Cold weather joy!

December 18, 2015That Asian-Looking Chick Leave a comment

This last week we’ve had quite the cold snap here in Phoenix Metro, which I believe we can actually attribute to El Niño. A few days ago, our state registered the coldest temperatures in the U.S. while everyone else basked in unusual warmth. Hell has frozen over here in Sun Devil country!

It’s all good, though, because cold weather means a lot of enjoyable things. Such as:

1). Cold weather means I can light a lot of candles in my office at home.

Forest of candles.

It’s normally too warm for so many candles at once, obviously.

2). Cold weather makes savory, hot food even heartier.

Bocca burger at Red Robin (with iced tea, which I love in all kinds of weather).

We eat stuff like this year-round, but I find it most fulfilling when it’s cold outside. This particular visit to Red Robin was especially welcome because it was the day after we got back from France, where I’d spent over a week subsisting mostly on salads, bread, and the Larabars I’d packed. Those salads were wonderful, for sure, but by the time we got back I was ready to sink my teeth into something savory and hot!

Roasted purple potatoes.

Pinto beans in the slow cooker.

Pinto tacos!

Side-note: Did you know that Field Roast makes vegan cheese? I didn’t know until we found it at the store last night. It was great in these tacos! My favorite vegan cheeses have been Follow Your Heart and Daiya, but now there’s Field Roast. Daiya probably still works best on pizza, though. I might have to do an experiment to find out. There are other vegan cheeses out there, too.

3). Cold weather means that chocolate tastes like Christmas.

Stonegrindz Chocolate

This chocolate is made locally, and it is delicious. Somehow, cold weather and Stonegrindz’ midnight dark chocolate really go together. Callaghan even likes it, and he generally doesn’t care for dark chocolate! We get it at the Farmer’s Market down the street, of course.

4). Cold weather makes garage workouts possible.

You know it’s been cold if you see that my elbows are bruised… it means that I’ve been working out on heavy-bags in the garage, a thing you can’t do in Arizona heat if there’s no A/C out there.

I waited seven months for this.

(A selfie was going to be impossible, so I took these pics with the web cam… that’s why they’re kind of grainy and dark.)

Garage workouts once again!

Because let’s be honest… there’s nothing like an intense workout on heavy-bags to relieve your frustrations. Any shrink would back me up on that, I’m guessing.

The cold also means that I can lift weights in the garage, since we have some dumbbells out there. I need to build up some strength.

Did I mention, by the way, that my strength-training attempts at the work gym ended in failure? The plan was to go during lunch, but evidently the rest of the world had the same idea. I couldn’t get the weights I needed because they were always in use, and I didn’t have time to wait. I gave up after three or four days.

5). Cozy winter kitties.

Nenette in her favorite windowsill sunbeam on a cold day.

Nenette asleep on the back of the couch, one of her favorite spots.

Sleepy Nounours and his little pink freckled nose.

Blanket weather!

It’s supposed to warm up a little starting today, but it’ll still be cold enough to be magical!

Looks like this turned out to be something of a “favorites” post, which I didn’t intend, but it’s great because I wasn’t going to do one for December. (At the end of the month I’ll do a “best of 2015,” instead.)

Seasons according to cats.

November 13, 2015November 13, 2015That Asian-Looking Chick Leave a comment

Today, I present – by popular demand – a kitty update.

Nounours and Nenette have continued to progress in their relationship with each other, but the biggest thing going on in their lives right now is that the seasons have changed. It’s officially sunbeam. If that sounds strange to you, it’s because you’re not up on your kittyese, or Catian, let’s say, which includes seasons according to cats.

In case you don’t already know, seasons according to cats are thus:

Sunbeam (fall)
Blanket (winter)
Shedding (spring)
Tabletop (summer)

In sunbeam, it’s chilly in the house, but the heater hasn’t been turned on yet. Cats seek out the sunbeams so they can lay in them and soak up the heat. (They also enjoy having their cold ears massaged by warm human fingers.)

In blanket, it’s colder… as cold as it’s going to get in the desert, which can be pretty cold, though there’s no snow. Cats have grown in their winter coats. At night, they either burrow under the blanket to sleep up against us, or they make a nest on top of the blanket, where they stay much of the day. Wherever there’s a blanket, there’s a cat curled up on it, cozily ensconced in its folds.

In shedding, it’s warming up, and cats begin to discard their winter coats, which come off in billions of little hairs that coat the whole house.

In tabletop, it’s hot. Cats seek out cool, flat surfaces, such as glass tabletops.

So it’s sunbeam season now, and I, of course, have failed to take pics of the hedonistic sunbeam-fest going on around here.

I do have these, though:

Nenette chewing her toes, as babies do.

We now suspect that little Nenette was even younger than we’d all thought when we adopted her, because we swear she’s grown larger, frame-wise, in the four months that we’ve had her. We were told that she was six years old. Our vet said she thought Nenette was three or four years old. Now, we think she may have been closer to just one year old. No one really knows, but she’s definitely taking on more of an adult cat shape. She’s still bouncing around like a bunny with her little tailless Manx butt, though.

