Thursday

An oldie but a goodie - from the week I brought her home.

Thursday

Thursday

Thursday

Thursday

Thursday

My kitty has never really photographed well. She always looks crabby.


But a few weeks ago, I must have caught her in a good mood or some good light or something, because I got some total glamour shots. In celebration of this fact (and in recognition of how much I like 5chw4r7z's "Sid Saturdays"), I'm reinstating the Thursday Open Thread so I can show her off.

(Can you reinstate a feature that you've only posted one installment of? These are the questions that keep me up at night.)

Thursday open thread

Some blogs do a "Friday open thread." Inspired by Gina's need for a space to discuss my cat, I'm going to try a "Thursday open thread" instead.

Got something to say about Thursday (the cat or the day)? Put it in the comments.

Partners

Sometimes when I'm sitting at my desk, Thursday will climb onto the radiator. Every now and then, she'll crouch and gear herself up for a jump, I'll move my arms out of the way, and she'll skid slightly as she lands on the desk in front of my computer.

Except today, I didn't notice that she was getting ready for a jump. I felt her front paws hit my arm, then scrabble wildly for a split second before she dropped over the edge of the desk, upending the wastebasket on her way. Whoops.

It never occurred to me that I had a crucial role in this maneuver of hers. I guess when I'm at my computer, I'll just have to keep one eye on the radiator. I wouldn't want to let Thursday down.

Cat owners will relate, I think

My morning so far

Lying in bed on my side, staring at the glowing numbers on my clock that say I should have gotten up 15 minutes ago, I give a small cough.

Directly behind me, I hear: SPLASH, clatter, scrabble-scrabble-scrabble.

I know without turning over what sound it is: the sound of my cat being so startled by my tiny cough that she upends my water cup and zooms out of the room. "Thursday, you total spaz," I mutter as I climb out of bed and head to get a towel.

Ah, well; at least the cleanup got me up and moving.

The Cat Whisperer

I've managed to convince Gina to help me in my keeping-the-cat-alive goal while I'm on vacation.

To be honest, I'm a little nervous.

All the people I've had feed Thursday before (Mr. W, Sue, Kari) have actually been allergic to cats. (How nice of them to brave runny noses and itchy eyes to help me!)

Gina's the first cat owner to take on the task. And she's not just a cat owner. She is a cat person. She loves her cats. When I first took Thursday in, Gina's the one I called asking for vet advice. I kind of see her as the cat expert.

So I'm really a little nervous that she'll come by, take a look around, and decide I suck as a cat owner. What if I'm not buying the right toys? What if there aren't enough scratchable surfaces? What if Thursday hates the food I buy her, but I never knew because I've never owed a cat before this one and to me, kitty hatred looks just like every other kitty emotion?

Gina will know these things. She's the Cat Whisperer.

(Actually, the Cat Whisperer has been sick the past two days. Maybe I should start looking for a backup.)

No more cats, please (or, spooked by a dream)

In my dream last night, I was still in college, but I owned Thursday. My college roommate gave me Christmas presents, and among them was a stray cat wrapped in a blue blanket. I pretended to be happy, but really I was wondering how the hell we were going to fit two cats in our dorm room.

Then (in the dream) I went home for Christmas break, and my parents also gave me a stray cat. As Thursday fought with the newcomer, I realized I had left the other new cat back in my dorm with no food or water.

So if you're reading this, and you're thinking about getting me a stray cat for Christmas because you know I like cats and hey, there's that stray that keeps getting into your garbage cans - please know that I'd prefer a gift certificate.

Black cat; gray cat

As I was getting into my car to go to work this morning, I saw an enormous black cat trot across the street. When I say "enormous," I mean possibly bigger than any cat I'd ever seen. I tried to come up with other quadrupeds to compare it to and came up with "calf."

I stared as the monster padded through the neighbor's yard and disappeared, and I wondered who owned him. I'm not (exactly) a superstitious person, but the thought did cross my mind that this cat could cause someone a whole lot of bad luck.

