In 2003, when Robbin was just a bun, I captured ten minutes of still photos of him just going about his important rabbit business. I had printed out the photos and bound them together in a little book. I wanted to take a movie of me flipping the pages—because it sort of makes a little movie like a flipbook—but I moved five and a half years ago and I couldn’t find it. So I did the next best thing, made a quick video of the photos. That’s my former cat Dhia hanging out with Robbin.

Fake plastic cat

May 23, 2011

Lawnornament_blog

About a year after I bought my place, my mom gave me this plastic cat lawn ornament. I have amassed quite a few rabbit nick-nacks but I have always made it clear that I don’t want to get into collecting cat things. Every now and then, though, my mom breaks that rule if she finds something that reminds her of one of my cats. Such was this lawn ornament when it sported its original coat of black paint.

In the intervening years, the black paint has worn off and I’m left with a tacky orange cat. Neither of my cats is orange. I wish I could say that I keep it around because I can’t bear to throw away something that was lovingly given to me by my mother who only had the best intentions, a thing which, every time she visits, she makes sure is looking into my window so that she can see it when she sits in my rocking chair.

But I can’t say that. I just haven’t gotten around to “relocating” it yet. So for the time being I will hope that nobody rolls their eyes too hard when they notice it.

No name (2)

April 6, 2011

Nameinanimateobject_tweak

I am not a person who goes around naming my objects. I have several friends who name their cars, and I just don’t get it. It’s a car. I suppose I can understand naming ships and trains and planes. They’re big. They have routes. They go places—across the country, across the ocean, to another continent. A car goes to the grocery store. 

And if I were a guy, I certainly wouldn’t name my, you know.

What I do name are my computer hard drives. When I first started thinking about this this evening, I assumed it was because “Macintosh HD” is so non-descriptive that you’d get confused if you didn’t name it something else. But that’s really not true, at least for home use, even if you have more than one computer, such as I do. I’m not going to be too confused by seeing two “Macintosh HD”s on the network. One is the computer I’m using, the other isn’t.

So it turns out that I give in to a little bit of frivolity on this front after all. It is, I must admit, a little more entertaining to see the name of your hippity hoppity bunny rabbit. I name my hard drives after my pets.

My rabbits have gotten the hard drives, the cats have gotten the peripherals. The “turnover,” if you will, in both departments has been compatible. So, let’s see if I can remember what they’ve all been.

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Macintosh Performa 631CD: Hazel (rabbit)

UMAX Macintosh clone: This was probably also Hazel, as he lived for 10 years. This was a great machine.

40 gig external hard-drive: Hilda (rabbit #2)

Sony Memory Sticks for digital camera: Dhia, Yul (1st, 2nd cats)

iPod 3rd gen: Daisy (shortlived 3rd rabbit). This is still a hard-drive iPod, not one of the newer flash drives, so it counted for getting a name.

Apple G4 dual 867MHz: Robbin (5th and current rabbit). This computer is a tank, and if the Mac OS hadn’t left it in the dust, I’d still be using it.

Extra internal HD in the G4: Belle (shortlived 4th rabbit, posthumously named, because this was the one case where sweeties and hard drives got out of sync), used for music storage

(Wow, did I go from the UMAX to the G4? Holy crap, I did. It seems so long, long ago in a galaxy far, far away.)

G4 iBook (2004, still in use, I’m writing on it AS WE SPEAK): ROBBINBOOK. iBook 2004, Robbin Rabbit 2003.

Mac Mini dual Intel whatever: ROBBINmini.  Mini 2010, Robbin Rabbit 2003.

External hard drives used with ROBBINmini: Dasie (1), CJ (3rd and 4th, current, cats). Dasie gets the music, because she’s crazy and fun-loving and crazy. CJ gets the one that’s for back-up, because she’s more no-nonsense.