I took the next two pics while Callaghan was in France and the three of us were enjoying a lazy Sunday morning in bed:

Nounours sleeping on the bed.

A break-through: Nenette on the bed!

Yes! While Callaghan was away, Nenette finally ventured onto the bed on a regular basis. The biggest break-through of all was that she actually slept next to me on Callaghan’s pillow at night.

Now that Callaghan is back, she’s having to adjust to his presence again. She loves him, and she loves to play with him, but she’s afraid of him. It’s kind of heart-breaking to see because it clearly shows that she’d been terrorized by some man in her former life.

Nounours being his lovable goof-ball self.

This guy, I’m telling you. Nounours is the dorkiest, huggiest guy!

Here’s another one of Nenette:

Tiny Nenette hanging out in a bookcase cube.

Next, we have the two of them together!

This was a special evening for Nounours and Nenette.

The angle of this next one makes the lamp look crooked, but look at how they’re looking at each other…

So far, this is my favorite pic of Nounours and Nenette together.

So sweet!

But wait – I found a sunbeam pic I’d forgotten about…

Nenette laying in a sunbeam, bathing her growing winter coat.

And this concludes our November edition of Friday Fluff: Nounours and Nenette update.

Moving into blanket season!

Callaghan vs. Nounours

August 7, 2015August 7, 2015That Asian-Looking Chick 2 Comments

Callaghan’s been embroiled in an ongoing struggle with Nounours ever since we brought the big guy home with Ronnie James to our Little House in the Rhône-Alpes in October 2012. It’s that ancient grievance of many a cat-parent: Kitty insists that you wake up when he wants you up, not when you wish to wake up. Sometimes, he wants you up long before you want to get up.

Some cats do this, some don’t. The Wrah-Wrah never did it. Nounours always has, and he mostly targets Callaghan. He doesn’t try it on me very often. When he does, he fails… I don’t get out of bed when Nounours demands it. Fortunately for me, I usually don’t even remember his efforts. I’m able to fall back asleep immediately if I’m abruptly woken up, which may or may not be attributed to the anti-anxiety medication I take before I go to bed. Whatever the case, Kristi – 300; Nounours – 0!

Callaghan – 0; Nounours – 732.

This has been Callaghan’s number one complaint in life for the last few years. If he had any hair on his head at all, he’d have long since ripped it out.

Every once in a while, he opens a discussion about what to do, meaning, he’ll tell me his ideas, and I’ll listen. His latest brainstorm was to shut Nounours in his studio/office with a bowl of water and a litter box.

“But I would ONLY do it at the time that he wakes me up,” he clarified. “Not before we go to bed. That way, he’ll know why he’s in there.”

That’s right… Nounours will know why he’s in there. He’s the Einstein of cats.

Callaghan cycles through phases of thinking that Nounours tries to wake him up because he’s hungry, but that theory always fades away in the face of evidence to the contrary.

1). Are the little bowls of dry food (“crunchies”) empty? –> Never. We always make sure they’re filled before we go bed.

2a). Does Nounours want his canned food breakfast? –> Maybe.

2b). If the answer to 2a is “yes”: Who feeds the cats their canned food breakfast? –> Mommy.

2c). Who does Nounours try to wake up? –> Daddy.

Theory blown.

My own theory is that poor Nounours tries to wake up Callaghan in order to verify that he’s still alive. Daddy has been lying in one position for 3 hours! Must make sure he’s not dead!!

He loves us both, but Callaghan is his favorite.

Nounours will wake up Callaghan by jumping on him. Or he’ll head-butt Callaghan’s face. Sometimes, he’ll sit on his face. Rounding off his repertoire, he’ll incessantly issue loud meows and yowls that reverberate throughout the house.

“He doesn’t stop! He won’t stop, and I can’t get back to sleep,” Callaghan grumbles. “So FINALLY, I get up.”

“But why…”

“As soon as I’m up? He lays down and goes to sleep! Why does he wake me up if he just goes to sleep once I’m up?!”

“Maybe he wants to make sure you’re still alive,” I suggest.

Some days, Callaghan is so wiped out from Nounours-related sleep deprivation that he’ll set about getting revenge. His favorite revenge strategy is to sneak up on Nounours during the day when he’s napping and pounce on him with his hands, doing his best Nounours imitation to “show him what it feels like”:

“Nouuuuuuuu-nours! Wake up! Wake UP, Nounours!” Callaghan sing-songs in Nounours’ ear, vigorously ruffling Nounours’ fur. “TIME TO WAKE UP!!”

I have photographic evidence of this, of course.

Before:

Pre-Callaghan Nounours, smooth and neat.

After:

Post-Callaghan Nounours, looking like a rug from the 70’s.

Callaghan’s logic is simple: “If I don’t get to sleep, then he doesn’t get to sleep.”

Nounours doesn’t respond to these random assaults on his slumber, though. At the most, he’ll crack open one eye, then close it again and resume sleeping. He is not phased. He is Nounours, laid-back to the point of obliviousness.

