Doodle's Tenth Christmas, John's First

Doodle and John, NYC ~ December 12, 2010

John actively noticed his furry big sister a couple months ago, and when she'd slink into his line of vision, he'd smile with a "Heh," and then she'd run away. Now he tries to get to the cat by semi-crawling (pulling himself military-style) across the floor. Doodle of course is 1000 times faster than John is on his best day, often sprinting out of sight before he even knows what happened. She's not exactly terrified of the baby like she is of the balance ball--because she still joins us all on the sofa or bed looking for affection--she's just smart enough to know he can't be trusted, and things are going to get a lot uglier when he can walk. I placed the step ladder up against the wall unit so that she has her very own sleeping perch high above the loud, sticky, flailing miniature person and she loves it. Soon enough she'll be living up there, descending only to eat and use the litter box. Which reminds me of another matter yet to unfold: the day John discovers the litter box. That will be an exciting day for all. (Are you also picturing turds flung about, fur flying, and Mommy crying?) 

For the Very First Time

Doodle and John, NYC ~ March 2010

Doodle came up to me and John on the sofa yesterday meowing for a little TLC, and John reached out to pet her. She wasn't alarmed, she just walked around in a few circles as she's prone to do, and his hand touched her back. As she moved, his hand smoothed over the length of her back and he ended up with a meathook full of fur. She could stand to be brushed, it's hot here these days. I think they'll be fast friends. Until, that is, he pulls her tail, which is bound to happen. I'll keep her nails clipped in the meantime.

By the way, it was Doodle's birthday on August 7, which after ten years I had actually forgotten until my mother reminded me. With the baby and all, there was no time for remembering, let alone a Birthday BLOWGANZA like we've had in years past. Coincidentally, when she sent the text, I had just left the pet store with a new catnip toy, some cat grass, and Doodle's favorite food. Though I was shopping to prepare Doodle for another weekend alone in the house, I must have known subconsciously.

Turning 11 means that she is 64 years old in "people years."

Happy Eleventh (64th) Birthday, Doodle! I love you!

When I'm 64

Songwriters: Mccartney, Paul;Lennon, John

When I get older, losing my hair, many years from now

Will you still be sending me a valentine, birthday greetings, bottle of wine?

If I'd been out 'til quarter to three, would you lock the door?

Will you still need me, will you still feed me when I'm sixty-four?

You'll be older too

Ah, and if you say the word, I could stay with you

I could be handy, mending a fuse when your lights have gone

You can knit a sweater by the fireside, Sunday mornings, go for a ride

Doing the garden, digging the weeds, who could ask for more?

Will you still need me, will you still feed me when I'm sixty-four?

Every summer we can rent a cottage

In the Isle of Wight if it's not too dear

We shall scrimp and save

Ah, grandchildren on your knee, Vera, Chuck and Dave

Send me a postcard, drop me a line stating point of view

Indicate precisely what you mean to say, yours sincerely wasting away

Give me your answer, fill in a form, mine forever more

Will you still need me, will you still feed me when I'm sixty-four?

*another coincidence: this is the song my mother sings to John

Her Latest Trick

Doodle, NYC ~ July 6, 2010

Baby's arrival, age, and general boredom have affected Doodle's mood of late. I seem to remember a time when she wasn't discontent with her dry food and constantly begging for meaty bits from a can like a dog would, but it's a distant memory. Every time I go into the kitchen now, she whines for food, despite the fact that she gets meaty bits for breakfast and dinner. The problem is, I go into the kitchen a lot these days because the baby needs a bottle every few hours and to Doodle, that means Meaty Bits Time. But if I feed her on every occasion she asks for it, she'll either eat it all and throw it up on the carpets, or not finish it, rendering it useless.

The afternoon I took this picture, she had given up on the posturing with audio after a dozen attempts I ignored, and so she simply sat by her dishes. Cats have tremendous patience; she knows that at some point, someone will give in. Yes, the floor is dirty. And yes, that's Ernie atop her dry food dish in the background, a cherished gift from Aunt Whipcreamy.

