhumane act that it is? Google it. I dare you. Factory culling...that's hell right there. If you ask me it's only fit as punishment for hardcore criminals or that former scumbag boyfriend of yours who eloped with your bff. AND maybe Miley Cyrus cause she is effin annoying -but that's just a personal statement/preference. You’re free to think of other ways to have her STOP SINGING.

ANYWAY,

I believe in the halal way of putting an animal to rest for us to eat. It's merciful and its quick if done correctly by syariah requirements. You can read more about it here. But no factory is going to employ that many people to attend to the merciful killing of each and every individual animal because it doesn’t engender maximum productivity and garner up higher profits as cold killing machines are able to do. The chickens are hung upside down by metal hooks on a conveyor belt railing. Moving towards the slitting instrument. They are lined up side by side with their fellow unfortunate comrades in death. What unsettles me immensely is the stunning process in which they immerse the chickens in a tank of extremely frigid water with electric current running through it so they would lose consciousness and become paralyze and are then supposedly unable to feel pain. This is merely to sedate them so they'd be easier to kill with the blade that’s next in line. Many issues arise from this disturbingly fucked up method because:-

a) Some chickens are unaffected by the low electrical currents and thus are NOT STUNNED or temporarily stunned -meaning they regain consciousness after a few seconds and are then aware enough to be highly distraught from being plunged into water head first which obviously causes stress levels to spike up the wazoo and hence causes more unnecessary pain to the chickens before they are slaughtered.

b) Some chickens are underweight and sickly, smaller in size from the others but put to slaughter anyway and when they are stunned, they immediately die from the stunning process in which renders them haram because it is already dead before they hit the blade.

c) There are many other halal haram issues in regards to the stunning method that you could further read here.

AND DONT GET ME STARTED ON THE STUNNING METHOD THEY USE ON CATTLES AND OTHER FOUR LEGGED FARM ANIMALS. Because this makes me CRY ENDLESSLY and when I've dehydrated myself from it, I continue by crying on the inside and when I’m knocked out by that, I cry in my sleep and have vicious nightmares. I really urge you to read this article (same link as above link). I hope it gives you insight, awareness and a better understanding as to how you get your meat and you can make your own assessment on the matter. Hopefully, for the betterment of our lives and utmostly, for the sake of the defenseless animals.

I would feel much better if I knew the animals I were to eat at least had a good life before giving it up for my sake. I know they would appreciate that of us as well. But that's not going to bring in a lucrative income for those running the meat plants and slaughter houses which contribute to the economy. The more people eat meat, the higher the demand and the more animals they'll subject to suffering to meet the growing needs of the consumers. Prompting them to keep and slaughter more animals per day than their original capacity causing more cramping because of lack of space. Hence, more and more animals are subjected to cruelty and suffering.

There needs to be a reform in the farming of animals. Go back to the days in which the animals had room to roam about just like in the kampungs. They ate real food. Not enhanced synthetic substitutes. They knew life and could enjoy it in the time that they had. They were allowed to grow up first. If they could largely produce meat this way I wouldn't object. I support free range farming. When I first read about all this, I was fast to tell my mother and ask her where she bought her meat. I'm relieved to hear that the beef she buys is not from a slaughter house like I've described above. She says the beef she gets is slaughtered by hand without the use of stunning. However, she doesn’t know the origins of the chickens. I highly suspect that they were all subjected to stunning. One of these days I'm going to go with her to the wet market and ask for myself. Also, I'm going to try to find an alternative place to purchase meat. A place that does not practice stunning. I’ve already banned the purchase of meat-based processed food in my house like hotdogs and nuggets (especially AYAMAS and 5 STAR). Ultimately though, I intend to achieve my desire and goal to becoming a pescetarian and I hope with the help of God and my steadfast love for animals I will beat my primal urges for meat.

So for 2010, my message (as per title, sorry it took THIS long to get to this part) is to go kill an apple instead or something else without a face to protest against the inhumane methods of mass producing meat. Here's to the further effort and struggle to become a vegetarian for the sake of those farmed animals and the reduction of animal suffering.

I end this lengthy piece with an excerpt from the Are We Eating Halal Meat article by Gany Auyeskhanov

“We are obliged to eat meat of a healthy grass-fed animal slaughtered by a professional Muslim who does it as an act of worship to the Creator; we know this is Halal. We are not against scientific progress but cautious with profit-driven science which is often destructive. If the non-muslim animal welfare organizations and industrialists want stunning, thoracic sticking, machine slaughter, animal protein feed, hormone injections, good luck to them. But when they want to sell us their meat products – it’s their job to convince us beyond any doubt that their state-of-art technologies are Halal and Tayyeb. And the most convincing way to know the truth about stunning is to hang its advocates upside down and immerse their heads in the bath with low electric current, same as they do for chickens. We will know the truth after they gain consciousness.”