I try to help. I’ll sometimes intercept Nounours in the middle of the night if I’m semi-awake and he walks behind my head to get to Callaghan. I’ll grab him and hug him to my chest, and he’ll lay there purring for a while. I fall back asleep, though, and then Nounours continues on his way. Destination: Daddy.

“THANK YOU for protecting me, Baby,” Callaghan tells me the next day. I’m his bodyguard, protecting him from the big, lovable cuddle monster that is Nounours.

Callaghan did try putting Nounours in exile one time recently. He got up when Nounours jarred him awake, and he put him in his studio/office with a bowl of water and the litter box. He told me about it later, when I asked why there was a bowl of water in his office.

“It was just for half an hour, and then I let him out,” he told me, proud of himself. “And he didn’t meow at all after that!”

But the whole process was tedious, and the tedium mostly defeated the purpose.

We’ve since considered and ruled out several possible solutions. Then I went online to search for others. I came across some advice on an ASPCA page under the heading:

What to Do If Your Cat Keeps You Awake at Night

In the penultimate bullet point, it’s suggested that “…you might need to shut him out of your bedroom at night. If he cries and scratches at the door, you can discourage him by…” They complete the sentence with several options, including the following:

“…you can set a ‘booby trap’ outside your door.” A booby trap?

“Try hanging your blow dryer off the bedroom door knob, or placing your vacuum cleaner five or six feet away from the door.” I’m imagining how the ominous sight of a vacuum cleaner might ward off a cat. But the blow dryer? Where are they going with this?

“Plug the dryer or vacuum into a remote switch (available from Radio Shack).” A mental image is starting to form.

“When your cat wakes you by meowing outside your door, you can hit a button on the remote to turn on the appliance.” I’m cracking up. I’m laughing so hard, I can hardly get the words out as I read them to Callaghan.

“Your startled cat probably won’t return to your door after that!” Concludes the paragraph. No kidding?

I’m a little surprised at the ASPCA for suggesting this; in my opinion, it would be a traumatic thing to happen to a kitty who only wants to be with the people who love him more than anyone in the world. Poor Nounours! The idea of setting a scary booby-trap for him after he’s already upset about being locked out of the bedroom really kind of breaks my heart. Callaghan says I’m too soft on Nounours, and maybe I am, but that’s why Daddy is the main disciplinarian. What a cliché are we.

Nounours and Callaghan, August 5, 2015

Wrapping this up, I’ve got a new Nenette pic from the week:

Nenette gets sassier every day!

Happy Friday, All!

The (feline) state of affairs chez nous.

July 31, 2015That Asian-Looking Chick 2 Comments

Once again, I come to you with kitty news; while I don’t have an intention to always post fur-baby reports on Fridays, that’s how it’s been working out lately! Last weekend, we celebrated Nenette’s third week with us. We got her a new scratch pad. This one is for my office, since she’s taken to hanging out near my desk while I’m working, and she loves to lounge on scratch pads. She spends a lot of time on the ones in the living room.

In Nounours news, he’s still grieving the loss of his brother, and it’s painful to see. As I was telling a friend, he displayed an incredible show of longing for Wrah-Wrah last Sunday night.

He was lying on the bed with Wrah-Wrah’s urn, and I was doing the things I normally do to get ready for bed. One of those things is taking the urn from the foot of the bed and returning it to the dresser on the opposite wall.

When I did this on Sunday night, Nounours suddenly cried out, jumped up, and half-climbed onto the foot-board of the bed, stretching out his neck and leaning forward toward the urn, looking from it to me with a pleading light in his eyes. I was stunned. His vocalization, body language and expression articulated his desire so clearly that I quickly gave Wrah-Wrah’s urn back to him, placing it on the foot of the bed. He spent a few seconds head-butting the urn and rubbing his face on it before snuggling back down.

“Did you see that?” Callaghan asked, standing there in the same shock I was in. Neither of us could believe it. It was utterly heart-breaking.

Nounours watched over Ronnie James’ urn all that night. For the first time, I left it on the foot of the bed while we slept.

This is still a common sight.

Then, a few nights later, I went out into the living room and found Nounours like this:

Stretched out where Wrah-Wrah used to rest.

He usually doesn’t even sit on the couch, much less in that corner.

That striped cushion was the cushion on which Ronnie James spent a lot of time curled up next to me in the last few days of his life. It was always lying flat, and he loved it. On Wednesday night, Callaghan leaned it up against the back of the couch for the first time since Ronnie James’ death, and this was Nounours’ response. We took one look at him and knew from his demeanor that he was deep in a place of sadness and missing his Wrah-Wrah.

Nounours snuggling with Wrah-Wrah’s cushion.

Poor Nounours.

We all need more time, and there may never be enough time. Ronnie James’ presence in our house is so real, it’s like he’s here, but invisible.

On her part, Nenette did the following this week:

She read some books…

Nenette with “As I Lay Dying,” one of my favorite works of literature.

…she played. A lot.

Not tired yet, Mommy!

She discovered catnip…

What’s this?

…and hugged her toys…

Mine! All mine!

