10/26/2015: My desk is continually under attack

(This is a hybrid report lumping a bunch of chaotic activity from 07/30/2015 through 10/26/2015.)

My studio has an awesome built-in desk with a beautiful frame around the window and a shelf underneath, perfect for all manner of things.  I keep a small tube of E6000 glue up there for my crafting projects, and my grandmother's pin cushion for extremely bent needles that I can quickly grab while I'm beading.  I have rocks, a slice of wood from one of my mother's trees that was cut down, a few small stuffed animals, a beautiful Fenton bowl I bought at an antique store, pictures of pets I dearly miss, and much, much more.  Basically, anything little that I want to see while I work (or procrastinate) that I love or that inspires me goes on this shelf.

When we moved in, our cats (Steve's Katy and Fe and my Simoon and Pixel) left that shelf alone.  The desk itself is popular, but none of them were interested in the shelf.  Kittens are more curious, so Frisco loved jumping up into the window and knocking things off of the shelf.  Once he got over the worst of it, I put breakable stuff on the right, less accessible side and the rocks and stuffed animals and such on the the left side.

I blogged about my new and improved clean desk in April, 2014 in my other blog (you can read the exact post here if you'd like), so I have proof:

So clean!

You should be able to click the picture to see an enlarged version.
The shelf stayed pretty much just like that until six days after Clinchfield came to live with us:

Picture taken 07/30/2015

Do you see the culprit on the bottom right part of the picture?  He looks so innocent.  I quickly learned to catch or deflect items tossed at my head, and I just calmly put them somewhere else.  From time to time Steve puts things back, but for the most part I've let it go.  I'm waiting for him to lose interest.

Picture taken 07/30/2015

You can see he's reaching for something black at the bottom of the picture.  That's a Darth Vader Pez dispenser that had just gotten thrown at me not two minutes before.

Now, I can't blame him for the mess of papers he's lying on, but I spy four things in that picture that should be up on the shelf: the Pez dispenser, the glass vial just to the left of it, the slice of wood to the left of his head, and the purple turtle that's right next to the wood.

Here's how that shelf looks today:

Picture taken 10/26/2015 in the wee hours of the morning

While I was preparing to write this report about him messing up my desk, he decided to wreak more havoc:

Fortunately, he doesn't do this very often

 

"What can I knock down next?"

 "Hey, you!  Come here!"

 No, Clinchfield!  The stamp is not a foodstuff!

I just looked at the time stamps of those four pictures.  They were taken between 12:53a and 12:54a.  Here's the sequence of events:  he knocked down the train stamp (that picture just shows him watching it fall - I was too slow), he batted at glass ornament, I put train stamp back up, he looked over the edge to survey what to destroy next, he pulled over the Japanese cat-watering-flower stamp, he started nomming on said stamp, I took the stamp away.

A note about those irises:  they have been jumped over, trampled on, laid upon, batted at, and chewed on.  They're looking pretty bedraggled at this point, and I'm going to have to see if they can be fixed up or if I should just make more space for the kitten.

The other part of my desk that Clinch loves is my task lamp.  It used to have ChapStick, a thumb drive, a few pieces of jewelry, and some business cards on the base, but they have all been pushed off:

Taken 09/12/2015

I have paper taped to the light because my eyes are sensitive to light peeking out from underneath the shade.  You'll see it better in this next picture:

Taken 09/12/2015

He likes to wear my light as a belt:

Taken 10/09/2015, while I was trying to prepare for a show

and pretend he's getting his hair done:

Taken 10/25/2015

Or maybe he thinks he's the Pope.  It's hard to tell what's going on in his little head.

Tomorrow's report:  Another hybrid of Clinch "playing" with Pixel.

Archive: 07/28/2015 - Kitten on drugs

(This archived Clinchfield Report was originally posted on Facebook on 07/28/2015.)

So, our kitten is stoned.  We went to the vet today for an exam, second round of shots, and for them to take a look at his ears because they were filled with gunk, and he scratches at them and has scabs.  Turns out he has ear mites.  Easily enough fixed - cleaned his ears, put some medicine in them and some Revolution on the back of his neck.

 Here is a very unhappy Clinch ignoring all treats and looking like a Gremlin

However, about ten minutes after (while we were waiting for the Feline Leukemia/FIV test to come back (he's clean!)), he was still shaking his head, scratching at his ears, running around the room, and yowling a bit.  I asked about it, and they said he could be in discomfort because of all the cleaning and what-not.  They gave him some pain meds that were SUPPOSED to make him a bit sleepy.

Well, in the three hours or so we've been home, he's not slept a wink.  He's been running around, harassing Pixel, chasing after jingle balls, and... just a little bit ago, he started pawing at the water bowl like he was scratching in a litter box.  Water EVERYWHERE.  After a hurried conference with Steve, I picked up the bowl and tried to clean things up.  The kitten was still running around and weaving himself in and around the metal holder we have for the food and water bowls and acting nutty in general.

