Now it can be told...

Have you ever had an experience where, after the fact, you proverbially kick yourself and say DUMB DUMB DUMB?  To yourself, of course.  Well, I have.

I recently helped rescue a dog. I mean REALLY rescue.

Here's the back story.

A couple of weeks ago, when my husband was on his morning walk with our dog, he encountered a neighbor of ours.  She too was walking her dog, but behind her was another little dog, tagging along. My husband came in and told me, so I went out to see.  (A quick note to indicate my husband was leaving, right after the walk, to take our dog to the groomer--so our dog missed all this excitement.)

Our neighbor, Sharon, said the little dog had followed her the whole way around our block and seemed very drawn to her dog. But the little dog wouldn't approach her.  She also said she had an appointment and had to leave--but that she was concerned what the little dog would do--the worst, of course, being that it would run into the street and get hit.

So, brightly I volunteered--let's get it into our pool area (which is fenced in) and then maybe I can catch it.  Meanwhile, Sharon could leave for her appointment.  So we did--predictably, the little dog followed us into the pool area. Sharon and her dog slipped out and it was just me and the little dog.

She was cute--looked a bit like a cross between a terrier and a chihuahua. 

Once inside the pool area, and cut off from escape the dog began to panic. Along about now, having done a cursory visual inspection, I decided the dog was a female--so from here on, I will say SHE.

She ran all around the perimeter of the fence, jumping trying to see if she could get over it. And she failed. So I just sat down and watched her.  As I sat, she timidly began to approach me. She was shivering, from fear and cold. I had put a dish of water in front of her and also food. But she wouldn't touch them. After a few minutes, she actually approached me, and put her front paws up on my leg.

AHA--my moment. I grabbed her--only to come up with nothing. But in her fear and panic, she nipped me.  And that's when I thought--DUMB DUMB DUMB.  I mean, how many times have I read Julie Zickefoose's cautions about being careful handling animals who may be carrying rabies.  I cursed my stupidity in not slipping on some gloves.

When my husband returned from dropping off our dog, he called our local police. First one officer came out--very promptly--and tried to catch her. He at least had gloves on. But he too failed to get her--she was quick. So he called a partner to come with a catch pole. When that officer arrived--who happened to be the community officer--he did bring the catch pole, but it was too big and unwieldy for the poor dog.

In her desperation, she retreated to the middle of our pool cover and stood there shivering even more.

Then he spied our swimming pool net, and asked if he could use it.
Sure. And presto, with a little effort he caught her. She struggled mightily, but he was able to get her (note: he also had on gloves).  Now the question of how to get her to the Humane Society.

We volunteered one of our carriers we use for cats--so off she went.  The community officer left with her and the original responding officer began to write up his notes.  Just then, I said--well, she did nip me.  STOP EVERYTHING.

He suddenly flipped the page in his note book and began writing--asking me questions, then writing. He indicated any time someone gets bitten by a stray dog, the police must inform the Health Department.  Oh, boy.

It wasn't all gloom. As we chatted with the officer, he told us this dog had been on the run for more than 2 months and that many people had tried to catch her.  In fact, a local rescue group had plastered the surrounding area with posters.

The dog had been sighted in early September, and it was now mid-November. So, at least I felt good about that.

Once the dog was gone, and the police, things settled back to normal.  UNTIL.  Until, the Health Department called. They asked the right questions. And I said--well, it is just a slight skin break, no puncture.  The Health Department nurse said--the dog should be observed for 10 days and if nothing develops then I would also be in the clear. I did ask--so what about rabies? Her response was almost cheery--don't worry, she said, rabies moves an inch a day from the entry point until it reaches the base of the spinal column.  GREAT--I calculated I had at least 36 days!  

The story ends much less dramatically. First, the dog was quarantined for 10 days and nothing developed. She was fine.

But, and here the story turns a bit sad, her original owner suddenly came forward and reclaimed her. He had not reported her missing, and in fact he had previously had charges brought against him for abusing animals, but for whatever reasons the charges were thrown out in court.

This last detail puts a damper on my feelings of accomplishment for having help rescue the dog.  First, she was scared, hungry, cold and tired. And had she continued to run, she could very well  have been hit and killed. But to be returned to an abusive owner--that certainly tarnished my good deed.