Here's Peekaboo who is well known for being a cute heartbreaker. Have you the heart to EAT HIM?

The Hiatus

Allow me to start this off by mentioning the monstrosity growing on my chin. Because really, there is no other way than to come back from that very dark abyss of absence from my own blog and shoot this one out the window for all to know. I know this is totally not cat-related but this is somewhat relevant for what I am speaking of is a CREATURE on its own. I gotta tell you people, there is a giant zit protruding out of my face that is causing great discomfort. This parasitic boil looks not unlike the balls of an elephant. My mistake, it’s ONE ball of an elephant. I’m not oversensationalizing a zit. I really am not. If the comparison makes you uncomfortable, how about this? My face is growing itself another head because it is lonely and needs a friend. Someone just like it. Personally, I like elephant ball better. Makes me sound less anti-social. Ok lah, MINIATURE elephant ball. By the way, I HAVE seen real elephant balls before and it was not on TV. Needless to say it is not their best feature. But I love elephants nonetheless because who has time to be perfect? After all, perfection does not exist.

Why did I go on a rant about the male genitalia of the pachyderm and have you plant quite an obscene image in your head? Seriously, I don’t know. Maybe I just wanted to mess with you. To see if you’d ever come back to read me. This is no way to build a fan base (not that I’m trying). Do not follow in my footsteps (if you ARE trying). Do not talk about elephant balls. Especially on your face. Sigh. I really am THAT good at having people look at me funny. And here’s an emoticon =p to follow that sentence up so it appears to soften the harsh truthfulness of the statement and make the little girl in me stop crying.

ANYWAY, if you’ve been here before you might be wondering why there has been no updates on my precious aging kittyzens and true tales of P,B&J. I will not blame the elephant ball, I mean the germinating pimple now smeared in Oxy (and I wear this during the day out in public and people look at me like I just scraped white paint off the wall with my chin cause ya know, I was marking my territory yalls!). It has nothing to do with my face. That much is clear. Because where is my face on this blog? Can you find it anywhere? No you can’t? Exactly.

My hiatus has been the result of, well, my emotional state. My mind has been in shambles and is slow to sort itself out due to life-altering events. No, I did not have a breast augmentation neither did I get to marry Hayden Christensen (although I REALLY should, SO if YOU see him around tell him to CALL ME and also tell him I already booked the venue for next year ok!).

I don’t really want to make this blog venture towards more personal aspects of my life other than the cats but since future postings will somewhat be related to this, this deserves a fair mentioning in several paragraphs.

In early October, my father, Prof.Dr. Kamarudin Mat Salleh (of UKM) passed away after 2 years of battling renal cancer. And that is the first time I have written that in a sentence. I state his name because if ever someone tries to google his name and find this page as a result of that, I’ll let you know that he too liked cats and lived with A LOT of them for 11 years. Although he was nowhere near the level of devotion that my mom and I have for feline company but my father loved us enough to tolerate sharing his house with them. Gradually, he made space in his heart for each and every one of the cats and he couldn’t help himself from picking favourites. I can’t really blame him for that. He had mad love for Parsi. Of course he didn’t show it by tying Parsi to his hip but he made a lot of exceptions for Parsi. The grand example being: whenever Parsi poops in the house he would not scream his head off at Parsi’s disgusting behavior and lack of class. Instead, he’d just go Oh look, Parsi had an accident. Must be cause the door was closed and NOT because Parsi is a giant ass. He was also fond of Mama Ayeow. But who isn’t? And Mimi always had the privilege of sitting at the dining chair next to his to share pieces of his ikan bakar. A few years back when Honey was still around, he actually brought home pieces of string from his office for her to play with (she was obsessed with chasing strings).

The cats were also favorite subjects of my father’s photography. His DSL camera he left behind will in no doubt continue on in capturing images of them. He did a lot for the cats. He paid for their food without ever complaining about the cost and in the past, when I was still too young to drive and there weren’t nearly as many animal clinics in the area as there are today, he’d go to work late so that he could take me to UPM to get the sick animals treated. He supported me when I wanted to become a vet – although that will forever remain a dream unfulfilled. I could handle the science back then, it was the math that buried that dream. What can I say? My brain was not made to count without a calculator.

