Have You Met My Fur Babies?

I don’t think you have. Mr. Orange on the left there is Owen. He’s probably more like a dog than a cat. He’s always up in your face, wants to play, begs for food, meets you at the door, etc. We brought him home as a tiny kitten and he hid under our couch pillow all night. He loves the warmth. And his chest and belly, as we say are “the whitest white we’ve ever whited”. He lets Q beat the crap out of him. Ryan usually says, “Run, Owen, run!”, but he doesn’t. He just sits there and takes whatever she has to dish out.

On the right is Miss Ernie. Yes, MISS Ernie. We adopted her with the name Stache (as in mustache—dumb). They told us she was a he. We named her Ernie, then we found out the truth, but by that time, I didn’t care to change it again. I call her Ernest when I’m mad at her. She was the runt of the litter, and all her brothers and sisters died. You can see a really sappy video of Kitten Ernie waving to you below.



She used to be my baby—my favorite. Poor cats. After Q came, they were pretty much shoved to the back burner.

Let me use this opportunity to segue into the dramatics that ensued yesterday. Ryan leaves early for work. That leaves Q roaming around while I am getting ready. Our house is fairly toddler-proof, but sometimes things are overlooked. For example, the permanent marker that was in a drawer last week that we didn’t realize she could reach (she can) and is now scribbled on our dining room table. Also, the baby hair mousse that I use on her hair every day that was left on an endtable yesterday. I had to send her to daycare looking like Slick Willy. GOBS of it in her hair—and on Owen. She moussed the cat.

It gets worse—I get home from work yesterday, and Owen is not eating or drinking. I really hadn’t wiped it off of him because I didn’t think there was that much on him, I knew the mousse was non-toxic, and I didn’t think he could reach his back with his tongue. Plus, per usual, I was late. Bad mistake. Ryan called Animal Poison Control, and they said the mousse was non-toxic but still contained alcohol. Ryan had to give him a bath with Dawn. We also kept him hydrated with syringes of water every 15 min or so. Ryan also put him in our bed with the electric blanket on where he stayed, under the comforter, for most of the night. Things were looking up a bit by 9ish, however, when he ate a cat treat. This morning, he seemed to be getting back to his old obnoxious self—under my feet and just generally in the way.

I get irritated with those cats on a daily basis. But I sure would have missed that fat ball of fur if anything would have happened to him (not to mention the guilt). Quinn too, I’m sure (well, maybe).