I did learn a lesson though. Always have a pair of gloves handy and put them on before trying to catch a stray dog.a

An Accidental Pet

When the neighbor boy, whose family lives in the house behind our house (our backyards meet) was just a toddler, his grandfather gave him a pet rabbit.  The boy named the rabbit Hoppy.  For years, Hoppy lived with this family--they had a small outdoor hutch with a run about 2 feet long, and a small wooden box at one end. The floor of the hutch was a heavy metal mesh, about 1/2 inch squares, so he had no place (except inside the tiny wooden box) to put his feet down without his claws going through the wire

Hoppy was occasionally let out of this small living space to hop around in their yard, but if he refused to come back to the woman of the house when she called, she claimed he had "an attitude" and would scold him.  

They fed him erratically.  Usually he had a dish of rabbit food--plain pellets--and sometimes iceberg lettuce or a carrot or two.

Then came winter.  They covered his hutch with a blue nylon cloth that sailed and billowed in the wind.  The hutch was next to their house, so that was some protection.  The next summer, they moved his hutch to the top of the hill, which was where our yard meets theirs.  That's when Hoppy and I became--shall we say--involved.  I began taking him various food treats--carrots, bits of darker green leafy vegetables, occasional Cheerios.  And I took him fresh water.  

When the next winter came, the hutch was still at the top of the hill, where lots of wind blows by.  The blue cloth was still there--but that was all.  So we (by now my husband knew of my concern) bought straw and stuffed it in the wooden box to give him some warmth.  That winter, there were days when my footprints up the hill through the snow were the only evidence that anyone bothered to feed him.  So I tried to go to Hoppy's hutch everyday to make sure he had food.

When the rabbit hutch began to fall apart, I offered our neighbor that we would buy a new rabbit hutch.  Our neighbor's response--why don't you just take the rabbit.  You pay more attention to him than we do.

That was all I needed--that evening Hoppy had a new home!  We immediately bought him a new larger hutch, and a good supply of rabbit food and timothy.  In a few days, we began assembling an outdoor play yard for him, which eventually became two circles of fencing each about 6 feet across, with an interlocking passageway--a much wider area for him to explore.  Eventually, we figured out how to rig a cover for rainy or snowy days.  Finally, we put plastic around the outside on the side where wind blew in, leaving the other side exposed.

The capstone touch was when we bought not one but TWO heating pads--one for in his hutch during winter, and one for in the play area.  The play area now had straw everywhere, clumps of timothy here and there, several overturned boxes, as well as food and water every day.  Every morning we got him out to play, and every evening we put him back in his hutch to sleep.  He also got fresh food in the evening that by now included carrots, apples, arugula (a favorite), broccoli, cauliflower, and other tidbits that I would try.

Thus Hoppy became our accidental pet.  I had no thought of ever having a rabbit, and do not plan to get another.  I certainly would have preferred that his first owners had litter trained him--but since they hadn't and had kept him outside, his entire life was lived outside.

So, why the past tense verbs you may have noticed?  About a month ago, it became clear that he was eating less. Hoppy also got very picky about food--some days eating one food enthusiastically and the next day rejecting it completely.  He stopped eating arugula quite suddenly.  He limited his fresh food choice to apples.  Then, he began to not eat much at all.  And then he stopped eating.  I knew enough that any amount of time a rabbit goes without eating is not good.  As Hoppy had never been to a vet, and was at the advanced age (for a rabbit) of 12 years, I suspected his life was nearing its end, so we chose not to try to prolong his living.

Tonight, when we went to get him from his outdoor play yard, he was lying on his side, still.  Even so, we put him in his hutch for overnight, covered him with a towel.

Good night, sweet Hoppy.  Thanks for being such a good "accidental" pet.

The New Kits in Town

This has been a year of saying goodbye to pets. We bid farewell to Tipper, waited a month and then got Ziva.

Then, in mid-November, our senior cat Cassidy finally succumbed to age and a nagging cold he couldn't shake. He had gotten the cold several years ago, and I thought he might not make it then. Knowing that time with pets is always fleeting and precious, I cherished every nuzzle with Cassidy, every purr he sent me way, every time he climbed under the bed covers and kneaded me. I needed him too. But, finally, it was time to let him go. You can see, in the photo below, how he was failing.

Whether we should wait longer between pets, or not, we simply enjoy having furry friends. So within a week or so, we headed off to the local humane society. It is always wrenching to see the poor desperate cats and dogs there. So, to steel myself, I had done my research in advance. I picked out two cats--one a more senior cat, and the other that had been abandoned at the shelter door. But, when we got to the humane society and asked to see THOSE cats, it turned out they had already been adopted.