* For the life of me I wanted to insert a picture of one of the cats here taken by my father but I COULD NOT FIND the folders containing all those picture. I'm not even sure which computer it might be in. But if you're interested to do some clicking to see one (or two) you can do so here.

He may have been a little less tolerant with the animals that I brought home later on in life or the ones who came over uninvited and were keen on staying (like the suave and handsome Soya that my dad hated and actually chased away several times with the penyapu – of course he never actually hit him. Also there was WonderCat who had a brief stay here as well), but it was only a fair reaction since we already had so many under our not-so-spacious roof and plus, he was also sick and just didn’t have the energy to deal with the animal traffic in and out of the house.

I often have the tendency to downplay the magnitude of such affecting news and am likely to practice emotional aversion to crushing events like the great lost of a loved one to insulate my heavy friable heart. This is just how I operate. So I had to burrow in for awhile to assess the changes of my life now. The changes have been difficult and has made life ever more precarious. I cannot quite yet articulate the full extent of the experience. But I can say that I am blessed to have my family and my cats (also a substantial part of the family) along with my friends who’ve been here to make it less of a lonely ordeal. If I EVER had the tiniest of doubt about animal therapy (which I’ve never had), these tough times have steamrolled over them through and through. We were not alone in our bereavement. I can tell you in complete honesty, without any exaggerations, that all my cats especially the older ones felt the effects of my father’s death. When we brought my father home for his last moments, I had to dash the cats to be boarded at the pet shop to make space for the potential crowd soon to be gathered around the house. In such a situation, you really don’t have the time and mind to focus on anything else so the cats needed to be put in a safe place for awhile. We didn’t want them to freak from the sudden rush of people either. But because I was short of time and cages, I only managed to transport 7 of them to the pet shop in one trip and there was no time to make another. So Parsi, Sakura and Kiki had to be placed in the balcony. But we had earlier on decided that Parsi should remain at home because he was my father’s favourite and we thought my father would have wanted him to be there during the final hours.

My father arrived home at 12 pm via ambulance and past way at 7pm the same day. People poured in till early morning. It was only after the funeral did I get to properly attend to the 3 cats. The differences in behaviour were apparent. Kiki wouldn’t stop mewing. Calling out for something or someone. While Kiki is known to be vocal, but she has never continuously called out for long periods of time before. It was almost like she was howling as she paced up and down the stairs seemingly looking for something. I know that some people may want to say that we’re just personifying the animals as to have them feel closer to our human ways. We’re only making up these similarities to human characteristics so we can feel a more mutual connection and understanding between two utterly different species. One being superior and the other much more inferior in the presumed hierarchy of God's earth creatures. You can have your views but I believe animals can have feelings and have the ability to emote just as we do. They may not cry tears of sorrow, but can they feel sorrow? Can they grieve and be affected by lost? Hell yeah, I’ll put my stamp collection on that. (I don’t really have an exotic stamp collection but I know they’re worth a lot to stamp enthusiasts. Not that I’m saying stamp collectors would argue with me on whether animals have feelings or not.). Some things don’t require complicated explanations and scientific proof when you’ve seen it for yourself enough to believe past sceptical, one-sided ken.

And how did Parsi take it? You’d be surprised. At least we were. Pat has always, ALWAYS been a grouch. He would out-grouch Oscar in that trashcan of his and would eat Big Bird with no remorse if he ever went strolling down Sesame Street. He has never been the affectionate, 'hey please scratch behind my ears and while you’re at it shower me with kisses' type of house pet. He’s more of a grandpa with one too many bad war stories that has blinded him from the beauty of what life has still to offer. Like rainbows and dancing elves and cupcakes with rainbows and dancing elves decorated on them. But when my father went away never to return, what did Parsi do? He came slithering between our legs. Mewing for some love. Wanted to have his head stroked and even endured some squeezing. He even called out to us. When has he ever done that? Not since he was an impatiently screaming newborn kitten in want of mother’s milk. It lasted for a few weeks. We were in awe but not too much because it only reminded us more of our lost. I think he was trying to let us know that he understood.

One thing I have to say I regret doing was to not have left Mimi behind at the house as well. My mom is convinced that she would have liked to have been there at the time. Because even now, after over 2 months, she still seems to be at a lost. There’s a story to that but I’ll save it for a later date. We hadn’t plan to keep any of the cats (with the exception of Pat) home during the event anyway, but if we did, we would have surely allowed her to stay for she shared a special kind of connection with my dad that only the two of them really know the meaning of.