I just called the vet, and they said that it's likely because of the pain meds. He's "feeling happy," they said.  "So he's stoned?" I said.  She laughed and said, "Yeah, probably. It'll wear off."  I sure hope so, because the kitchen floor is damp, my socks are soaked, and there are little wet kitten footie prints all over the place.  He's even wet on his head. I wonder when he'll wear himself out so we can nap.

(Here ends the archived report.  Read on for the rest of the story.)

Well, it took a really long time for him to calm down.  I put the bowls and their holder in the sink, and I kept hearing clanging going on.  Every time I went in the kitchen, he was in the sink messing around with the bowls.  The holder ended up going outside, and I washed the bowls and put them in the drainer.  Did that keep him out of the sink?

No.

I must have taken him out of that sink 10 or 15 times.  I kept coming back into my studio to type on Facebook and to message Steve about what to do, and I kept hearing him in the sink.

I started feeling very frazzled and frantic myself and almost climbed in the sink with him, but instead I called my father-in-law, who has decades more experience with cats than I have, has studied veterinary technology, and has worked in an animal shelter.  He said I should put Clinch in his carrier until he calmed down.  I did that then put the water and food bowls back for Pixel and Fe.

Since I also needed a nap, I put him in the bedroom so I could lie down and keep an ear on him.  He was quiet for about 15 minutes, then he started meowing and scratching the inside of the carrier a bit.  I'm a softie, so I closed the bedroom door and let him out of the carrier.  He wandered around for a while, then we were both able to sleep a little.

He was a lot better by the time Steve got home, but we had to pick the water back up because Clinch kept sticking his paws in it and splashing.  It wasn't as forceful as before, but it was enough to make things wet.

Once the meds fully got out of his system he was better, although he does still stick a paw in the water from time to time.

---

Here are some pictures of Clinchfield being cute in his first days of settling in:

On the chair in my studio

On Steve's lap

Peeking out from behind my computer

(Yes, I know my desk is messy - more on that tomorrow!)

His other favorite spot - on top of my filing trays to the right of my computer

(I have the laptop's lid closed in this picture.)

Archive: 07/24/2015 - Bringing the "Devil Cat" home

Before we really can get into The Clinchfield Report, I need to introduce our protagonist and explain how this mischievous kitten came to live with us.

The cat of a friend's daughter had kittens.  My friend wanted a companion for her dog, so when the kittens were old enough, she brought one of the girl kittens home.  She was named Madelyne and was incredibly cute and lovey:

However, it quickly became apparent that the dog and kitten were not getting along and that the kitten was going to be a handful.  Her great capacity for loving was equal to her great capacity for getting into everything.  My friend was heartbroken, the dog was miserable, and the kitten was being called "Devil Cat."  I assured my friend that Madelyne would mellow out as she grew.

A few months in, my friend couldn't take it any more.  My husband, Steve, and I were still grieving the loss of our youngest cat, Frisco, who wasn't even two years old when he peacefully passed away in his sleep.  We had wanted to get another cat, but we hadn't decided when.  The tears in my friend's eyes when she told me how much turmoil was going on in her home made our decision for us, and on Friday, July 24, 2015, we went to see if we'd be compatible with Madelyne.

We walked in, and the kitten was in the middle of the living room floor looking at us.  My friend kept the dog busy, and I walked up to the kitten and let her sniff me.  Within 30 seconds, Steve and I were sitting on the couch with the kitten on my lap, and she was purring in short order and not making any efforts to jump down.  Ten minutes later, we said, "Okay - we're good!" and put her in her bright pink carrier, gathered up the pink scratching/ball toy, and were on our way.

On the way home, I sat in the back so I could bond with her, and she sat on my lap for part of the ride home.

Then we brought the carrier into the dining room so Pixel and Fe could get to know their new sister.  They sniffed for a few minutes then left her alone.  We opened the door and waited:

We brought her into the living room (it's pretty much attached to the dining room) and waited:

Eventually, she did get out and start exploring... her carrier:

 

Steve picked her up and gave her some loving:

And I got some time in, too:

She eventually became brave enough to explore more of the room:

 

A very popular cat spot

Really close to Fe's favorite spot

On the piano

While she was doing all that, Steve posted a few pictures on Facebook with this status:

New kitteh! Squee!

World, meet Duluth, Missabe & Iron Range RR Cat, or Missabe. (Missy or Miss Wasabi for short.) Just shy of 4 months old. Missabe, meet world.