Foiled.

So, we had to go into the cat rooms--the many many cat rooms. In a room near the back of the facility, we found two cats--in separate cages. One, a vocal male with a handsome "goatee" of orange. And the other, a six month old female kitten in that most ubiquitous cat marking of tabby.

Meet McGee. In keeping with the NCIS theme, he got the name McGee.

He is just gorgeous. His only flaw is a true snaggle tooth--a lower tooth turned sideways in his mouth, and somewhat protruding.

And here's Jennie. Friends asked why we didn't call her Abby (for another NCIS character). But, since we already had an Allie--Abby just seemed like a too confusing name. So, Jennie it is. She is all spunk and spoing. She bounces around, practically bouncing off the walls.

But she is SO cute.

McGee has discovered sitting by the window, watching the bird feeders where birds, squirrels and chipmunks gather. We have recently had the occasional hawk--but McGee seems unfazed by all the commotion.

And yet another cat in our lives thinks sitting on newspapers is a good idea.

Jennie loves (make that LOVES) food. Actually, they both do. But they are clearly very healthy and have been well-fed. Both were found as strays. They are "fixed" and micro-chipped. They have all their claws--a first for us. So, we will monitor clawing at furniture.

Allie, the now senior cat, has staked out her domain, in the study. I try to give her lots of protective space, so she doesn't feel displaced.

So, we are once again a three cat, one dog house. Fun, fun, fun...

Annus Horribilis

No, the year is not yet over, and in no way do I intend this post to be a reflection on the year as a whole. I am enough of an optimist to continue to view each year as good. However, here in this humble household, we are having a run of ill health.

Perhaps it is the rapidity of repetition of ill health that has me reeling, just a bit. Back in June, we very suddenly lost our sweet dog Tipper. I am one of those folks who reckon that the animals in our lives are part of what connects us to that great mystery of life. Tipper's sudden decline into deteriorating health came almost without warning. True, she was an older dog, but I thought she might be with us longer.

We are currently experiencing a similar surprise of declining health with our one dear cat, Cassidy. He was one of a pair of kittens my daughter and I picked out fifteen years ago. When we first saw him, Cassidy and his brother Sundance were playing animatedly in a small cage at the local humane society. My daughter and I were walking around in the "cat room" looking at kittens. Some looked positively ill, others were so inanimate that, save for the rise and fall of their tiny sides evidencing breathing, it wasn't certain they were in fact alive.

And then there were these two oblivious kittens. They tumbled, and played, stopping only briefly to come to the front of the cage, paw at us, then resume playing. We picked them out right away. There was a bit of a disagreement between my daughter and me as to what to name them, but suddenly Cassidy and Sundance seemed like the RIGHT names.

Sundance was a gorgeous cat, but he succumbed at age three to renal failure. And now Cassidy is showing signs of kidney failure. He has almost stopped eating, is losing weight, and generally declining including sudden blindness from retinal detachment. I am savoring each day with him, knowing the days are coming to an end.

(Kitten Sundance at left)

So, back to this ANNUS MIRABILIS. The phrase has been variously used, but really came to public prominence when Queen Elizabeth II used it in her annual address to her nation in 1992. Herewith her opening sentence:

1992 is not a year on which I shall look back with undiluted pleasure. In the words of one of my more sympathetic correspondents, it has turned out to be an Annus Horribilis.

True, the queen's troubles far exceeded mine. She had experienced the break-up and divorce of her second son's marriage; her first son and his wife (Diana) had separated and their sordid conversations were being aired in the British press, and her daughter Anne divorced her husband. Then, one of the queen's favorite residences, Windsor Castle, caught fire. No wonder, it was an annus horribilis for her.

For me, it has been a run of family ills. My father fell, developed a hematoma and was hospitalized. My aunt fell, broke her hip, and is slowly on the way to recovery. Then my sister's daughter required near-emergency surgery, and just last week, our daughter-in-law had a health emergency that required her to have surgery, followed by several weeks of recovey.

I almost hesitate to turn the calendar over to the next month in a couple of days. I will strive to adopt the attitude of the poet John Dryden who wrote the poem Annus Mirabilis from which the term Annus Horribilis was derived. Dryden's year of wonders was 1665-1666, which ended with the great fire of London. Dryden was comforted by the fact that the fire eventually stopped and London was rebuilt.

Ah--time to resurrect a favorite expression that I have been known to use: this, too, shall pass.