Looks Like It'll Be Christmas in July for Ms. Doodle

photo via ModKat.com

Because it's nothing but the best for a kitty who has used the toilet for almost 11 years. I placed an order for the ModKat litter box in black this morning. The ModKat promises revolutionary space-saving design and litter/odor trapping functionality. With a grand total of $231.51, it'd better. No Vermont for Doodle this summer or any other season as far as I can see, but she may find that digging in the dirt is a fine vacation substitute.



"Digging In The Dirt" by Peter Gabriel

Something in me, dark and sticky
All the time it's getting strong
No way of dealing with this feeling
Can't go on like this too long

[Chorus:]
This time you've gone too far [x3]
I told you [x4]
This time you've gone too far [x3]
I told you [x4]

Don't talk back
Just drive the car
Shut your mouth
I know what you are
Don't say nothing
Keep your hands on the wheel
Don't turn around
This is for real
Digging in the dirt
Stay with me, I need support
I'm digging in the dirt
To find the places I got hurt
Open up the places I got hurt

The more I look, the more I find
As I close on in, I get so blind
I feel it in my head, I feel it in my toes
I feel it in my sex, that's the place it goes

[Chorus]

I'm digging in the dirt
Stay with me I need support
I'm digging in the dirt
To find the places I got hurt
To open up the places I got hurt

Digging in the dirt
To find the places we got hurt

End of an Era: End of the Errors?

John and Doodle, MA ~ May, 2010

Considering the major life change that is John, Doodle's adjustment to her little brother has been relatively smooth. I spent a ton of quality time with Doodle before John was born. Namely because I knew things would be different once our new roommate arrived and also because at the end of my pregnancy, all I could do was lie in bed on my side. Doodle loves nothing better than a still, warm snuggle companion. After John was born, I read in my baby books that you're supposed to limit the time you spend with your animal friend before the infant comes home in order to prepare her. Oh well. I guess I'll just add this to the list of several well-intentioned parenting mistakes I'll make along the way.

Doodle was terrified of John at first, not sure what to make of this wiggling, crying thing that smelled weird and seemed to be everywhere: on the bed, in the basket, on the table, in the swing, in the bouncy seat, with Mom. Always with Mom. But once she realized the squirming twerp wasn't a threat to her safety, she relaxed a bit and went on with her life, a little hungrier for food and attention.

Most readers know that Doodle cat uses a toilet instead of a litter box, something I trained her to do over ten years ago with incredible results. I basically moved her litter box into the bathroom, put it atop the toilet, then switched it with a mixing bowl filled with litter, and finally, used some plastic wrap with a hole in it, the litter scattered on top to direct her where to go. And voila!Over the decade, she's had an 85-90% success rate, even managing to poop and pee in strangers' toilets when we've traveled to Massachusetts or Vermont. The problem has been, however, that when she makes a mistake (or an intentional mistake), it's often a costly one in terms of money, effort, and frustration for both of us.

On Monday, Doodle peed in the toilet and I gave her cheers, per usual. Later on, JD's Mom and brother came over to see the baby. JD was in the bedroom on the phone, and Doodle was running around acting a little crazy. Generally I pay close attention to her activity to thwart any potential rogue doo doo bombs, but I was entertaining. I assumed she was running to and fro because she had just done her #2 business in the can and was due another round of praise. I was wrong.

JD screamed out from the bedroom. I rushed in with a "What? What?? What???" He was in shock, and all he could muster was a gesture toward the clean comforter which, in my corner of the bed, now contained a little nest of logs compliment of Doodle cat. In her confusion over the number of guests fawning over the new roommate whom has stolen her thunder since March, she flipped and failed.

With the comforter clean and no "Bad kitty!" reprimands, I'm finally coming around to the idea of providing Doodle with her very own litter box so both of us don't endure the potty time stress anymore. She's a wild animal (wilder than most) with an intelligence, sophistication, and grace which surpass most homo sapiens, and I'm so proud of her. I think it's time I honor her with a box of dirt she can toss turds around in just like her peers. And if she wants to act like a lady and dump in the can once in awhile, that's fine too.

Viva Doodle!