If you haven't read the "About Clinchfield" section on the right side of this blog yet, you might be wondering why she was named for the Duluth, Missabe & Iron Range Railroad.  Steve is an avid model railroader and an associate editor for Model Railroader magazine.  All of his cats are named after railroads.  First there was Pennsy (the Pennsylvania Railroad), then came Miss Katy (the Missouri-Kansas-Texas Railroad), then Fe (the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railway), then Frisco (the St. Louis-San Francisco Railway).  Before we met I didn't have any such guidelines for naming my cats, so I've had Perrin ("Precious" in Finnish and a reference to "Perin" from the Wheel of Time books), Simoon (she was "Simone" until my boyfriend's son couldn't pronounce it), and Pixel (because I was a computer programmer, and it's the name of the cat in Heinlein's The Cat Who Walked Through Walls).

Since we've been together, we've fallen into the habit of Steve listing possible railroad-related names, until I go, "Ooh!  I like that one!"

I really liked the name Missabe because we could nickname the kitten "Miss Wasabi" because she was spicy.

Here's what Steve posted about what happened when we were going to go to bed that first night:

Missabe update: Last night she was all sweet and fine with being around and on us, and being petted. Then we carried her around a bit too much trying to get her to eat or use the litter. She got anxious and hid under the kitchen table. We wanted to close her into the guest room for the night, so I foolishly tried to extract her, and got my hand shredded for my efforts. So we left her hiding in the living room for the night. This morning she had changed hiding places, but not by much. We don't know if she emerged during the night. She hissed when I approached but was soon purring. When Traci came out, I withdrew my hand, and Missabe soon emerged. She played with her ball toy, explored a bit, and is now finally eating! Yay! If only we didn't have to go out of town today.

And then a little later:

Me to Traci a minute ago: "What would you call that thing if you were talking to an adult?"
Traci: "What thing?"
Me: "The roundy-round."
Traci: "Ball toy... with... scratcher?"
Me: "OK."
Traci: "Wait, does this mean you don't think I'm an adult?"

I think I got that backward.  I think he meant he is not an adult.  Oops!

At this point, you may be wondering why this blog isn't called "The Missabe Report" and why all that stuff to the right refers to the kitten as "he."  Shortly before we left for a family wedding the day after we brought Missabe home, Steve made a startling discovery:

(shield the eyes of any children and sensitive folk, please!)

Is it just me, or ... is it possible our "Missy" is a boy cat?

Um... oops!  My friend had quite the laugh over that.  She was surprised it didn't come up (or, rather, they hadn't come out) when she'd had the kitten's shots done, and she had never flipped the kitten over.  I said, "Well, that probably explains why he was so rambunctious!  He was being forced into a gender role he wasn't comfortable with!"  (That was a joke, of course, but did you see how pink that carrier is?)

My initial reaction was to laugh, too.  See, Pixel's also a tabby, and his original name was Isis because I was told he was a girl.  His "eyeliner" made him look Egyptian:

You can see all the scratches on my hands that Pixel wasn't a very gentle kitten, either.

My cousin had come over the day I brought "Isis" home and was looking the kitten over.  "I don't think this is a girl," she said.  We poked and prodded and looked up whatever we could on a 2005 Internet.  We were about 90% certain "she" was a "he," and I started looking up new names.  I liked "Pixel" because of the computer and Heinlein connections.  The next day we went to the vet, and he kinda scoffed at me.  "How could you not tell the kitten's gender?"  Well, it took him a few minutes of poking and prodding before he declared Pixel was, indeed, a boy.

Since I have had two tabbies and both were boys when they were supposed to be girls, my hypothesis at this point is that tabbies like to hide their testicles to confuse their humans.  I should have known better in both instances.  The ears and paws on both cats were pretty large, which indicated to me that they were boys, but I took the word of previous caretakers.  Next time I'm going to do some poking and prodding of my own before I decide on a name.

So, now, the name Missabe is on the back burner for when we get a girl cat.  But what to name our new boy kitten?  Well, you know the answer to that, but I'll let Steve explain:

New boy cat name: Clinchfield. "Clinch" for short. As in, the clinch he put my hand in when I tried to pull him out from under the table last night.

(Not really - he ran through a list of potential boy railroad names, and I said, "Ooh!  I like 'Clinch'!")

Shortly after, I made a startling realization:

Me: "T.S. Eliot was right."
Steve: "What do you mean?"
Me: "The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,
It isn't just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter
When I tell you," pointing at the kitten, "THAT cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES."
(Madelyne, Missabe, and Clinchfield)

Spooky, isn't it?

Sorry this was so long, but back stories tend to take a while to tell.  Most of the reports will be much, much shorter.

Come back tomorrow for our initial vet visit.  (Here's a hint on how the day went: I ended up calling my in-laws for advice.)

Here's one final picture of Clinchfield starting to feel at home:

He was sitting behind me in my office chair,

looking incredibly confused at what was being waved in his face