…tentatively kept company with her brother…

Nounours and Nenette hanging out in my office.

…and introduced herself to houseplants Jerome and Barclay.

Nenette getting up close and personal with Barclay the plant.

I’d say she’s coming along pretty well, overall!

Fearless Nenette will save us all.

July 24, 2015July 24, 2015That Asian-Looking Chick Leave a comment

In this week’s kitty news, we found out that our sweet little Nenette is a badass in tiny-pretty-girl clothing.

I’ll tell you all about it, but first things first (speaking of clothing)!

Many thanks to our friend Eddie W. of Round Rock, TX for adorning Nenette’s tailless butt with Eeyore’s tail! She loves it, and so do we.

After two weeks of gradual, steady confidence-building with us, Nenette suddenly turned a big corner last weekend. With her newfound trust came the understanding that this is HER home and we are HER parents and Nounours is HER brother, and with that came a fierce determination to protect us all.

Like a good soldier on guard duty, Nenette stations herself at her post (on the table under the living room window) every night, and she watches. Her vigilance is unflinching.

Nenette demonstrating her watching skills.

Except when sleep overtakes her.

Because guard duty is tiring.

But when she’s not asleep – and I believe she has a sixth sense that tells her when she can sleep – she’s unfailing in her self-imposed responsibilities.

It started like this:

On Sunday night, a random neighborhood tomcat strolled onto our front patio. When he approached the living room window, Nenette, who happened to be watching from the table on the inside, bunched herself up and launched herself at the window with a mighty ki-yah that would make any Tae Kwan Do master proud.

This was the first time we’d seen anything like this. We saw that Nenette’s “This is MY Home and These are MY Parents and This is MY Nounours and YOU BETTER STAY AWAY!!!” mode is formidable, truly a force to be reckoned with.

Yowling as she charged the tomcat, Nenette slammed into the window violently (yes, we were worried!) and scrapped at it with her velvety little declawed paws. We were dumbstruck, but we shouldn’t have been. Remember how we couldn’t believe the volume of her yowling in the car when we brought her home? The yowling that seemed incongruous coming from such a dainty, petite package wrapped in soft fur? Yeah, that was a good indicator.

“She’s just like her Mommy,” Callaghan declared, making me snort with laughter.

That’s how it went down. And that’s how it came to be that Nenette keeps vigil at the window every night.

When I told my friend Caroline about Nenette’s new role as Protector of Her Territory and Family, she commented, “She needs to relax. Totally becoming rambo kitty.”

Then she added, “She tricked us into thinking she was all sweet and mellow and now the gloves are off and she is rambo kitty!!!!”

On his part, Nounours, aka The Dude, is just as laid-back and oblivious as ever. But he was there to witness Nenette charging toward the face of the interloper outside, and since then, he’s been seeking out her company even more than before. Nounours understands that Nenette has accepted him as a part of her family, and he’s feeling the love! We are, too. It’s rather a privilege knowing that Nenette has claimed us as her family.

We are concerned, though… we don’t want her to hurt herself on that window. During the incident on Sunday night, we had to stage an intervention by dramatically opening the front door in order to scare away the tomcat. We had to. Nenette was going berserk.

Who knew this little girl could be so fearless and aggressive?

We thought we’d seen the extent of it, but on Tuesday night, Nenette took it to the next level, and we got to see a demonstration of her intelligence in the process.

I was sitting here in my office when she suddenly raced in, leaped up onto the futon under the window and bounced up onto the windowsill. She perched there with complete concentration, very alert and very still. I went to see what she was staring at so intensely.

It was that same tomcat. The second I spotted him, Nenette began to growl a low, menacing growl in the back of her throat. Once again, I went to the front door to hasten the departure of her foe.

The thing is, she knew that he was there, and she figured out that she’d be able to see him from the window in my office! That’s how smart she is. We knew the other cat hadn’t appeared at the living room window where Nenette had been keeping watch, because she’d have made a commotion, and we would have heard it. Somehow, with her feline super-powers, she’d been able to perceive the unwelcome cat lurking in the shadows near the house on the other side of the front door.

Needless to say, Nenette has gotten quite comfortable here in the last five days!

Here are a few more pics from the week:

Abyssianian/Manx-mix Nenette, sitting like a statue

“Don’t go!!” ~Nenette

“Out, damned itch!” (Complete with Shakespeare in the background)

Le Nounours (The teddy bear!)

Cleaning the hand, Nounours-style.

Nounours snuggling with his Daddy in the morning.

And here’s one for size comparison:

Nounours and Nenette in the early morning haze.

Still no pics of the two of them snuggling together… yet. It will happen one day!

Nenette – Nounours’ 4th of July kitty

July 7, 2015July 16, 2015That Asian-Looking Chick 4 Comments

We suddenly have a little girl kitty. To put it more precisely, Nounours suddenly has a new little sister.

We knew we’d eventually have to adopt another cat for Nounours, but if the deciding criteria was going to be me being emotionally ready, I couldn’t see it happening, ever. Losing Ronnie James left an open wound with tattered edges in my heart, and the idea of putting something there seemed excruciating.