In or Out

A little episode today had my heart racing for a while and my adrenaline level cranked way up.

My husband is an early riser, and part of his morning routine, at least in the summer, is to check our swimming pool. Now that we have "new dog" Ziva, he takes her along out. She loves to race back and forth in the fenced in pool area.

This morning, just before he went out, our one cat Allie jumped up on the window ledge looking out into the pool area, and "asked" if she could go out. So, he let her out. She found her way to a great hiding place, under some myrtle growing along the pool edge. Then he went out the side door, taking Ziva along into the pool area.

Ziva was checking things out, unaware that one of the cats was out there. Then, suddenly she spied (or more likely sniffed) Allie. And Ziva offered to play. Honest. That's all she wanted to do. Allie, however, took it as a threat, and that deep seated fight or flight choice kicked in. Allie chose flight. She bounded out of the myrtle, Ziva in the chase, and jumped onto a picnic table, and then over the fence which is surrounded with arbor vitae into the great unknown.

I awakened to hearing the excited barking of Ziva. Soon, my husband appeared in the bedroom, and I said--is everything OK? No, he said, Allie ran away.

I quickly got dressed and spent the next two hours walking all over our neighborhood. looking in nooks and crannies, under bushes and plaintively calling ALLIE, ALLIE. Or rather Allie, Allie. Trying to be quiet so as not to awaken neighbors. And also trying not to make anyone think I was trying to break in to their house.

When we couldn't find her, we decided she would have to find her own way home. She is NOT an outside cat; she does not roam around the neighborhood. So we really weren't sure where she might go, or if she would find her way home. I tried to think like a cat, and figure out where she might go. No success.

We left the gate to the pool slightly ajar (something we NEVER do for obvious reasons). After three hours, my husband looked out the window overlooking the pool, and there was Allie "asking" to be let back in.

So, the in or out question? We know people whose cats are roamers. And, yes, the cats do kill birds--that bothers me.

When we first got a cat, many years ago (and were ignorant of the issue of in vs. out), we started out leaving her roam outside. That is, until one escapade. She did not come back. I went out, looking, shaking her cat food box and calling her name. After a bit, I heard the faintest "meow". And there she was--our first cat, Missy--WAY UP in the neighbor's tree. Unable to come down. So my husband dutifully climb the tree, and coaxed her to jump on to him.

That was the end of any of our cats ever going outside. The exception are these brief outings in the fenced in yard, while we are outside. Our cats have NEVER caught a bird. The most any of our cats ever did was capture a chipmunk, that the one cat then BROUGHT in the house. The poor chipmunk was scared almost to death, running around squeaking while three cats watched, puzzled.

So, on the IN OR OUT debate, we are decidedly IN people. And that is even more reinforced after today's little episode. I suspect it will be awhile before Allie "asks" to go out again.

Just Can't Help Myself

A day after the thunderstorm night, I was walking Tipper the dog around the block. A car pulled up next to us, and a man asked if we had seen a small dog. He went on to relate how he had been walking his two pound brown chihuahua in a nearby cemetery when the dog got away from him. He wondered if we had seen his lost dog in our neighborhood.

Well, I got to thinking, actually worrying. A poor little two pound dog, lost, and spending a night outside in a crashing thunderstorm. Poor poor thing. Frightened. Wet. Lost. Poor baby. You can tell, perhaps, that the image worked on me.

This morning, I was reading our local newspaper. And then I spotted it. . .a "found dog" ad. The description--brown chihuahua--rang a bell. And the location was very near where we live.

It was THAT lost dog. It just had to be. When the man had driven through our neighborhood asking for his dog, the natural question was--if we see your dog, how do we contact you. Oh, he said, just call the township police--they have all the information.

So, here I am. Good neighbor Sam(antha)--I just can't help myself. I HAVE to call the police and tell them, the dog has been found.

So, I call our township police. Right about now, you, the reader, are probably thinking--what is she thinking? I just can't help myself. If I see a problem, and think I know how to fix it, I have to try to help.

Herewith the conversation.

Hello, ____ Township Police.

Hello, I am calling about a lost dog.

Is it your dog?

No, there was an ad in the newspaper that someone found a dog. And, a man drove through our neighborhood a couple of days ago looking for his dog. It is the same dog. He said you have all the information.

(Pause. . .long pause) I will have the county dispatcher call you.

OK. (Hang up)

About 15 minutes later, the phone rings.

ME: Hello.

Is Donna there? This is Officer B*ll.

ME: This is Donna.

