Tag Archive | personal: kitty

Na-na-na-na na-BAT BAT

Warning: the below contains frank discussion of cats being tiny predators, and also sometimes dumbasses.

Also, while I cannot find this in my posted blogs, I wrote this in mid-July of this year, so if you have read it before, a), I apologize, and b), please let me know.

Na-na-na-na na-na-na-na na-na-na-na na-na-na-na…


Continue reading

Blog Post: Four is Too Many

Yesterday, I did not bring a cat home.

This was… tricky.

One of my co-workers brought four kittens into work.  They were *tiny*, and my only picture is pretty blurry, but they’d been abandoned under her porch and she was taking them to the SPCA.

You could hear them (down the hall, around the corner) in my office, and their little squeaks and cries just hit me in the gut.

They weren’t cuddly; they were scared and crying and altogether not interested in bonding, and that was probably the best thing, because, well.

We have three cats. Continue reading

The Wild Kingdom of House Thorn and Cat-nanigans

This weekend, we had one of those heart-stopping moments, and we had only ourselves to blame. 

Actually, that happened twice in the last few days, one far less bad than the other, and only myself/ourselves to blame in both cases.

So, Sunday, we were hanging laundry, so we let the boy-cats out on the patio, as we do sometimes.  They can hang out there and eat grass (their favorite activity) and roll around on the concrete (second-favorite activity) for 10, fifteen minutes and all is right with the world. 

Except T & I got distracted talking about which trees we were going to prune.  We headed back to the house – and Oli was looking guilty and Theo was nowhere to be seen. 

I wasn’t worried right away. Theo likes to hide under the lilac near the corner of the house and sniff out chipmunks. 

No Theo. 

No Theo under the car, behind the heating-oil tank, under the patio chairs.  Continue reading

Blog Post: Here, kitty, kitty

I asked on Discord what I should blog about this week, and the suggestion that came back way my cats.

Okay, I can talk about them pretty much endlessly!

… crap, what do I say?


If you’ve missed it, T. and I have three cats.

The slightly-older two are white-and-grey fluffbucket Norwegian Forest Cat mutts.  They are loud, they are affectionate, demanding, and they chew on everything.  Furniture.  Firewood.  They commonly eat their way out of cardboard boxes.  Sharp teeth!  Oli (Oligarchy) is a bit bigger, longer-furred in the “ruff” and “pantaloons”, more likely to be demanding in the food department.  He sleeps on my feet at the beginning of the night and usually by my shoulder when he thinks I ought to be getting up. Continue reading

Feral Cat

This is, more or less, just a little babbling about my kitty. 

We have a feral cat.

I mean, she says that all the time. “I’m feral!  Zoom!”  and she runs all the way up the stairs.  “I’m feral!  Oh no!” Zip, under the bed.

She’s really sure she’s a wild feral cat.

You know, like “here’s the WWI Ace Fighter Pilot…” Yeah.

We got her from outside, where she was semi-feral, a barn kitten from down the road who had been eating out of our compost bin.

T. took months of feeding her and coaxing her closer, until she was willing to let him handle her.

Then we shoved her in a carrier and left her at the vets for three days.

That was four years ago. (editor’s note, no, that was 5 years ago, since we brought her inside 7 years ago… nowish, i.e., November 2019)

When I tell her “Merit, Nap time!” She comes and jumps up on me on the couch and sleeps on my hip/stomach.

When I go to bed, she sleeps to the left of me; when I wake up, she’s either on me or tucked against my right side.  T. taught her to cuddle for food and now, when she’s hungry in the middle of the day, she will jump up on his lap and nap there for a little while.

She still says she’s feral, but you can pick her up without any complaint, she tolerates brushing and likes petting, and she talks to you when you ignore her.

(also, she yells at you when you sneeze).

Cats Have Nine Lives

This is not fanfic for the anime Mahou Tsukai no Yome/the Ancient Magus‘ Bride, per se, but it is inspired by something in an episode, a reference to the nine lives of cats in a different angle than I’m used to seeing it. 

It’s also sort of Real People Fic.

It also involves pet death, be forewarnedAlso, I made myself cry.


Continue reading

Patreon Catching Up!

Set some years after the apocalypse.


Jamian still loved the idea of summer vacation. The world had more or less fallen down around their ears; the resort towns were all boarded up, fallen down, or walled off into compounds; there was no office job to take a vacation from, no school to get the kids out of, and his kids were all out of the nest anyway.
Read on!!

As far as I can tell, this one is from June 2012, and it, too, is a little weird, but I like it. And it’s an exploration!

“That way lies madness.”

Althea’s father had loved to say that, teasing them with it: “Me do the dishes? That way lies madness,” commenting on current events with it, warning them off of bad choices in their teenage years.

Available to all “Trunk” level Patrons!

Not many apples showing in these pictures, but here’s a cat and a happy apple tree!

Take a Peek!

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Patreon! What I’ve been up to.

It’s been a busy month on my Patreon, and I got a little behind in telling you all here on the blog what I’ve been doing. So here’s a summary!

Third Step
a story for the Liminal Spaces prompt call.
That door.

It would be too easy to say it looked like an ordinary door.

The thing was, it didn’t look ordinary.
read on

Seasons’s Change
a winter repost story
Free for all to read!