 

Endnotes 

1. Yes, there have been two Daisys. Daisy the rabbit only lived for half a year due to defective genetics, probably due to purebred inbreeding issues. When Dasie the cat came to me, I knew I couldn’t keep her shelter name of Sadie. I thought Daisy was a fun name, so when I realized that I could anagram Sadie into Dasie, it was a no-brainer. It still sounded the same, but was a different spelling as well as a non-traditional spelling. And it totally fits her personality, just as Daisy had fit the rabbit’s. She was a devoted, little ray of sunshine.

2. When I was in high school, I had an English teacher who love Kurt Vonnegut. He also said that he, in his own youth, had had a friend with an unusual name, Noname. When he wondered to her about its origin, she said that when her birth certificate was being filled out, her parents had not yet decided on a name, so the certificate was filled in with “No name.” It apparently stuck and she went through life known as Noname (no-NAH-mee). Weirdly, that story has always stuck with me (obviously) and every time I hear about “no name,” even if it’s just the box of steaks, I think of this woman to whom I have zero connection.

March 27, 2011

Cribbage scrimmage

February 7, 2011

Faveboardgame_tweak

Cribbage always makes me think of my Grandpa H. He was the one largely responsible for teaching me how to play when I was just a squirt. To this day, it’s the only card game that I would say I actually know how to play. Sure, we play poker at bowling (one card for a spare or strike, two cards for two strikes in a row), but I always have to consult a cheat sheet.

My grandparents would come from Wisconsin to visit us in Ohio for a couple of weeks each year (as we did them). My memory of my grandfather teaching me cribbage is that it happened on the back porch at our house, which would imply that it was warm enough to be outside, which would imply that it was not winter. But I also remember that our visits to them were in the summer as well. It seems a little strange that we wouldn’t have gotten together for holidays. Then again, with the cross-Midwest drive I guess it’s not actually mysterious that nobody planned the drive for Christmas and winter.

Anyway, my grandpa taught me how to play cribbage and he taught me well.

But not well enough to save one relationship I was in. “He” and I had played a bunch of games over the course of a couple weeks and I had lost all of them, and I finally snapped and called the relationship off. Of course things would have had to have been shakey to begin with at that point for something so trivial to become a mountain, and they were for a particular reason, but my twentieth cribbage loss in a row finally broke this camel’s back.

It’s true that whenever I get out the cribbage board I think of this guy just a little, but enough time has passed (you know, more than twenty-five years) that it’s not unpleasant. In fact, I just looked him up online and he’s still very attractive.

But I digress.

These days, it’s mostly when my mom lays a guilt trip on me during my parents’ visits that I play. She and my grandfather also played a lot, and she and I played a lot. Now, she usually has to pull teeth. I suppose it’s stubbornness on my part. When they’re here, it’s the one thing I can get away without doing right away or at all, because everything else she just pesters until I do it because I get fed up with the constant, um, mentioning. It’s a power struggle.

I enjoy playing, I just don’t want to have to feel like I have to. Evidently my cat feels differently.

Out of the poop loop

January 15, 2011

Worstchorelitterbox_tweak

It’s a dirty job, and it doesn’t get done often enough. That’s right, folks, I’m talking about the price of living with your furred or feathered sweeties. And scaled, I suppose. I guess fish and snakes poop, too.

Everybody has their least favorite household chore. Mine is laundry. I hate doing laundry. It’s not even the washing and the drying. It’s the sorting and folding and putting away. Socks and underwear have gone whole seasons without getting back to their drawer, as I pluck them clean from the laundry basket on top of the dryer. There is a two-foot stack of clean, folded shirts on a chair which, for some reason, I simply can’t bear to take fifteen feet back to my dressers to put away. What the heck?

So scooping the litterboxes should be simple by comparison. Sure, ideally, it would happen more frequently than laundry—as in daily, when it would be a smaller, faster task—but for some reason I tend to put it off until it seems monumental, and then I put it off some more. And so on.