You called about a missing dog.

(Break away here to relate that after I called the township, I decided to call the found dog number--the conversation was short. ME: I am calling about the missing dog you found. DOG FINDER: Oh, the owner has been found. ME: OK.)

Back to me and Officer B*ll.

Me: Oh, a man was driving through our neighborhood, looking for his lost dog, and he said the police had all the information about him. I was reading the newspaper and saw an ad for a "found dog" and when I called that number, they said the owner had been found. I am really sorry to bother you, but I was trying to put all the pieces together, and I think everything is OK. Sorry you had to call back.

Officer B*ll: No problem, ma'am. Thank you for doing your civic duty.

End of conversation.

Even though I am greatly relieved the two pound chihuahua is not out in the rain and thunderstorms anymore, I am muttering to myself. Just can't help myself. Why not just leave such a situation alone?

Well, it's my nature. I see a problem. I think I have a solution. I just can't NOT try to put the pieces together.

Job Description for Cats

I cannot claim to be the author of the entry below. It came to me via an email from my husband--no doubt he got it as one of those many humorous emails that float around the Internet and get sent from person to person in an office.

As we have two cats now, and have had a half a dozen cats over the past 30 years, I can attest to the accuracy of the information.

--------------------
BATHROOMS - Always accompany guests to the bathroom. It is not necessary to do anything. Just sit & stare.


DOORS - Do not allow any closed doors...in any room. To get the door opened, stand on hind legs & hammer with forepaws. Once door is opened,it's not necessary to use it. After you have ordered an outside door opened, stand half-way in & out & think about several things. This is particularly important during very cold weather, rain, snow, or mosquito season.


CHAIRS AND RUGS - If you have to throw up get to a white chair quickly.If you cannot manage in time, get to an Oriental rug. If there is no Oriental rug, shag is good. When throwing up on the carpet, make sure you back up while barfing so it's as long as a human's bare foot.


HAMPERING - If one of your humans is engaged in any activity, and the other is idle, stay with the busy one. This is called helping, otherwise known as hampering. Following are the rules for hampering: When supervising cooking, sit just behind the left heel of the cook. You cannot be seen and thereby stand a better chance of being stepped on and then picked up and comforted.For book readers, get in close under the chin, between eyes and book--unless you can lie across the book itself. When human is working at computer, jump up on desk, walk across keyboard, bat at mouse pointer onscreen, and then lay in human's lap across arms, hampering typing in progress.


WALKING - As often as possible, dart quickly & as close as possible in front of the human, especially on stairs, when they have something in their arms, in the dark & when they first get up in the morning. This will help them practice their co-ordination skills.


BEDTIME - Always sleep on the human at night so he/she cannot move around.

LITTER BOX - When using the litter box, be sure to kick as much litter out of the box as possible. Humans love the feel of kitty litter between their toes.


HIDING - Every now and then, hide in a place where the humans cannot find you and do NOT come out for three to four hours under any circumstances. This will cause the humans to panic (which they love) thinking that you have run away or are lost. Once you do come out. . .the humans will cover you with love & kisses, and you probably will get a treat.



ONE LAST THOUGHT - Whenever possible, get close to a human, especially their face, then turn around and present your butt to them. . . .humans love this, so do it often !

Handi-cat-accessible

I have introduced you to Allie--our sweet female cat who lolls lazily on the highest ledge of the cat tree.

Now meet Cassidy. Cassidy is now 12 years old, and is showing his age.


My daughter and I went to the local humane society 12 years ago, intent on getting two kittens. We saw quite a few very young (and somewhat sickly looking) kittens. And then we saw two brother kittens, about 10 weeks old, playing together in one cage, completely ignoring us. We walked over to the cage--they stopped playing briefly, sniffed our hands, then went back to tussling just like two little rambunctious boys. Of course, we picked them!


On the way home, we talked about names. For some reason, my daughter wanted to name them Frank and Jesse (as in the James brothers) or Doc Holliday and Wyatt Earp. I wasn't wild about those names, so I suggested--if it's western quasi-outlaw names you want, how about Sundance and Cassidy. So that's what they were named.




Sundance was a gorgeous lovable cat. But after a couple of years, he began peeing almost anywhere except the litter box. In desperation, I tried putting every imaginable barrier--such as metal shelving--on the floor to keep him directed to the litter box. After a bit of time, we took him to the vet (duh!). Turns out he had chronic renal failure. He lived only 4 years; it was very hard to leave him go.




