John Furie Zacharias
having a bad day in a strange place
Thunderstorms Anywhere

Thunderstorms in the Imajica

 The different ways I don't like you 
 in a list that may never become organized
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Thursday, November 18, 2004
Broken Kitty in the Imajica

never play with matches
It's been almost a month since I first told you about the broken kitty.  Whether it is from her harrowing experience with an automobile or just the cartoon way she travels on the linoleum flooring in the kitchen, the name given her by the users on the main tag board, Skiddy, has stuck.

Her lame leg seems to be healing.  After an intense month of physical therapy involving the chasing of several home-made devices of cellophane and yarn, random objects left on the floor, and imaginary prey, Skiddy is doing much better.

In her typical kittiness, Skiddy hasn't quite learned to retract her front claws yet and gets hooked up on just about everything made of cloth at which she bats.  So far, this embarassment has only involved clothing, carpeting and furniture upholstery.  I have yet to see her hanging unceremoniously from any drapery or screen windows.  So, that's nice.

Skiddy is also a bit skittish.  It is believed that she was likely a feral kitty when found.  Her lame leg may not have been caused by being hit by a car.  She may have been born with it and kicked out of the litter.  She may have been chewed on by a dog.  X-rays showed no broken bones in her lame leg, so perhaps it was a nerve or soft tissue injury that simply needs time to heal.  The veterinarian estimated her to be only 6 to 8 weeks old at that time she was found and subsequently examined, but the last month has allowed her to be more socialized toward people.

My own Skiddy hypothesis, given her age, is that she was likely born sometime during one of the several hurricanes.  Her birthplace was likely flooded or made inhabitable by the storms.  Her mother may have abandoned the litter or was killed.  Certainly, she was very young to be out in the rain and crossing a road.

She has become less timid and ventures away from her original hiding spot behind my bookshelf in the dining area.  I moved her food and litter box into the bathroom to force her to make that commute.  She has also become brave enough to go out on the porch even when someone is not down there doing something.

While Skiddy looks quite relaxed in the above image, it may be simply that one of her front paws is hooked on the carpeting and she was stunned that I would dare photograph her during this embarassment.  Or, it could just be that I busted her being a bad kitty and playing with matches.

[Headphones] :: Evil Stevie: Activate! - JfZ

Posted at 03:37 pm by John Furie Zacharias

November 20, 2004   05:14 PM PST
ohhh... so that's what you meant by "broken kitty" or whatever on the tagboard... heh. boy, you don't want to know what I thought you meant...
November 20, 2004   11:45 PM PST
In the long, distant past, I came home several times to find my former kitty Maximillian hanging from the drapes squealing.
J f Z
November 21, 2004   01:53 AM PST
"broken kitty" ... Heh. No, that's true too. I may as well live in a friggin' monastery.
November 21, 2004   04:10 AM PST
I've experienced what Lyly just said... It's hard to get mad at them afterwards. It always happens when I go on long trips.
J f Z
November 21, 2004   03:34 PM PST
I had a cat spray into the warm vent slots of a 300W Yamaha main amp once. I didn't know about it of course until the timer on the stereo kicked the system on, and the amp exploded with a small ozone and cat fluid smelling mushroom cloud.

Subsequently, since I didn't know it was the cat urine or spray that caused it to explode, I wrapped the amp in a plastic garbage bag and put it in a closet until I could afford to take it to an electronics shop.

About 2 months later, I'm standing at a counter, talking with the tech, and I unwrapped the amp to show him. The odor that was released literally knocked us both away from the amp in seperate directions. Needless to say, he refused to work on it.

That was about the only time I ever wanted to twist the head off one of my cats. It was a good thing that the ride from the shop back home was long enough to let me get over my shock, embarrassment, and anger.

For the most part, though, I had one cat for a very long time. Her name was Fatty. I miss that cat. My friends even miss that cat. She would try to talk to people all the time. She would freak people out.
melicious (c)
November 21, 2004   06:46 PM PST
I miss fatty.... murble...

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