I give props to all four of my cats (the two current and the two previous) for being very forgiving and reliable, even when the boxes are a mess. My rabbit, Robbin, well, he gets himself to the litterbox corner but …

I know that out in the rest of the house, Robbin doesn’t like current cats CJ and Dasie very much, and I think this extends to sharing the litterbox with them. He didn’t seem to have any beef with my previous cats, Dhia and Yul. In fact, his reliable litterbox use (along with not being a chewer) is what earned him the free-range lifestyle. But then the cat individuals changed, and so did his toilet habits. But maybe it’s also a function of his increasing age (he’ll be eight next month). I know he’s still physically able to get into the box; he still frequently jumps up onto my couch and various chairs. All I’m left with is that he doesn’t like CJ and Dasie’s, um, smell.

Anyway, what I do know is that he is more likely to get into the litterbox if it is fresh, clean litter or if it’s not, if the box freshly scooped. So why the heck don’t I just scoop already?

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Bibi (no longer with us), CJ, and Robbin, takin’ care of business.

Dasie and the Birds

January 2, 2011

One of the by-products of all the snow we had in December is that the lilac bush next to my front window is half-buried. So the little birdies that like to hang out in it have been forced to make use of the snowbank. The cats, naturally, are fascinated. A few times I have exacerbated the situation by tossing birdseed around.

Dasie in particular—my crazy Dasie—loves the birdies. On sunny afternoons, the birds’ shadows on the mini-blinds drive her nuts, probably because they seem closer and attainable. In fact, more than once I’ve seen Dasie leaping for a shadow. After Christmas weekend, I had to repair significant tears and slashes in the plastic covering the window. That kind of bummed me out, because that front window was the smoothest, tightest installation I’ve done in the 15 windows I’ve covered over the years. Oh well. If you look closely in the movie, you can see the clear packing tape I used for the patch job.

Anyway, today was not sunny, so the bird watching was a much calmer affair.

Dasie_and_the_birds_thumb

10thingshappy_tweak

This cup of grapefruit juice*

I like orange juice and tomato juice, but I love grapefruit juice!

This lovely sunny day*

It is the last day of February. On days like this, you believe that spring is truly right around the corner, even though it’s Minnesota and you know there could easily still be stretches of sub-freezing temperatures.

Watching my cat spaz out with the twirling rainbows on the wall*

I have solar powered twirling crystals in my south window. Poor Dasie just never figures it out.

Saving 10–15 minutes in the morning by neither combing nor drying my hair*

On February 13, I stopped both combing my hair and giving it the tiny bit of blow drying that I do, just to see what would happen. I am not in the early stages of dreadlocks and my curls twist up less frizzily and more curly. The only downside is that all day I shed the loose hairs that were formerly removed during combing. Having that ten or fifteen extra minutes is well worth it to me.

Classical music on a Sunday afternoon*

In my quest to watch less tv, I have returned to doing something I used to twenty years ago, which is turning on public radio in the morning and enjoying it as the backdrop to the whole day.

How it’s light so much earlier in the morning

I know the time change will soon come and darkness will get another hour of morning time, but for now I’ll enjoy that it’s light when I should be thinking about getting up. It has been light when I do get up all winter …

That my rabbit feels better after having his teeth trimmed a couple of weeks ago

The watery eye has cleared up and Robbin seems to be in a better mood. I can even pet his head, something which he had shied away from for years. Now I know why.

The thought of planning my trip to London

I really must make time to do my tax return so that I can get going on this.

Video chat

It has been very satisfying getting to see people who I would otherwise have no opportunity to interact with “in person.”

Coffee in a paper cup

I don’t know why it is, but I really love drinking coffee from a coffee shop paper cup.

*pictured above

 

My crazy Dasie

December 30, 2009

Blog_smilenomatterwhat2

Related to things that make me happy are things that make me smile no matter what. My cat Dasie is one of those things. I like to think that all three of my critters are well-adjusted creatures with good mental health, but none of them exudes pure, infectious joy like Dasie does.

I adopted her from Feline Rescue in St. Paul last February. I had previously had two cats who lived to ripe old ages; then I started over with CJ in May of 2008. When CJ and my rabbit Robbin didn’t develop a close relationship, I decided it was time to find a feline companion for her. Robbin at the time had another rabbit, Bibi, but she’s no longer with us.