When the Baby's Away the Cat Will Play

This little piggy went to market
This little piggy stayed home
This little piggy had roast beef
This little piggy had none
This little piggy cried weeeeee all the way home


And


This little family took a train to visit friends in the Philadelphia area this weekend. There we thoroughly enjoyed exotic suburban luxuries such as central air, washer and dryer, finished basement, SUV, and a big back yard with a kiddie pool. We didn't take Doodle cat with us.

Since we left late Friday afternoon and were scheduled to return early on Sunday morning, I didn't think I'd need to get a friend to come over to check on Doodle. I always worry about her when I'm away, but I reminded myself that one day by herself isn't a big deal. She's a former alley cat for cryin' out loud, she can handle it. Plus, it generally takes two full days of being alone and bored before she freaks out, and she had more than enough food and water to cover one full day by herself. Before I left for work, I gave John's Daddy (I'll call him JD) a Doodle Checklist, which he followed to a T:

• Put up the step ladder (for her enjoyment)



• Close the bedroom door (to discourage a rogue turd expedition)



• Open a window (for ventilation)



• Close the drapes (to keep it cool)



• Keep the closet door open (she likes to sleep in there)

Remember that JD was not only preparing Doodle for our departure, but also packing up Baby John for his first visit to Philly. Anyone who knows anything about babies understands that getting out of the house with a baby is challenging no matter what. Because they can't pack for themselves. Or walk. And they require a lot of odds and ends and bits and pieces and you have to anticipate which ones will be required during your stay. Diapers, formula, burp cloths, clothing, extra clothing for barfed-on outfits, toy, white noise machine, car seat, etc. And since we don't have a car, travelling with a baby is extra complicated and obstacle course-y, because we must carry everything we're bringing with us on our backs.

Lucikly we travel well together and are getting good at it. The journey out was smooth, the journey back even smoother, and a great time was had by all. John got to "swim" in his first swimming pool, sleep in his first Pack 'n' Play, and JD got to celebrate his first Father's Day. My only regret was not eating breakfast at the house before we left because by the time we got back to the apartment, I was ravenous. And of course, curious how Doodle fared in our absence.

As I put the key in the door, JD said, "I wonder if there are 50 million turds in the house."

"I don't know," I said as I turned the key. "Maybe she surprised us."

She surprised us, alright. The smell in the house was not good. Sure, it was hot and humid, and presumably the cat had done at least some of her business in the toilet, but it had only been the one full day. Soon Doodle appeared, content and relaxed, which is a nice change from most cases after I return from a weekend away wherein she greets me at the door frantic and meowing. Now John, no longer distracted from the taxi ride, made it clear that he was hungry, so I had to get it together for him. I pulled a bottle out of the diaper bag, and as JD brought in the rest of the stuff, I went to the bathroom to flush the toilet and eliminate the stench so that John --and eventually we--could eat lunch in a pleasant setting.

At the bathroom's entrance, I was stopped dead in my tracks. Doodle played her own version of the World Cup this weekend. Not with a ball, but with a substantial mouse. And evidently, the mouse lost. Big time.

Look closely at this picture--as hard as it may be--because there's a lot going on. Exhibit A, obviously, is the mouse, taking front and center stage apparently having died a thousand violent deaths. The toilet in the back is chock full of waste, compliments of Doodle. Good girl! Mid-ground is a jingle ball, which may have been a part of the World Cup Game or found itself on the field later. Assorted spots on the ground are fur: mouse, cat, or both. The picture which had been sitting against the wall to be ultimately hung up (and then I went into labor) is askew from the scuffle. Doodle herself is on the side of the tub, so stoked to show off her kill that she can't get out of her own way.

I did a 180 degree turn when I saw this cat and mousy show and screamed for help. JD cleaned up the crime scene (and took this picture) because I couldn't handle it. Suddenly, I wasn't so hungry anymore. I ran to the kitchen to get the paper towels and bleach, and lo and behold, the kitchen door was wide open! In JD's haste to remember everything for Doodle and John, he had forgotten to bolt the back door. Thus, the wind blew it open at some point over the weekend, and Doodle had her run of the place, inside and out. For hours. Approximately 48 hours. Nope, she hadn't found that mouse in my house, she went down 8 flights to the laundry room and out the window to get it, and bring it back up for a good time.