But on the other hand, it’s been upsetting to see Nounours so distraught. Nounours would seem okay one minute, then desolate the next. He’d start crying, and we’d rush into the bedroom to discover him rubbing his head on Ronnie James’ urn. Or, on the occasions I’d leave Ronnie James’ urn up on his favorite barstool in the bedroom, Nounours’ yowling-crying would summon us to find him standing on the bed, mournfully facing the urn as if it were an unreachable island barely visible across a vast sea. We’d set the urn back on the foot of the bed, and Nounours would snuggle up to it, quieting down immediately.

We didn’t know what to do. We didn’t know how to help Nounours. It got to a point where we started talking more seriously about adopting another sibling for him. I was starting to realize that my own reticence wasn’t fair to Nounours, who had never been an only cat. He was lonely and missing his Wrah-Wrah as much as I was.

Things happened quickly from there.

Saturday morning, the 4^th of July, we had the conversation again as we headed to the gym, Callaghan and I. “I’d definitely want to get a girl,” I said, echoing sentiments I’d previously expressed. I thought that a girl kitty would feel less like a Ronnie James replacement; moreover, it wouldn’t be a good idea to bring a strange Tomcat into Nounours’ territory. Callaghan agreed.

So we knew we wanted a girl. We also knew that we wanted her to be a full-grown adult, but one who was younger than 10-year-old Nounours. Nounours has a generous maternal streak, and we thought that allowing him to indulge it would help him to feel less lonely. It seemed that a slightly younger kitty would be a good fit for lovable, cozy Nounours and his penchant for cuddling. “Five at the youngest,” I thought out loud. “Maybe five or six….” Callaghan thought this would be ideal, as well.

But again, we shelved the conversation without making a decision. We got to the gym and went to Body Combat.

Not two hours later, we found ourselves peering into a clear Plexiglas case at PetSmart, where we’d stopped to get more treats for Nounours. Inside the case was a little girl whose tag read that she was six years old. (But she was so small!) Her tag also told us that she’s an Abyssinian/Manx mix. The Abyssinian part explained her beautiful, dark-golden ticked coat. The Manx part explained her lack of a tail.

She looked so sweet and sad. As we held her gaze, her waves of loneliness cut through the Plexiglas to touch us. We learned that she’d belonged to family who’d “run into hard times.” They were being evicted, so they surrendered her to the shelter. She’d been at the shelter for over a month.

When we left PetSmart, my heart had been replaced with a ball of mixed emotions, which I promptly expressed on Facebook. Some of my friends – you know who you are! – were so encouraging and supportive and wonderful, commenting and texting me. The conundrum was that (in accordance with policy) the adoption folks wouldn’t hold her for us for even half a day, even if we paid the fee; if we wanted to adopt her, we had to make the decision and do it tout de suite. It would have to happen quickly, lest someone else swoop in and adopt her!

We went back.

We changed her name. It was funny how we arrived at it: I suggested “Nenette” – we both wanted a French name – and Callaghan replied with, “My Godmother’s name was Nenette!” I hadn’t known that. (Also, we found out later when talking to Maman, Callaghan’s Mom, that “Nenette” had been slang for “chick” in France back in the 60’s and 70’s.) We both loved the name, and it suited the little girl. Nounours et Nenette. We purchased a nametag and fed it to the engraving machine at the front of the store before leaving.

She already knows her new name.

At home later that evening, we sat in the living room and watched as Nenette explored her new forever home.

Here’s one of the first pics I took of her:

Part-Abyssinian, part Manx, Nenette has no tail (a characteristic of the latter).

Sometimes, the way she moves her head reminds me, comically, of a velociraptor à la Jurassic World, and I want to call her “Blue,” my favorite (kick-ass female) character in that movie. Other times, her shy expression reminds me of Princess Diana, and I want to call her “Lady Di.”

Nenette on the small round ottoman in the bedroom (7/6/2015)

Her shy expressions remind me so much of Princess Diana!

As I post this, Nenette has only been here for about 60 hours, so she’s still getting acclimated to her new home and to the three of us. Nounours started showing interest in her within 24 hours, but his tentative approaches drew soft hissing. Nenette will need some time to develop trust and confidence. We suspect that she’d been either neglected or otherwise mistreated in her past situation(s).

Nenette has the uniform, ticked coat of the Abyssinian, with velvety soft fur.

She’s as much an Abyssinian/Manx mix in her personality as she is in her appearance. She’s talkative, but her conversational voice is soft and extremely feminine, and I do mean girly-girl-level feminine, with her quiet mewing and trilling sounds. At the other end of the spectrum, we never heard a cat yowl as loudly as she did in the carrier coming home from the shelter! It was funny to think that such a sound could come from this tiny, adorable little being. This kitty has quite the vocal range. She loves the scratch pads we have all over the house, even though she’d been declawed (to our horror). We’ve also observed that she’s intelligent, inquisitive and playful… and she’s quite skittish. When people come over, she disappears beneath furniture whether the visitors ring the doorbell or not. But overall, she seems to be adapting quickly.