I met a number of cats, both at Feline Rescue’s shelter and in their foster care system. The front-runner was Pi, a beautiful long-haired white boy with a grey tabby cap, but he was in the middle of diagnosis and treatment for a heart murmur and wasn’t ready to go home yet. From his foster home I went out to human Stacy’s house and met Dasie, who at the time was called Sadie (the anagram is where the unusual spelling of her name originated).

Blog_smilenomatterwhat_pi

In that environment, she was fairly reserved on the two occasions that I went to see her, but I could tell she was a nice cat. I had kind of thought that if I went black and white, I wanted a tuxedo but, as I learned when Robbin was picking out Bibi (I took him on rabbit dates and he met five or six other bunnies), your preconceived idea is often quickly usurped by the reality of personalities.

I confess that my impatience chose Dasie over waiting for Pi. I was perfectly willing to deal with the meds he’d have to take, having nursed my previous two for the last couple years of both their lives, but I have teeny tiny issues with willpower and instant gratification …

(Stacy, don’t worry, I am not the least disappointed that I did decide to adopt Dasie! Though I do wonder where Pi ended up, and if he did still happen to be available, I have thoughts of still making him Number 3.)

Dasie does everything with enthusiasm and flair. She doesn’t just change direction, she changes direction with a bouncy flourish. She understands that a particular head nod by me means she’s invited up. She doesn’t just jump up into your lap, she jumps up and butts her head into your chin to express affection. She doesn’t just sit in front of the space heater in the bathroom while you’re taking your shower, she sticks her head inside the curtain and is fascination by the water.

I can’t think of anything that she does that doesn’t make me smile and forget everything else for a few special moments.

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Look deep into my eyes

December 20, 2009

Tweak_photowhilejumping1

Breathe deeply and concentrate. Focus on my beautiful green eyes. You are beginning to feel sleepy. That’s it, just let yourself go. Relax … relax …

This was one of those more creative assignments that gets you doing something you wouldn’t ordinarily. Usually moving the camera is frowned upon, but this photo was taken while I was jumping. Blurring was encouraged. I think it was supposed to be a little more unintelligible so that would be a guessing game as to the subject, but I just love how this photo turned out.

Blog_petinventorycj

Okay, just so you know, it wasn’t my choice to finally write about my furry sweeties. Honest. I am merely a slave to the random topic that came up. So let’s not waste any more time.

My first rabbit (#1) was Hazel. He was a couple of years old when Dhia the cat arrived (tortoiseshell). She was six weeks old and imprinted on Hazel. I had never lived with a cat before, so when she was still spazzing out at close to two years old, I decided she needed a feline playmate. That’s when Yul came along (black). He was about three months old, still young enough to be influenced by rabbitly ways. Dhia and Yul were nice enough to each other, but they both loved Hazel.

Hazel lived to the ripe old rabbit age of 10-1/2. His mind was still strong, but his little body gave out on him. He sat in a shallow cardboard box when I took him to the vet to be euthanized. He gnawed on the edges while we were waiting, until I stroked his head and told him he didn’t have to fight anymore.

Don’t try and tell me we don’t have a connection with our animal friends.

I waited a few months before I brought Hilda home as a nine-week-old bunny (#2). She was a Checkered Giant (papillon), a breed I had decided on a few years before, not that I was rushing Hazel. I named her Hilda because one day when Chris Gargan was asking about Hazel, he called him “Hilda” instead. It stuck in my mind. She was a fine rabbit, and Dhia and Yul loved her even more than they loved Hazel. Unfortunately, the breed is relatively short-lived, and we lost her at 3-1/2 to what seemed like a bunny heart attack. We were devastated.

What am I saying? We’re devastated every time.

I didn’t have any ideas for our next rabbit. One day I brought home Daisy (#3). She was a standard Rex who turned out to be defective in a number of ways. She had a full-blown case of cataracts at five months (successfully operated on), and when she was spayed, the vet discovered she had only one ovary. She only made it to about seven months. I came home from work one evening to find her in a bad way. We went right to the emergency clinic, but it wasn’t long before she checked out. I’m convinced she had fought to hold on until I gotten home and we could say good-bye.

