Lyra the Crazy Cat

Just what every crazy cat woman needs - a crazy cat.

A couple of weeks ago I bought this toy for Lyra at the dollar store. 

It's soft and fuzzy, makes a little crunchy sound, and has a bell inside the tip

Oh my gosh, this was the best dollar ever spent. She loves this toy. 

Nom, nom, nom, I wuv my fuzzy mom!

She loves it so much that I started to worry, what will we do if something happens to her toy?

So, yesterday I trekked over to the Dollar Tree and purchased three and would have bought more if I'd had the cash. Why you ask?  I just can't stand the thought of being without. To help you understand ... I am the same woman who always had a half dozen or more pacifiers for her kids.

Yep, there's two in his mouth and I can guarantee moments before the photo was taken there were also one in each hand, and another couple scattered around the toys!

 And lets not forget my own six-pack of chapsticks from Japan.

 

My philosophy - the things we love and can't live without  ... you can never have too many of and must never, repeat NEVER be caught without!

Initially I thought I'd stash away one or two fuzzies (that's my name for them)  and pull one out as needed. Lyra's idea of "as needed" is different than mine because she immediately pulled all of them out the bag as soon as I walked in the door. I figured what the heck, and scattered them throughout the house so there'd always be one available for play.

Apparently Lyra didn't like that idea and had a plan of her own.

First she started bringing them to me one by one.

She carries them by the furry tip and drags the stick along behind her. I figured out pretty quick that she really doesn't want me to play with her with them because as soon as I pick up the stick and start swinging it around she starts chattering at me. Clearly she is saying, "put my toy DOWN!" So I just let her be and left her alone with her toys.

When Daddy got home from work she showed him her fuzzies but seemed content to leave them alone and took up her usual stance of being his neck brace while watching tv. (It's a nightly routine at our house.) Meanwhile I headed off to the bedroom to watch my shows. Yes, the hubs and I watch TV in separate rooms. For the most part we don't like to watch the same shows and we won't even get into how annoying it is to watch TV with someone who is constantly switching back and forth between channels. I guess that's a topic for another day, another blog.

Anywho, a couple of times throughout the evening Lyra will leave her beloved daddy and come to see me. Sometimes she actually gets in my lap for a brief time. Sometimes she plays with her mice or her beanie baby

Yes, again with the excess

watch me kick his butt mommy

and appears to want me to be her audience. And sometimes she's just walking through the room to get to the bathroom. This usually happens if one of us had recently taken a shower. She loves to go into the shower stall and play.  I finally figured out she sees the water drops on the clear vinyl curtain and thinks they're something to be chased.

gonna kill me some water drops! 

I'm ok with this game unless she starts shredding the curtain. If that happens then me and the girl will go to war. I'll keep you posted.

But, last night she didn't do any of that. No visits and no water drop chasing. A couple of times I did catch her out of the corner of my eye, walking past the bedroom door and continuing on into Ian's room. (though the boy doesn't live here anymore, and his stuff has been replaced with our stuff ... the room will probably always be referred to as "Ian's Room" and the same goes for Andrew's room as well. Yes, I am a creature of habit). Back to the cat, I didn't really think much of it. I figured as long as she was entertaining herself, who am I to interrupt her play?

Fast forward to today. I'm sitting at my art table cutting 1.5 inch squares of paper using an X-acto knife, a metal ruler, and a cutting pad. Sounds pretty boring, huh? Not so to a kitty. She's sitting on the table watching my every move. Sometimes when I'm working at my table she likes to "help" me create. Today she thought this was a new game for her - catch the shiny blade as it whizzes by.  I can't count the number of times I've injured myself using X-acto knives and frankly the thought of slicing a darting-into-action paw scared me. I decided it was time to redirect her to a more cat-friendly game.

"Lyra, where are your fuzzies?" I asked. She knew exactly what I was talking about because she instantly started chattering at me. (If you're a cat lover you know what I mean by chattering. For the non-cat lover, you don't know what you're missing. It's a lovely sound).  Anyway, I "think" she understands me and in her own way is telling me, "I've put my beloved fuzzies away to bed." which can also be interpreted as, "I've hidden them and I'm not telling you where!" I of course refuse to outdone by a silly cat and off I go to find the elusive fuzzies. Thinking back to the previous night's activities it doesn't take a rocket scientist or a cat whisper to figure out they're probably in Ian's room.