We thought this pink heart tag said “Nenette” even before we engraved it, so it was the obvious choice.

As of yesterday, she and Nounours have been on nose-touching terms. Those brief touches are a magical balm for Nounours, as he seems to be more at peace now than before we adopted Nenette. We’re looking forward to the day we find him nurturing her!

I wanted to capture an image of Nounours and Nenette together, but it’s too soon for such an opportunity. Last night, when I went into the bedroom to take a picture of Nounours by himself, I found him like this, as usual:

Nounours still missing his Wrah-Wrah dearly.

Wrah-Wrah will always be with us, and I like to think that Nenette understands that she has two big brothers to adore her. We love her, too. Nenette has been a blessing for us all. The only promise we can make to her is that she’ll be unconditionally loved for the rest of her life.

Callaghan and Ronnie James, bonding (instagram series)

May 29, 2015That Asian-Looking Chick 6 Comments

Just over a year ago, I took a picture of Callaghan and the Wrah-Wrah together in a companionable moment, and I instagrammed it with a b&w filter. I shared it on Facebook, and people loved it. Over the course of the year, I did this six more times. That first photo was taken before Ronnie James started coughing. The last one was taken on the 14^th of this month, the day he died… four days shy of the one-year anniversary of the first.

All along, I had no idea that I was capturing the last year of Ronnie James’ life.

Last night marked two weeks since good-bye. I wanted to share these pictures here today, together as a collection. There are only seven. I’d taken many more, but I’d carefully selected the images for this series with certain qualities in mind. Above all, the photos show the special bond between Callaghan and Ronnie James, each one spontaneous and now extra precious in its memorializing the enormous and profound love our feline son carried in his strong little lion heart.

I’ll say it again: Ronnie James loved like no other. He lived from cuddle to kiss, from nuzzle to hug. He measured his days in snuggles, rather than in minutes. He loved to be picked up and carried. He loved to be held, and, unlike most cats, you could hold him until your arms got tired, because the urge to get down never overcame him. He always had to be touching us, including with the unique way he had of flicking his butt to the side to brush against us when walking by. (We thought this quirk of his was so funny and cute.)

The Wrah-Wrah loved all three of us so much, Callaghan, Nounours, and me… and his love was such a huge, constant and present force in our lives that now, the emptiness where he used to be is just crushing. It is to me, at least. I’m having a difficult time with the absence of our “little lovebug” who was actually the greatest source of love I’ve ever encountered in a being, believe it or not. In that sense, he is divine. He’s with us somehow, I know… but still, when I walk through the house and see his favorite places, the realization of his physical goneness sucks the breath out of my own lungs, and I hinge forward under the weight of it.

It’s been rough, friends. Really, really rough. I don’t think that time could help me to miss him less, but it may help me to adapt, eventually.

Without further ado, here are the seven pictures in the “Callaghan and Ronnie James, bonding” series. At the end, I tacked on a pic of me with the Wrah-Wrah (and Callaghan’s leg!), and another of the Wrah-Wrah with his beloved Nounours, both from instagram, as well.

“Callaghan and Ronnie James, bonding”:

May 17, 2014.
The first photo in the series. Ronnie James hanging out with his Daddy in bed, each of them doing their thing.

June 2014.
Ronnie James often kept his Daddy company in the studio (Callaghan would place the second bar-stool there just for him). This was still back in our old apartment.

August 2014.
Looking up attentively at his Daddy, probably asking for more belly rubs. He loved his belly rubs!

November 2014.
Ronnie James was never happier than when being snuggled by me, Callaghan, or Nounours.

December 2014.
He loved to drape himself over us. Look at his paw on Callaghan’s arm! He loved to touch us.

March 2015.
Ronnie James and Callaghan sharing a moment right before we went to France for a week.

May 14, 2015.
Last photo in the series, almost a year since the first. This photo was taken the day Ronnie James died… just hours before he died, in fact.

And here are the two extras:

August 2014.
Ronnie James with Callaghan and me. I remember the ferocity of his purring, he was so happy.

March 2014.
One of many photos of Ronnie James and Nounours cuddling together.

Poor Nounours is so forlorn without his Wrah-Wrah. He still seeks out and cuddles with his brother’s urn and collar.

We will get through this. On Monday, Callaghan left for France suddenly because of an urgent family situation, so he’s preoccupied with the goings-on over there. I’m here with Nounours, doing my best to nurture him through his grief as I work through my own. I value this time to bond more with Nounours. We’re helping each other.

We love you, Ronnie James. As I often used to sing to him: Precious-angel-baby-bunny-dragon-Ronnie-James!

The Wrah-Wrah’s paw print.

May 26, 2015May 26, 2015That Asian-Looking Chick 2 Comments

Why good morning, friends. As of three days ago, I have a new tattoo, and I wanted to share it with you. It’s a small one, but of all my tattoos, this one is the dearest to my heart.