Death can drag you to patches of dark clearings that you never knew existed. That’s where I found myself. Although it isn’t all too apparent in person because moping around in gloom takes up more energy than you'd think, similar to how frowning uses up more muscles than smiling. But having the ones you love who are still here encircled around you to help you keep yourself upright, makes you more appreciative for those godsend individuals. At least whenever you need to fall down and lay still for awhile, in my case, I know there would be a wet nose to nudge me and a soft ball of fur to rest my head on to let me know that I am not alone.

2009 has been a torrid one. Here’s to a hopefully brighter 2010 with cats pooping and peeing in front of guests just so the guests can go home and badmouth us and vow to never come over again (for the selective few ill-mannered guests, mission accomplished). Also in hopes for a year with less sightings of ELEPHANT BALLS.

Childhood Comforts

Parsi sleeping in his old favorite spot. Before he became a wandering stud and forgot about those quiet little naps he used to take upstairs. When he could still climb up the stairs without carrying a 4 kg belly up with him. Yeah, his youthful, washboard-abs days.

When he was younger, he mostly spent his time indoors for his father, this gargantuan black persian beast would attack him upon sight for being 'in his territory'. We named this frequent visitor Night for he was so dark and such a formidable figure one could not be amazed without also being intimidated. He was not one of my cats. He belonged to someone from a different street and on one fine night, he followed one of my female cats home. Upon discovery of my cat infested populated house, Night liked to roam the area and constantly came over like it was his favorite brothel. Back then he surely had a myriad of female companions to choose from for we did not yet practice neutering. He hung around for many years. Even when he was limping or ill he would still come over to visit - I supposed he was addicted to this place or simply loyal to his routine venturing. He didn't bother us humans much. Just liked to lounge around. Didn't create any problems. Like Parsi, he was not the cuddling type and didn't like to be handled. He would only tolerate a pat on the head for a few seconds before he would show you his claws. He peed on me once or twice. Luckily for him, at the time I did not know how to use a butcher knife. Oh but wait...I still don't. But digress, eventually he died of old age and I'm sure he was really old. He had to have been over age 10. Anyway, when Parsi was a young lad and Night was still around, he made sure who was boss. As a result, Parsi wouldn't dare to go outside much. It was only after Night's departure did Parsi truly see the world and of course, like his father, became the big shot about town and while Night came here to terrorize this street, Parsi went over to where Night originated and took reign. It goes to show how you just return to the roots of your ancestors.

Parsi is old now too. And after his castration in Dec '08, has lost interest in roaming. Doesn't even bother with any territory which allows other neighborhood cats to come and terrorize. Since then he's gain 3-4 kgs and counting. I was going through some photos the other day and the difference in appearance couldn't be more shocking to me. I can't believe he's changed so much.

BEHOLD THE DIFFERENCE!
(Click to enlarge for better viewing)
***

-Parsi at 6 years old in 2007-
Parsi 2007 and 2009- the changes in 2 years.

Parsi in April/May 09

Canned

You know, bad things are sure to happen when you refuse to listen to good advice OR verbal beatings stern warnings, especially ones that ring so clear you need not think long and hard to understand the meaning such as, "DO NOT RUMMAGE THROUGH THE TRASH!". I guess one would take heed especially if that one just had a treat of wet food. Such was the amount of aromatic treat that was given, the whole can was wiped clean and thus disposed of appropriately in the trash. But what happens when you leave the kitchen to live life elsewhere? Like say, make plans to maybe get down on the dance floor and shake that thang or maybe just watch The Biggest Loser. Meanwhile, little furry things get brilliant ideas and come together to devise a cunning yet simple plan to tilt the bin over and feast! It astonishes me how these cats are ALWAYS nosing around for food as if I have forced them to join in on the philantrophic act of a hunger strike for Darfur. Given their uncontrollable appetite (that rivals my fat ass Parsi's), it may not be so surprising that I find myself wondering if they're some mutant breed of insatiable walruses in feline disguise.

Anyway, here I am doing something else when my ears pick up a THUD THUD THUD. Now, what can that possibly be? Hmmm. Is it Parsi exercising to achieve a more desired figure? Or could it just be the sound of my beating heart for my prayers have been answered and a rockstar has just dropped from the heavens with a THUD onto my living room carpet?

Sadly a girl can only indulge herself in such wishful thinking for so long until reality catches up. The sound was coming from the kitchen and the 3 little ones were not around. I had a notion that I was likely going to find scraps of crap scattered on the floor. But little did I know I'd have more on my hands than I had expected. I went into the kitchen to find, not one of the two rowdy boys, but Jess - the usually well-behaved tuxedo princess -thrashing about, doing the moonwalk...without a head in sight. Literally. This is because,well, remember the empty can of cat food? It now held her little head captive.