I saw another cat today. This one was gray and striped, and as he darted under my wheels on Mehring Way downtown, he also seemed huge. So huge, in fact, that as I felt the tiny thunk-thud under my wheels, I thought he must still be alive. Surely, that was the feeling of merely running over a leg or even a tail. Perhaps, I thought, I could find him on the sidewalk or in the shelter of the nearby bridge, and notify animal control.

He looked much smaller when I circled back and found he'd never made it out of the road. Small enough to easily be crushed under the wheels of my small car. It's the first animal I've ever hit. I've been assured that a cat running toward the river downtown in a place that's at least a half mile from any housing had no owner. I hope not.

The part of me that made me add the qualifier "exactly" to "I'm not superstitious" before was worried that somehow my cat would know - that I would be identified as a bane to the species. So far, she hasn't said anything, but I've still let her chew on my hand a bit in atonement.

I just got home from Mr. Wufflekins'. As I was walking through the parking lot, I saw two high-schoolers crouching by a car. They were feeding a skinny gray cat - I'm guessing a stray. I hope that it works out for him.

Thursday's got the wanderlust

My cat has a yen to explore. In a one-bedroom apartment, there are only so many nooks/crannies to investigate.

So every time I open the door, she darts out into the hall. It's all right; there's only a flight of stairs and a closed door at the bottom, so she can't go anywhere. But it's time-consuming each morning to either a) put down my bag and coffee mug, scoop her up, and toss her back in the apartment, or b) let her wander about and hope the noise from a passing car will scare her back inside.

Once, I said, "Fine. She wants to explore? Let's take a tour of the stairs." So I picked her up and started walking. The second my feet hit the landing, she started crying and clawing my arms as though I were taking her to her doom. I sprinted her back up the stairs, and the second I let her go she shot under the bed and stayed there for a long time. She gave the door a wide berth for a few weeks after that.

I might see if she takes to being walked - I even bought a little harness and leash. I like the idea of being "that girl who walks her cat." Somehow, though, I don't think the cat will cooperate.

"Why are you like this?" "Like what?" "Like how you are."

I'm in bed early tonight so I can get up to run a 5K tomorrow. My cat nuzzles against me.

Suddenly, I think, "Wait a second - I'm a dog person, and I hate running! Who is this person I've become? Because it's definitely not someone I saw myself becoming."

What a difference a year makes.

Dara + Thursday = BFF

My mom saw my apartment for the first time this weekend. My dad was delivering my BRAND NEW TV!!!!, and she tagged along.

My mother has never exactly been a cat person, but when she saw Thursday for the first time since I adopted her (so, you know, the first time since she's been living unde er a porch and starving to death), it was instant love.

"That's the kitty?" she said in disbelief as the kitty under discussion jumped out of my arms and darted under the bed. "I would never have recognized her!"

While my dad and I cleared off a space on the coffee table for my BRAND NEW TV!!!!, my mom lay on the floor in my bedroom, playing a fascinating game with the under-bed cat that involved a hand put on top of a paw, then a paw put on top of a hand.

"Mommy," I called. (Yeah, I'm 24 years old and still call my mother "Mommy." Whatever.) "Can you see her?"

"We're playing a game!" my mom replied. And then:

"I miss having a pet."

I turned to my dad. "She's gonna make you get a cat."

He snorted. "Not a chance."

We'll see.

Meet Thursday

This is Thursday (as in Thursday Next), although I probably call her Kitty Fantastico more often.

Thursday's owner lived in my parents' neighborhood, but he moved away and left her behind. (He had like 10 cats and - no kidding - a peacock.) She lived under a neighbor's porch for a few weeks and would come to visit my family whenever we were out by the pool (probably hoping for some scraps). When I learned she was a stray - and saw how cute and affectionate she was - I decided to take her home.

I've never had a cat before, so any advice you cat people have would be greatly appreciated.

P.S. If you knew either of those references without clicking the links, you should probably add a few points to your geek score.