Ratter

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Kitti, the partner-in-crime, is convinced I have some sort of power over cats. Cats generally seem to like me. The strays in our neighborhood will basically swarm to me. So today, at the risk of sounding insane, I talked to one of the cats about the rats in our yard.

“Look, I don’t know if you know this, but we’ve got a rat problem and we’re looking for a ratter. If you or anyone you know is looking for a home, all you have to do is kill the rats.” I showed the cat the hole in the yard. He blinked at me. “So, just sayin’, if you’re interested or know someone that is, all you have to do is get rid of them.”

These are alley cats. They’re alley rats. I know the cats are already out there hunting but it couldn’t hurt, right?

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Roku

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First thoughts on Roku — price is fantastic. I bought the “middle range” version (Roku 2 XD) in case we ever do get around to getting a high def TV. It connects to a standard TV just like a DVD player — red, white, yellow. It powers up, finds your wireless network, and updates itself.

In my case it was a little more complicated, since my wireless network doesn’t broadcast the name. But that only involved the extra step of telling it the name.

Once it was updated (which took about a minute at the most), it gave me a code and I went to the Roku website and registered my account. It’s free. They do require a credit card (or some form of payment) on file in case you DO purchase any channels. On the website you can tell it which of the channels you want. Then you can either log into the individual services on the Roku (which is the tedious use-the- remote-to-pick-the-letters method) or get a code that you enter at the website. (The url for pairing Pandora to Roku didn’t work, so I did the slow method). That was it!

I haven’t watched anything yet, but I did try a few minutes of Hulu, Netflix, and Pandora. Hulu’s quality wasn’t great, but it was watchable. It could have been what I chose and not a problem with Hulu or Roku. Netflix was fantastic. Pandora played smooth. No stuttering or weird buffering.

I don’t expect it to be great ALL the time (I know what my internet connection is like) but if it’s decent enough more often than not, I’ll be happy with this.

(note: for Hulu you need to subscribe to a Plus account. Netflix obviously requires payment. Amazon Streaming is free for Prime members.)

Have we been “Chosen”?

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Kitti thinks it’s significant that the Ghost Cat walked in unasked and started making himself at home. I really don’t know if I’m ready for another cat, especially one that looks so much like Robin.

It is a sweet cat and he does seem pretty insistent on moving in, though. But the vet bills! The food! The socializing of multiple cats!

I suspect Buddy/Ghost is better with multiple cats than our current cats are. Anime and Rita hate each other. Rita doesn’t seem to be thrilled with the idea of another cat coming in, either — she liked Robin well enough but they weren’t exactly what you’d call “friendly” or “social”. Buddy/Ghost also seems to like Cardiff. Of course, Rita seemed to like Cardiff too until she moved in….

While I’m not opposed to getting another cat, I’m not sure it should be this cat. We’d talked about maybe getting a kitten from BARCS or another local rescue … but not until November, when Kitti won’t be working full-time and can be there to help keep it out of trouble or stop it from getting beaten up too badly.

Kitti says “Well, we could get him and still get a kitten…”.

Have I ever mentioned that Kitti is not really a pet person? Seriously, they annoy him more often than not. There is something seriously wrong in the universe if he’s the one suggesting multiple adoptions and I’m the one saying “wait, maybe not”.

If the world ends soon, it’s not my fault. But I did try to warn you.

Ghost

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Tonight I took the dog out to the back yard for a pee. I was standing in the kitchen and was about to call him back in when a fluffy black cat walked in and started eating out of the food bowl closest to the back door — Robin’s usual feeding spot.

The dog came in right behind him, tail wagging, managing to look pleased with himself. Rita, the grey cat, was sitting in the middle of the kitchen.

The black cat said “meow”. That’s when we all realized it wasn’t actually Robin. Rita hissed. I went “aw”. The black cat resumed eating.

The whole thing was a few seconds but was incredibly surreal. For a second we were all convinced it was just Robin, and not the neighbor’s indoor-outdoor cat that looks almost exactly like him (at first glance, at least. If you look at him for a few minutes you start to see all the differences — the length and texture of the fur, the shape of the head and eyes).

I lured “Buddy” back out of the house, but not before he did a thorough exam of our back porch, as if he were sizing up his new home. I apologized to him and gave him some food as incentive to not set up housekeeping inside the house (he’s welcome to hang out in the yard all he wants).

I really think the dog was proud of himself for finding and returning “Robin” and he didn’t quite understand why I shooed him back outside. I feel kind of bad for taking away the dog’s “friend”. My neighbor and her grandson are both very insistent that it’s okay if we keep him, but I can’t do it. He’s a little too much like Robin.

Immigration Fun Never Really Stops

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Kitti is going to go back to school in January. He’s filled out the financial aid forms and turned in his college application. You’d think that would do it — well, aside from the placement testing and the picking of classes, at least.

Not so if you’re an immigrant.

He’s already had to go to the school so they could copy his green card and stamp his application. Then he got a letter asking why he never registered with Selective Service. Here’s some of the fun things I learned about Selective Service as a result.

  • Any male between 18 and 26 has to register.
  • It does not matter if you aren’t a citizen.
  • It doesn’t even matter if you’re here legally or not.
  • If you live full-time in the US, you have to register.
  • Failure to register may result in imprisonment for up to five years and/or a fine of not more than $250,000.

Exemptions are given to men who entered the US over age 26, so now Kitti has to prove he was over 26 when he moved here (he was). His original passport expired and we don’t have a copy of his original visa (that was in the passport, which Canada kept when he renewed it). I mailed a request for a letter of exemption from Selective Service, but I’m worried they won’t give it since we don’t have anything that solidly proves what year he entered the US. There’s a date on his green card, but that might not be acceptable — afer all, he could’ve been living in the US for years and years before getting that.

