I'm so dead

Considering I have two, I think they're conspiring against me.  I did first grow suspicious when Milo distracted me with his cuteness, then Max made a flying leap in front of me, almost as if to trip me down the stairs.  Hmmmmmmm.

How I Spent my Sunday

Did you know that cats can projectile vomit?

All over your hands and satin robe?

Thank you, Max. Love ya.

For the Furbabies!

Stop the presses! Call the governor! We've got a Furry.2 on the Richter Scale!

When one lives, as I do, far away from fault lines, and one wakes up, as I did, at 5 AM during what surely must be an earthquake, it behooves one to check the bed for rambunctiously wrestling kitties before becoming alarmed.



A Terrible Joke

What do you call it when your 75-lb dog and your two 15-lb cats wedge themselves between you and your husband in your queen-sized bed (besides hot, smelly and cramped)? A Furrito.


The Babysitter

You may already well know about Max's love for escaping the house and feasting on grass. So the other day Max is whining and complaining to be let out. I'm ironing laundry, and have a pretty decent view of the yard, so I let him out and check up on him in 5 minute intervals (he usually doesn't go very far). As soon as I come back from letting Max out, Freki takes post on the porch and stares at Max through the windows. Every two minutes or so he looks at me reproachfully over his shoulder as if to say "What are you doing, you neglectful wench! The cat is out there all by himself! He could get hurt, or lost! Thank your lucky stars you have ME to watch him while you do whatever it is you're doing with your clothes and that scary board OF DOOM!" After a few more minutes of that he would come and nudge my hand then resume his post by the door periodically, until I got fed up with it and brought Max in. It turns out Freki thinks it is his solemn duty to babysit the cat when he is outside; as I was relating the above episode to LB, he had a story to tell me as well:

One day LB was out on the deck grilling dinner, and he had Max and Freki out with him, under his oblivious watchful eye. Max, as is usual during this situation, escaped over the fence into the vacant yard next door, to taste some foreign grass. Freki saw this, then ran up to the fence, and barked at Max until Max did something he has never shown himself capable of doing before: he jumped back over the fence and back onto our porch. Clearly Freki has decided his role in the family. I wonder how he is with small children?

Maxcapades

Max Power, King God of all the Beautiful Empowerful Cats of the World, has been unusually squirrelly lately. I don’t know what is up with him but if he doesn’t stop I may lose my mind.

The Cereal Incident
Max loves cereal. More accurately, Max loves to drink the sugary milk left over from the cereal. Loves. As my friend D would say, pink puffy heart loves. Will he drink normal milk that we give to him? Oh, ew, no. That’s disgusting and disdainful, almost as gross as bananas (we once tried to give him some banana, just for fun, and he hissed at it. Hissed!). But USED cereal milk, well that is the nectar of the freaking Gods. So the other day LB is eating cereal. Not long after commencement of cereal eating, His Royal Entitledness hops up on the table and starts staring at the cereal bowl, then staring at LB, alternately. LB finishes his cereal, and Max makes a move for it, but not quick enough because LB gets up to refill the cereal bowl. “Oh noes!” Says Max, “I hafta wait for NOTHER bowlful?” Max decides waiting is for pussies. Throughout the second bowl of cereal, he emits frustrated, demanding chirps and growls. LB finishes his second bowl, drinks the milk and resumes TV watching. Max pounces upon the bowl only to discover his precious cereal milk is gone. GONE! Max decides that this is shit up with which he will not put. He WILL get a yummy and he WILL make LB pay. Max proceeds to the treat cupboard, where he yowls demandingly for 10 minutes until LB gives in and gives him a treat, whereupon he struts off triumphantly.

The Great Escape Incident
Max, like many indoor cats, is always and forever trying to escape. He isn’t usually sneaky about it; most of the time he merely sits by the door and demands to be let out. Every once in a while I let him out for observed exploration. Last night, I went to get groceries. As I’m bringing them into the house, Max demands to go out. My thinking was, OK, it’s like 10 degrees below zero, he’s been asking all week, perhaps if I let him out he’ll realize it’s not so pleasant out there. So I let him out while shuttling the groceries between the car and the porch. After scratching excitedly and urgently at the door to be let out, once I open it and hold it open for His Royal Highness, he stares at me for an eternity before gingerly stepping out, one dainty paw at a time. He cautiously makes his way down the four stairs. In the meantime I have made two more trips between the car and the porch. Max starts to realize that the ground, it is ass cold. He starts picking up his paws quickly, one at a time, propelling forward movement. He rounds the snow bank at the end of the walk and turns onto the sidewalk. Freedom is within reach! But damn is the ground cold! He adds to his quick-stepping a paw shake at the apex of every paw lift, resulting in a crouched wobbly march. This propels him forward faster. It is damn cold but will we turn back and enter the warm sanctuary of home? NEVAR!! Myself, having finished shuttling groceries and dying of laughter, decide it’s time to collect the poor, frigid cat. I scoop him up in my warm arms, only to receive a reproachful meowl and complaints all the way into the house. After glaring at me for a time, he decides I am his best friend and demands snuggles.

The Shade of Doom Incident
Later that evening, after the Great Escape Incident, Max was a-snugglin and a-sleepin upstairs with Milo while LB and I enjoyed Top Chef. All of the sudden, out of nowhere, we hear a MEOW! Then Max comes tearing down the stairs, at top speed, races through the living room and across the dining room in a bee-line for one particular window, leaps onto the window sill, stands up on his legs and intently inspects the window shade. I’m not exactly sure what the mission was, but damn he was intent on staring at that particular window shade at that exact moment.

I picked the WRONG day to neclect to bring a coat or umbrella

Taken from my front porch. That white stuff is hail.
Waiting for the bus? Was not fun.

Max, as usual, tried to escape. I let him, thinking the rain and hail would get him to forever stop asking to go out. I was wrong. His grass-tasting tour of the yard was uninhibited. "Oooh," says Max, "ICED grass. A rare delicacy indeed!"

In which I introduce myself

So. I'm in the third year of getting my doctorate in Biochemistry and Molecular Biology with a focus in Cancer Biology. For anyone who cares, I study the Ras and TGFb pathways. Mostly I play with embryo- and cancer-derived cells all day long, interrupted by brief forays onto the internet and endless meetings.

When I'm not sacrificing my soul for science, I amuse myself by reading, playing with my furbabies, and bantering with my slaveboy husband, who for the purposes of this blog shall be called Lucky Bastard (LB).

About the animals. For now, I have 3. The first addition to our family was Max Power, who has his own theme song thanks to Homer Simpson. Max is the queen bitch. He gets what he wants, when he wants it, from whomever he wants it, NOW. But he is a benevolent ruler. He rewards my indentured servitude with cuddles and mice which he has hunted down and killed. He's secretly a big loverboy though.





























A little under a year after we adopted Max, we adopted a companion kitty for him, Milo. Poor Milo is content at the low end of the intelligence bell curve. His favorite activities include demanding to be petted while you poop and staring off into space for long lengths of time. He is a very sweet boy but is also a bit skittish. He can hold his own in a fight scarily well, and the dog, who outweighs him by 56 pounds, is scared of him.





























Finally, just over a year ago we adopted our dog, Freki. He is part black lab, part german shepherd, and part "other". He was rescued as a puppy with his 5 siblings; their eyes were barely open and his mother had been hit and killed by a car. We're very fortunate to have him! He is a very loving dog, with much too much energy and much too much intelligence for us to keep up with. He loves playing in the snow, barking at passersby, and cuddling his baby. He is also a fetch maniac.