Right after Ronnie James died, I suddenly, desperately wanted to apply ink to his little paw pads and press his paw onto paper. It wasn’t a thought I’d taken the time to formulate beforehand. As much as I’d tried to prepare myself, his passing was harder for me than I’d imagined it could be, and in the aftermath, I wanted something of him that would stay with me forever.

Since it was a last-minute decision, we were ill-prepared. The inks in Callaghan’s studio yielded fuzzy prints, but we thought we could work with them. They were certainly better than nothing. My idea was to have his paw print indelibly inked on the inside of my wrist, where I could see it all the time. I wanted a permanent, visual remembrance of how Ronnie James loved to touch me, and of how comforting and sweet his touch had been.

The Wrah-Wrah’s first fuzzy little prints. The one I chose didn’t come from this set, but we’re going to have this sheet framed.

When our house-calling vet brought the Wrah-Wrah’s cremains home to us two days later, she surprised us with another sheet of paper on which she’d stamped some lovely, clear Wrah-Wrah prints, a thoughtful gesture that touched us deeply. I vacillated between my two favorites before deciding on this one:

Getting an idea of how it would look….

Callaghan loved it and decided to get the same tattoo. We went to the Club Tattoo down the street here in Tempe to make an appointment with the person who’d done my last (spiral of hearts) tattoo. We made our double appointment for Saturday afternoon.

Ronnie James’ paw print realistically done in four shades of black/gray.

The same tattooist did that spiral of hearts around my arm in 2011, right before the move to France. (In case you’re wondering, no, I don’t lift weights. I just do Body Combat 3x / week. I do want to get back in the garage to work out, though… it’s been a good couple of months.)

I explained to our tattooist that I wanted the tattoo to look smudgy and real, as if Ronnie James’ inked paw had been pressed directly onto my wrist. He expertly used four shades of black/gray to achieve the effect with shading. I’m extremely pleased with how it turned out. I absolutely adore it.

Now I’ll always have the Wrah-Wrah’s paw on me.

And here’s a bad selfie, just for fun. (How do people take mirror selfies, anyway? It never worked out the few times I tried it. It must be an art form.)

Thwarted by lighting! Useless selfie attempting to show my freshly bandaged wrist… but you can see Callaghan in the background getting his tattoo done, so there’s that.

Callaghan loves his tattoo, as well. He asked to have the print altered just a tiny bit, and we wanted ours angled slightly differently, and he positioned his further down his wrist than mine, and he has his on his left wrist, while mine is on my right… so our Wrah-Wrah prints aren’t exactly identical. The Wrah-Wrah loved us both, but differently. He touched us both, but differently.

The Wrah-Wrah is Forever.

Close Encounters of the Kitty-Snatching Kind

June 18, 2013June 20, 2013That Asian-Looking Chick Leave a comment

We’re all happily ensconced in our place now, but the getting here was not without its perils. The Ronnie James kitty almost got abducted by a UFO the second we stepped over the threshold into our new apartment.

To begin with, it had been a long journey for the little guy. First, the morning we left France, he fell terribly ill as a result of the vet-prescribed sedative – NEVER AGAIN, by the way – we gave him and his brother, Nounours, in preparation for travel. (Thankfully, Nounours did not have this adverse reaction.) Next, there was the cramped, cold and damp taxi ride to the airport in Lyon two hours away, where we boarded a flight to Frankfurt, Germany.

At the Frankfurt airport, kitties sat patiently in their pet carriers while Mommy and Daddy sucked down beers, waiting to board our next plane. (What. It was Germany! Having lived there for two years, I’m incapable of stepping foot in that formidable country without imbibing their ambrosiatique – there, I just invented a word – brews.) Then there was the long flight to Houston, Texas… trans-Atlantic, halfway across America, non-stop. It was a 10-hour flight, but we were actually on the plane for 12 hours, since bad weather in Frankfurt caused a two-hour departure delay. Two hours sitting on the plane on the ground, 10 hours in the air. Our boys were beautifully behaved the entire time. No one even knew they were there. We were so proud!

We’re American kitties now! Rah Rah Rah! Now let us out! **NEWSFLASH**: the inside of these carriers look the same here as they did in Europe.

We spent the night in a motel in Houston. Ronnie James and Nounours knew exactly what to do… I opened the kitty suitcase to bust out their litter box, and they used it immediately after I set it up. They drank water and gobbled down their crunchies and the canned food we set out for them. They raced around the room, took flying leaps through the air onto the sofa, bounced around on pillows and cushions, got more cuddles and kisses and praise than they knew what to do with, and slept. The next morning, we packed them back up in their carriers, buckled them into the back seat of the rental car (being the responsible parents that we are – “BABIES ON BOARD!”) and hit the road for the three-hour drive to Austin.

A friendly sign along the way.

In Austin, our final stop was supposed to be our new home, but there was an unforeseen problem with the apartment. We found ourselves pulling a fast Plan B out of our ass and checking into another motel room, where we stayed for four days; thankfully, that was as long as it took to find and move into our ideal new place.