Now Cassidy is beginning to slow down some. You know the crazy things we do for our pets? Well, at some point I began giving him a small dish of food and water on my bathroom counter. And now that's his favorite place to eat. BUT. . .he can't quite make the jump these days.


So, what do I do? I build a stairway for him!




And since he can't jump up on our bed--one of his favorite sleeping places--we ordered a pet staircase. (I know, I know!)




Now our house is handi-cat-accessible!

That look proves the old saying: dogs have masters; cats have staff!

TGIF

Normally, Friday is a day where most of us say--Yippee! Made it through another week; weekend is ahead, etc.

Well, not me, not today.

Here I sit in my nightgown, with long silk underwear, and socks (all in white, so I look like a ghost). I am sick. Blecccchhhhh! I am always so careful about taking care of my health. In fact, on Wednesday I went for my annual physical--everything pronounced A-okay. Then on Wednesday evening, my throat started hurting. That night, I kept waking up with my feet freezing. Understand, I am normally a high heat burning machine. Not just now. I am full in the grip of chills and fever.

THE FLU! Has to be. What irony. I get flu shots faithfully every year. Of course, when CDC decides which flu strain to use for the development of the flu vaccine, they are playing the odds. Which of the viruses emerging in Asia (where many flu viruses seem to emerge) will travel around the globe and eventually hit America. Of course, I get a strain that was not what my flu vaccination guarded against!

I know that as someone who teaches college freshmen who are, let's face it, less than healthy, I have to be careful. I get papers handed in by students, grade them, and return them. I always try to wash my hands after grading papers. But, maybe I forgot.

Or I didn't wash my hands after we had "Passing of the Peace" on Sunday morning. Our church has a wonderful ritual of pausing during the service to "Pass the Peace." You shake your neighbor's hand and say "The peace of God be with you" and respond "And also with you." Immediately after this ritual, some of the congregants break out the liquid hand santizer. That always seems ingracious, but I do try to remember to wash my hands when I get home. Maybe I forgot.

Who knows--all I know is that I woke up shivering, with a sore throat, dry cough, mucho body aches and pains, and a headache--classis flu symptoms. It will pass, of course.

Tipper doesn't look too alert, now, does she?

Allie, likewise, not exactly on the spot.

Thank goodness, Cassidy is alert--however, he is saying--DON'T even think about taking my picture.

Until then, I will drink hot tea, bundle up, read a good novel, play with my new camera, and rely on my faithful pet buddies, until my husband gets home.

Peanut Butter, Pills, Pup & Persistent Cat

Today is a non-pill day for our dog, Tipper, who is on prednisone to suppress her body's over-zealous elimination of her own platelets. Most every day, she gets a 20 mg. pill of prednisone, but, since today is a teaching day for me, I skip giving her the pill. (The side effects of prednisone are increased hunger and thirst for the dog, so, with her in her crate while I am gone, it seems cruel to afflict her with urges that she can't satisfy in her confinement.) ANYWAY, as I got out my usual morning vitamin, the dog hears the rattle of the bottle and ASSUMES this is for her.

You see, I have learned that a dog will take any pill, almost any size, as long as you coat the pill in peanut butter. So she came running for the morning dose of peanut butter. Awww--puppy, sorry to disappoint you. But then, she (being a very smart half-Border collie) made an excellent point--she could force herself to have a taste of peanut butter WITHOUT the pill! So, herewith!

Problem solved!

So, my next step in morning processing is to read the newspaper. And here begins another predictable ritual. Ever since our one cat Cassidy was a kitten, he has loved to crawl up on the table and position himself just so on top of . . .you guessed it. . .the newspaper. I can spread the paper out and be all ready to read, Cassidy is nowhere around, and SUDDENLY he materializes (like all cats I have ever had, he time travels--I first read about the ability cats have to time travel in that wonderful children's classic Time Cat by Lloyd Alexander).

I will be sitting there pleading, no, no, not my newspaper, and Cassidy, utterly oblivious to my pleas, plops himself right -- on -- the -- page -- I -- am -- READING. I groan, pick him up, deposit him on my chair (since I am now standing) and hope he will stay there. If he does, I continue reading, while standing until the newspaper is done. And, of course, Cassidy consents to letting me pet his ears, while he sits on my chair, and I try to read the newspaper.

Note, Cassidy is NOT sitting on the ad side of the newspaper, which I can easily skip reading; oh no, he is plopped (and really that is what he does) right on top of the text.