I would have taken a picture except that my brain didn't instantaneously direct me to make a mad dash for the camera. Instead it had me more concerned on dealing with the situation without panic so I would not have to bury a dicapitated kitten. Because who would REALLY want a stiff headless kitten to adopt? How would I ever explain THAT to anyone? I have after all, a cat crazy friendly reputation to keep. Fortunately, I was able to remove it safely from her head unscathe. Indeed afterwards she felt like a star as heads turned her way for she then ended up smelling like a head full of processed fish. Who could resist that, eh? And here I am spending money on floral fragrant shampoos.

Kecik, but with a lot of heart

This is a picture of Kecik staring out into the distance from the balcony. Though you cannot view the expression on her face, I can tell you that she had a faraway look that suggested only one thing- Rindu. And she has had that look reflecting through her yellow cat eyes from the deepest recesses of her fragile heart, for a very long time. Who has she been waiting for? None other than her dearest Andi.

Andi was not her macho bob cat spouse nor was he the 'wham bam thank you ma'am!' father of her kittens. Andi was her tall and lanky (ok lah, boyishly cute too) former owner who saved her from the lonely life of an abandoned cat in an animal shelter, brought her home and loved her to bits. On the day they parted, they had the same sad look on their faces. Although Kecik was more confused than he could be. She remained that way for many weeks.

Kecik has been an emotionally difficult cat code to crack. I'm sure she thinks of her stay here as an abandonment on Andi's part. But the truth, as I have tried to wedge into her little heart-shaped head, is that he had to let her go to pursue a career in the sky (literally). Frankly a place she could not follow. Bringing her along was not an option. So the next best thing was to place her and her kittens here with the almostcrazycatlady me. But she refuses to let go of the idea that Andi is off on a short vacation and will soon take her back to their spacious home without weird old cats around giving her vicious 'i will eat your eyeballs when you go to sleep' looks or obnoxious little boys squeezing her like a rubber ducky. I thought she would gradually come out of it and move on with her life and see that we are not planning to skin her alive but instead offer her a home full of love that even teddy bears would wish themselves to be living creatures to take her place...ok, that's a little creepy. But still. Not that I give myself such high extols but if I were a cat, I'd like to live with me. Just ask Mama Ayeow. You may not wanna ask Pat though, he's still mad at me because I put him on a diet so that he could still use his limbs for another day or two (I know, talk about being ungrateful. It's because of his food limits that he can still RUN FROM ME when I try to get a hug out of him).

Quite honestly I haven't yet had a cat who has refused to be chummy with me. But understandably she was tight with her owner and it is sad to see her pining away for his return. If it weren't for her kids and the ever so attentive Parsi, I suspect that she would've run away. Perhaps she realizes though that the cats in this neighborhood are freakier than me my cats.

However, all is not lost yet and there is good news to report. In the past 2-3 weeks I FINALLY saw some signs of Kecik wiggling out of her seemingly unbreakable iron-clad shell. Surely it was a pleasant surprise for me when she just came to me and decided to be an affectionate ball of blue fur. Suddenly, we were like childhood friends at a slumber party confessing stupid little school girl crushes on that one guy and sharing dreams of one day owning a silver unicorn or at the very least, pierced ears so we could wear chandelier earrings down to our butts (of course at the time we didn't know that they could break your neck from the weight were called chandelier earrings).

I have been trying to "connect" with her for so long, I've nearly given up out of frustration and admittedly have been feeling insulted by her lack of response. This week she's gotten more friendlier with the people of the house. She has also started vocally responding to direct speech. Before this, if we talked to her she would ignore us and buat bodoh even though she's fully aware of the fact that we're talking to her and not to my fairy godmother. But now she mews and has taken to rubbing herself against my legs. She is also a big fan of flopping on the floor and stretching long, expecting a belly rub from her display.

Needless to say, I am thrilled with this improvement and only hope that we can establish a closer bond in time. It's not just for my ego as I have had a good track record with cats (as opposed to humans--really, sometimes I just can't stand people) including feral ones but also because I think it's important for her to feel at home here if she intends to stay.

She still misses you, Andi. And I do believe she'll always have you at the base of her heart. But seriously, if you're going to poop in the litter box that I scoop everyday, I do expect at the very least for you to be seen with me in public and not pretend to be Miss Independant.