By the time we’d secured that new place, though, Ronnie James and Nounours had already decided that they were home. In the motel room. They had a double bed all to themselves, courtesy of the large, gruff-looking man behind the counter who’d kindly insisted that we take a free upgrade since kitties “might be more comfortable in a larger room.” They might enjoy a bed to themselves, he reasoned. (It turned out that the motel staff loved cats. We were told the story of how the night shift guy’s cat followed him to work every night, lording over the front counter with Daddy.)

How right he was! Kitties did, indeed, adore having their own bed.

Our own bed? THANKS NICE MOTEL PEOPLES.

They also enjoyed the maid service. We straightened up the room every morning and always made sure to leave the “Do Not Disturb” hanger on the doorknob before going out (me being paranoid that kitties would slip out and get lost if someone went in), but at the end of each day, the room would be immaculate, and there kitties would be, lounging like little princes on their bed, looking suspiciously as if someone had brought in silver platters of caviar and sea-brine champagne while we were gone. They probably got smothered with complimentary kisses and attention while we were gone, too. They were as content and purring as kitties could be. Ronnie James looked particularly blissful.

Maid came to change mah sheets!

So when the time came to check out, Ronnie James balked. Because, you see, not only were kitties being treated like royalty by the motel staff, but there was an armchair in the room. As far as Ronnie James is concerned, home is where the armchair is… especially if said armchair gets daily catnip treatments, as that one apparently did. Throwing everything back in the suitcases and approaching Ronnie James with his empty kitty carrier earned me this expression:

What is that you have there OH HELL NO I am NOT getting back into that carrier. There is nothing wrong with this armchair, see.

For the first time in the whole five-day ordeal, he resisted us. He cried all the way to the new apartment. And when we brought him inside and released him, his world blew apart in a mist of terror when he stepped out, looked up, and spotted the Unidentified Flying Object from hell:

Spinning black blades. Lights and flickering shadows. Wind. WE COME FOR YOU NOW.

It was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. Adding to the problem was the fact that, being in his carrier, he’d seen nothing between his cozy motel room and this.

He did not get to see our harmless-looking apartment from the outside.

Not scary. Top floor, corner unit. It’s peaceful. Summer quiet (students gone) or all the time quiet, I don’t know, but it’s lovely!

He did not get to see our completely innocuous front door.

Not scary.

And he did not get to see the benign view from our breezeway.

Not scary.

He only saw this:

The menacing, spinning bladed aerial beast lies quietly in wait.

His level of alarm took me by surprise. It hadn’t occurred to me that the sights and sounds specific to a warm-weather place would concern the kitties, but of course… duh! In France, kitties never knew the low-grade hum of an air conditioner, and they certainly did not know ceiling fans.

It took almost a week for Ronnie James to adapt. The first two days, he huddled alternately under the bathroom sink (having quickly learned how to open the cabinets) and in the corner of the kitchen counter, where we brought him food and water. (Meanwhile, Nounours was fine. As Callaghan put it, you could drop a piano in front of him, and he wouldn’t blink an eye. He is, however, terrified of garbage bags.) On Day Three, Ronnie James ventured out to use the litter box. I picked him up and held him close in his favorite cuddly position. His eyes widened to the size of CDs and he shook violently with fear in my arms as he watched the flickering of shadow caused by the ceiling fan in the next room. My heart broke.

Finally, he realized that the rest of us were still alive after four days of normal life activity under the ceiling fans, and he started to gradually lower his guard. This process was helped by his discovery of the beat-up old armchair we’d found just for him on Craigslist:

Mine! Mine mine mine.

He’s all fine now, our little Wrah Wrah James, wandering around and making his little “wrah wrah” happy noises.

UFO? What UFO? I’m chilling under my ceiling fan!

Belly rubs pleeze and thanks sez the Ronnie James

Too much excitement around here. I’m out.

And Nounours (AKA “Mr. Sheds-a-Lot” – no need for the year-round winter coat here!) has been enjoying the company of his brother again, whom he’d missed during his week of hiding.

Ah… now we’re really home!

More Than You Wanted to Know About Our Cat

March 13, 2013That Asian-Looking Chick 2 Comments

Our biggest armful of cat goes by the name “Nounours.” (In case you were wondering, this is the one who was originally called “Bruce Willis.” That name never worked. Nounours is French for “teddy bear,” and he responds to it.)

The upper half of Nounours was slung over Callaghan’s shoulder, the lower half was cradled in the crook of his elbow, and his back paws were tucked into the palm of his hand… 17 pounds of cat you could barely see under the smothering that was taking place. Yes, the kitty pampering in this house is shameless and pathological.

Anyway, so there’s Nounours, snuggled neatly in Callaghan’s arms, and there’s Callaghan, caught up and carried away in the bubble of kitty love.

“He’s so happy and proud, this Nounours!” he gushed, covering Nounours with kisses.

“With his big blue eyes!” I said, rubbing Nounours’s fur.

“Look at him, gros Nounours!” said Callaghan, bursting with kitty-daddy pride.

“With his pink ears and butterscotch and cream fur!” I said, kissing his velvety nose. “And his little pink nose with freckles!”

“He’s got a pink ass with freckles, too,” Callaghan added.

Um….