Off I go to search, and BINGO! we have contact. All four of Lyra's fuzzies are stashed in the far corners of the closet, nestled behind the shoe cubbies. I pull them out and head back into the living room, cat in tow, still chattering. I think she's saying, "Mom, whatcha doing with my toys? Where ya takin' 'em?"

As I toss them on the floor in the living room I glance at the clock and wonder how long it will be before they find their way back to the closet.

Aren't these fuzzies lovely?

In case you're wondering too, the answer is FORTY-FIVE MINUTES! Yep, it too her less than an hour to move two pinks and a blue fuzzy back to the closet. She's very methodical about how she does it. First she brings her fuzzy to me and "shows me her baby." Then she drags it from my craft room to the living room where she jumps into her chair and appears to "clean" her baby.

When bath time is over she jumps down and I can hear her dragging her fuzzy out of the living room and through the dining room. And then there's silence. 

Mom, watch how fast I can drag my fuzzy away

I can only assume at this point she is running down the hall towards the bedrooms. After going through the same routine for the third time I catch her as she starts to drag away the final fuzzy. Caught in the act, she collapses on the floor and gives me a look that says, "What? What are you looking at?" She then gives her fuzzy a smooch

Fuzzy I love you! Please don't pay attention to the nasty floor. One day Mom and Dad really are going to replace it. 

before jumping up and running away, leaving the fuzzy behind. I'm pretty sure she's thinking, "I'll show her. I'ma just gonna leave it here for now and come back for it when she's gone."

I return to my square cutting and Lyra retreats to her cushion for a nap.

This is Lyra's cushion, it's like her throne!

It wasn't long before it was time to pick up Eddie from school and from there we're on to piano. I'm sitting in the van now writing this while waiting for his lesson to be over.  I'm willing to take bets that by the time I return home the lone green fuzzy will be long gone. I fully expect to find it stashed away with the others in the closet.

So, what do you think is going on here. Is Lyra playing a game with her fuzzies? Or is this some kind of nesting instinct and she's treating them like babies? I sure hope this isn't a sign she is about to go into heat again, I have her scheduled for spaying next Monday . Heaven help us, I don't think we can go through another week of yowling and rolling around on the floor. Keep your fingers crossed!
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I was right! Got home and no green fuzzy on the dining room floor. It's back where it apparently belongs!

Salvaging a photograph

When I went on my recent purge one of my goals was to sort through old photographs. Now they're all neatly organized ... if you can call being stashed away in boxes organized. There are several boxes - a box for each of the boys, a box of family photos, a box of extended-family photos and a box of my pre-marriage days ... that is my idea of organization.

 

My next goal is to scan as many of the photos as I can and put them into online storage. I'm just trying to cover all my bases in case of invasion (alien, zombie, or foreign zealots), fire, or any natural disaster.

The $64,000 question is, "will I live long enough to accomplish all of the many things I say I'm going to do?"

Anyway, back to the photos.

In my sorting I found several photographs that had been mutilated.

For example, this one of our happy, YOUNG, family taken in the Fall of 1991. It was taken at my sister's house at a family gathering which included many of our Florida cousins. The cousins were up for a Georgia Tech football game and we gathered afterwards for a cookout and to watch the Atlanta Braves in their run to the World Series. Certainly our attire can attest to where our loyalties lie. Go Braves! 

There I am with my thick, dark hair and oh-so-attractive humongous eyeglasses. Andrew is a newborn with a little spit-up on his lip, and Ian is a toddler, sporting a deer-in-the-headlights look. Rounding out our happy little family is my dear husband.

Wait a minute. Where's he at? I know he's there because I see his arm resting on the back of the couch and I recognize that t-shirt. But, where's his head?

Apparently this photo is a victim of scrapbooking. I needed his sweet face for something so I just chopped it right it out of the photograph, and in the process rendered the photo useless. Fortunately at the time, instead of tossing it, I stashed it away for another day. I must have known some technology would come along that would help me salvage the photo.  

I'm not very good using Photoshop Elements but I think this photo is better than the one with a faceless husband.

 

Maybe with a little practice I can figure out how to put Dale back in the photo so it can be a true family photo. Until then, this one will have to do. 

Go Braves!