Soon thereafter, I contacted Hilda’s breeder for a new bunny, because I really liked the personality of the Checkered Giant. I brought home Belle(#4), and it was an instant lovefest between her and Dhia and Yul. Those cats adored that little creature, and I was convinced that she was going to be the perfect rabbit. She had all of the character of Hilda without the aggression. (Hilda sometimes had personal space issues with me. That’s how I got that scar on my lower lip.) But alas, she turned out to be a hemophiliac and died from post-spay internal bleeding at four months.

Belle was our third rabbit gone in less than a year. Maybe you’ll think I’m nuts when I say that I think the cats were jaded by all those losses in their reception to Robbin (#5). He was about eight weeks old and the cats liked him well enough, yet were a little stand-offish with him. It was for that reason that when Robbin was about three, I decided that he needed a companion of his own kind. I took him on some bunny dates to the Humane Society, and he picked Bibi (#6). They doted on each other. Bibi had come from another multispecies household apparently and didn’t seem too bothered by Dhia and Yul, who by this time were in their mid-teens.

Dhia had had a kidney attack and had to be hospitalized for five days. The vet was amazed that she pulled through. I visited her twice a day, and then gave her subcutaneous fluids for the last two years of her life. Yul had come down with hyperthyroidism and required twice-daily pills. He developed pneumonia at the end and didn’t make it through treatment at the vet’s office. He was 16-1/2. Dhia developed a bladder infection. She didn’t improve with initial treatment and when I took her back in for more potent antibiotics, she gave me a look willing it to stop. We gave her a different injection. She was 18.

That was a hard one. She was my Sweet Pea.

I figured it would be a good while before I began looking for a new cat. The universe had other plans.

My mom volunteers with the rabbits at her local Humane Society in central Wisconsin and gets me to go to their website to check them out. After I lost Dhia (that was in a March), I casually clicked over to the Cats section and was struck by a bolt of lightning when I saw CJ’s mugshot (black, inset). Look at that little white tuft and that cocked head!

It was April and karma kept her available until I could pass through town in May on my annual Chicago bowling tournament trip to pick her up. I kept directing my mom to visit her to see what she thought. My mom is not a cat person, but she and CJ formed an instant bond; so much so that when I met CJ for the first time, she shunned me for my mother.

That was a year and a half ago. I don’t know if it was the stress of welcoming a new, young, boisterous cat but within weeks of CJ’s arrival, Bibi developed gut stasis (a common rabbit ailment) and never recovered from surgery. She was such a sweetheart, and I was worried about how Robbin would react. Bonded rabbits often go into steep decline when they lose their companion. But Robbin’s still going strong. I think because he was an only rabbit for a number of years, and was very definitely the alpha over everyone of every species, he bounced back with no ill-effect. We’ll just stay a one-rabbit family now.

But CJ and Robbin never hit it off. I attribute that to CJ’s being a twoish-year-old adult by the time she met him. She was inexperienced in rabbit. She knew he was different but didn’t know what to do about it. It was for that reason that I decided she should have a feline companion, because she wanted to be friendly, but there wasn’t anyone to bond with.

I went on a few cat dates and finally decided on Dasie (black and white). She was about eight months old when she came home about eight months ago, and has been the light of our lives. She and CJ didn’t take very long at all before they became buddies. I’m certain that they actually like each other, unlike Dhia and Yul who were civil but always a little chilly.

You might think that CJ and Dasie would gang up on Robbin, but he’s still large and in charge. Neither cat really understands rabbit. They’re curious, but can’t stop themselves from swatting at his behind. This, in turn, causes Robbin to wheel around and chase the offending cat, sometimes back and forth from one end of the apartment to the other and sometimes not, but always with the result of the cat being treed on the bed, window sill, or other high place. I watch his ears. They’re not flattened against his back, so I think he’s not taking it too seriously. And I think the cats believe that it’s an elaborate form of play.

Nobody eats anybody else, so it’s alright.