Annoyingly, he’s going to have to go to the school again and show them his green card again and hope that they accept the date of entry on the card as proof enough. Fortunately, I think the “worst” thing that could happen is he gets denied a Financial Aid loan. In that case, we’ll just have to pay for a semester on our own and try again in the autumn. Maybe by then we’ll have a way to prove he didn’t need to register with Selective Service.

You would think that in this age his social security number would have a little flag on it that said he was exempt from registration. Or that different government agencies would share data.

…. or that Selective Service registration would have been abolished.

Robin

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I miss Robin already.

Yesterday morning, very early, Kitti, Steeb-the-Roommate, and I went to the vet with Robin. When we took him in he was having trouble walking and was wheezing a lot. The vet suspects the tumor that caused his hyperthyroidism spread to his lungs (and possibly further) so it was clearly the right time. Robin was still mentally with it, but so tired and so uncomfortable that it would’ve been cruel to put it off any longer. To be honest, we probably put it off longer than we should have.

Steeb stayed with Robin during the procedure which was very fitting. Robin was born on Steeb’s lap 16 years ago.

Stupid cat. Stupid, shedding, shouting cat. He was a good boy and lasted 16 years despite all his attempts to off himself — like swallowing sewing needles, or constantly sleeping with his head hanging over the edge of tables so he’d choke.

He was smart in his own way. I’ve never had another cat who would run for the litterbox when he needed to barf. He was great to watch TV with. And he was one of the few cats I’ve ever had that liked having his feet rubbed.

One of the services our vet provides is a pawprint impression. I cried like a girl when I got home today and saw his prints. Those stupid toes.

I will miss you, Robin. I will miss your ears and your toes and the annoying way you loved to shove your nose in my eye when you were happy. I will miss your loud voice that betrayed your secret Siamese background. I will miss nearly stepping on you in the middle of the night because you’re sleeping in the bathroom. I will miss the way you would terrify the dog.

I will not miss picking your fur off everything because I suspect we’ll be doing that for at least another ten years.

Tough Decisions

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Robin the cat (aged 16) makes his last trip to the vet tomorrow. He’s drinking, but not really eating. Mobility is impaired, and he seems to be unsure of where he is. He’s happy and comfortable but it’s time. I hate this so much. I can’t even put into words how much I hate this.

Mystery Meat: UNMASKED

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We think we finally have a solution to the mystery meat in the yard. His name is Yardcat.

It looks like he’s been setting up a base under the black eyed susans (with occasional stops under the fig tree). He’s very friendly, good with dogs, and actually belongs to a neighbor who believes that cats should be outside most of the time. I’m sure he has a real name, but I’ve just started calling him Yardcat.

There’s also a Mrs Yardcat.

She also belongs to the same neighbor, and she’s much shyer.

I still don’t want the dog eating what he finds in the yard, but I’m considerably less creeped out now. And Cardiff has a new friend.

I don’t feel safe in my own back yard.

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Someone or something keeps leaving meat in my yard. I don’t mean anonymous bits of meat that may or may not be human. It’s not severed fingers or kidneys or things like that. It’s hot dogs. Chicken legs. Cooked red meat. Pork (don’t point out that if it looks like pork it could be human. I’m pretty sure it’s things like pork chop remnants). I don’t know where it comes from. I don’t know why it ends up in my yard. All I know is that I’m really afraid to take my dog out into my back yard because I don’t know if he’s going to eat something he shouldn’t.

I live in the city and there are rats. There are pigeons and seagulls. There are stray cats. Any one of these things could be digging food out of trashcans and dropping it in my yard. It could be some well-meaning person in the neighborhood feeding the stray cats. It could be some well-meaning person thinking s/he’s leaving a treat for my dog and cats.

It could be someone leaving poisoned meat out to kill rats and stray cats. It could be some evil-minded person leaving it specifically in my yard to kill my dog or cats.

I don’t care. I don’t care if it’s someone with the best intentions. It’s scary and it’s disgusting.

Today it was fish sticks and that was my breaking point. I got home from work and let the dog out for a pee. The dog grabbed something up from the grass. I tried to pry his mouth open to get it out. The dog is a terrier. He has incredibly strong jaws and if he doesn’t want to open them it’s very hard to force him. I finally got the food out and was really not pleased to see what it was. It explains the dog’s extreme desire to not let it go, though. He’s never had fish. I’m violently allergic to all things seafood so standing there with dog spit and chewed up fish on my hands was not pleasant. I’ve washed my hands twice already and feel like I need to do it about twelve more times (possibly with bleach) before I’ll be okay with the idea of putting my hands anywhere near my face.

Most importantly, I don’t know if it’s poisoned. My dog can’t tell me if it tastes funny or if he feels sick. All I can do is try to get it out of his mouth as fast as possible and hope he doesn’t swallow any of it. It’s not so bad if it’s daylight — I can usually see before he grabs something or almost immediately after he’s picked something up. But if it’s dark? Or if I’m distracted by something else? There’s no guarantee I’ll see it.

Seriously. How many people go out in the yard with their dog and watch it like a hawk? Almost no one. You go out there with a book or a drink, or you talk to a neighbor, or you deal with laundry or the plants, or you just woolgather and look at the clouds. Most people don’t even go out with their dogs at all — it’s just “turn it loose and let it pee”. I can’t. For about a month now I have to be out there, hovering over him, watching every single thing he sniffs or looks at and he still manages to pick up food. And then I get scared, which makes me angry, so I yell at the dog to get him to drop it because I’m scared, and then I spend the rest of the night just staring at him and wondering if he’s been poisoned.

Going outside with my dog shouldn’t make me want to cry.