Happy Sunday from my favorite Oligarcy
Kitty Pics

Another Door Opens
a repost story of Addergoole
Free for all to read!

Corning Museum of Glass
Glass Pics!

The Purple
a winter repost story
Free for all to read!

Patreon News

The Sea Eats
a story for the Liminal Spaces prompt call.

The sea ate boats.

In the villages along the coast, they spoke of this solemnly: Harun-sha has taken another boat. Harun-sha must be very hungry today.

In the cities, they either spoke cynically of it: “this criminal population is getting out of hand. We need to send an exploration ship out,” or they spoke of it negligently, “Ha. Harun-sha must be tetchy today.”

read on

Tree on the Hill
A Trunk Story
For $3-and-up Patrons

February Prompt Call
Chaucer, Shakespeare, and Homer
For $5-and-up Patrons

Month of Letters

Go take a look~~

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Weekend with Merit & Merit Badges


That was Sunday.

Our kitchen sink leads out – via at least 2, maybe 3 right turns – to a dry well (covered by, I shit you not, a Bell Telephone manhole cover (rather like this)), which means that when it clogs (which it does, on average, about once/year), it’s easiest to snake it from the outside (less turns).

So there I was. In the snow. Snaking a drain.

There really ought to be merit badges for things like that.

“While baking bread” is a little disingenuous; the bread was rising at the time. My first time without a recipe, and I think the only real fail was that the molasses I used to sweeten it overwhelmed the amaranth I added in as a test flavor. It’s a hearty, half-wheat-flour loaf with little amaranth crunchies, quite nice.

This was one of those weekends: haul firewood, wash dishes, snake the sink, bake some bread. T made a pressure-cooker (InstantPot) ham-hock soup with yellow lentils and black/white Urad Dal, which was super tasty with the bread. The house smelled of bread and soup all day Sunday, which is just about the most awesome way for the house to smell.

It’s nice, sometimes, just hunkering down and staying inside – or, at least, at home. You come in, you stand in front of the fire for ten minutes, and you’re all warm again.

And Merit – our feral cat, or at least the one who started that way – clearly agrees. Sometimes in the winter, you can see her look outside and remember what the outside was like when it snowed or rained. Then she curls up by the fire, too, everything in her body language saying It’s good to be inside.

It’s good to be inside. With the bread baking and the sink draining properly. It’s that sort of winter.


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Weekend Blog of sorts: My kitties

Today I want to talk about my kitties. It’s not exactly a weekend blog, and yet…

Four-plus years ago, our elderly diabetic kitty, Drake, passed away at the vet’s, leaving a hole in our lives. It took us about a month to fill that hole with two baby fluffballs from Craigslist who, after a little bit of consideration, we named Oligarchy and Theocracy (Oli and Theo).

A year later, my husband, T., found three kittens in the hedgerow: an all black one who was terrified of humans, a grey-and-white one with a bowtie on her head, and a black-and-white one. The bowtie kitty was very friendly, to the point of letting me pick her up, and, for a few weeks, the three of them were hunting the hedgerow and fields near our house.

The cow farm to one side had a black-and-white barn cat; a block and a half away lived a big black tomcat who liked to range far and wide. It wasn’t hard to figure out their antecedents.

I tell myself stories about there the other two kittens ended up. I tell myself someone took them in, or picked them up and took them to our local no-kill shelter. They were handable, nearly tame. It’s possible.

The little black one, though, she hung around. She would yell at T. from the hedgerow — nervous about his presence but ready to talk to him. She’d eat out of our compost bin, especially meat scraps*. I started putting kibble out for her; I started cooking the poultry scraps and leaving them in a bowl for her**.

T. did the hard work. He talked to her, he waited patiently nearby while she ate; he moved closer slowly, a day at a time, until she’d let him pet her.

The weather got colder; she got more friendly. “I could come inside,” she seemed to be saying. “It looks nice there.”

We called the vet; they had policies in place for ‘we need to make an appointment but we’re not sure we can get her in a cage.” After all that, it turned out to be easy; we scooped her up, put her in the carrier, and left her at the vets for three days.

She was clean, she was healthy, she had none of the awful things barn cats can get except one tick, and we had her spayed. We brought her home, brought her inside, and introduced her to the boys.

We’d been calling her Sullivan, because my dad has an all-white barn cat named Gilbert. But she was, well, she, and being inside, she needed a family name: Meritocracy. She kept the Sullivan as a surname, O’Sullivan, so I have more to use to scold them. (The boys are McNamerras. I don’t really know why.)

But this was supposed to be about now, present-time. Our little feral cat, our scared-to-talk-to-humans kitten, who would stand in the hedgerow and yell at us: “Put down the food and back away slowly!”, our spooked kitty who wasn’t sure she wasn’t still feral…

“Nap time, Merit,” I tell her, and she hurries over to lay down next to me and sleep, waiting until I’ve petted her behind the ears for a minute.

“Hey, human, I think I’m hungry.” She crawls onto my lap — laptop or no — and headbutts me until I pet her. Once she’s napped for a few minutes, she’ll repeat the process, until I get up and feed her.

And when I found a different place to chill with the laptop last night than the chair I normally share with her, she came over to join me, looking quite put out and, at the same time, quite determined to be with her human.

I love my little feral cat. I just wanted to say that.

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