No wonder she was so calm and collected when we got home. She didn't miss us one bit. In fact, she's definitely wondering why the hell we lock the back door at all when life is so much more interesting when her square footage of living space is increased and she can roam as she pleases. Had Doodle not found a mouse, she'd without a doubt have the " Gone Huntin' " sign up when we returned. And had she caught more than one, this joint would've turned into full-on Apocalypse Nimh.


Now back to the photograph for more fun facts. In the tub you can see John's blue playmat, which Doodle peed on earlier in the week and turned into a pissmat. I washed it, and it was hanging on the side of the tub to dry when we left for Philadelphia. But in the mouse melee, it must have ended up in the tub. I pictured the trembling mouse hiding in the mat's folds, Doodle with her paw placed firmly on top. When I went to tidy up the bathroom after JD disposed of Doodle's prize, I whisked up the mat to find approximately 50 million mouse turds flanked by a mega bonus of what I can describe only as a trio of organ meats, delightfully stewing in their own sauce which had coagulated and rendered the gizzards so stuck to the tub that I couldn't pick them up with a dry paper towel. There was also something resembling a tendon in the mix that was particularly stubborn to remove, resisting my grip with the stretchiness of a rubber band. Ahhhhhh eeeeeeeeeee yahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!


When did the disemboweling happen? Before or after Mr. Mouse found himself on the tile floor? Was he so scared of Doodle the Ripper that he literally crapped himself to death in the tub? What's more thrilling, the chase or the kill? What's tastier, the heart or the liver? Was there mouse roux in the pile of Doodle's barf on the carpet this morning? I don't know, I don't know, I don't know, I don't know if I want to know. What I do know is that everyone had an amazing weekend. Well, almost everyone.

Someone's Not Thrilled About Her Baby Brother

Doodle, NYC ~ June 17, 2010

We left John's playmat on the floor and Doodle decided to play on it, changing its name. Pissmat.

It's Sink Season Everywhere

Doodle - Beverly, MA ~ May, 2010

That's me, the terrycloth clad photographer, reflected in the spout.

Doodle's Home (That *&^$%# Jerk)

A third sleepless night and I was compelled to go down to the courtyard with a can of Fancy Feast to look for Doodle. She must be hungry for easy food now. I unlocked the basement door to complete quiet and no signs of her, but when I turned the corner, there she was. Just sitting near the side of the building, wild eyed and small, apparently in mid-stalk of some rodent.

I called to her, and she responded to me. But when I cracked the can open, she trotted over. That's when I scooped the jerk (a very light jerk, I must add; doesn't seem like she ate too many meeces on her adventure) up in my arms and briskly walked up the 8 flights home.

She just ate the can--which she ate in an undignified way straight out of said can--in the kitchen sink and now is looking for a dark quiet place to sleep it off. Being that it's 5 in the morning, there are a lot of these places right now but she knows that soon enough the sun will rise and she'll be bored out of her tits again with her partner of 10 and 3/4 years.

Until the next expedition, I'm going to catch some precious shut eye. Between Doodle and her little brother's antics, I'm a little spent over here.

The Hirt Locker: The Soundtrack for Doodle's Latest Escape

Al Hirt with Java.

Somehow picturing Doodle running around Manhattan to this tune comforts me.

Doodle Was a Rollin' Stone (That &%$#@ A**hole)

Have You Seen Me?

Doodle, NYC ~ March 18, 2010

This Just In: Doodle Ran Out

Last evening I had the front door of the apartment open to catch a cross breeze. Doodle slipped out into the hallway at some point. Generally she doesn't go far other than up and down the stairs a bit because she has no access to the street from that exit. Unfortunately, as of this afternoon, she hasn't reappeared. Did she go out for a pack of smokes never intending to return? Is she running around Chinatown? In an airplane on her way to Puerto Rico? Dead in a ditch? We shall see. Keep your fingers crossed that John's big sister comes home soon. I'm sick about it.

I Once Had a Blog Now I've Got a Boy

John and Doodle, NYC ~ 4/8/2010

Landing on un-updated blog is as about as unappealing as pulling back the drapes to find a sticky grey hair ball glued halfway on the carpet/halfway on the hardwood, wouldn't you say?

I'm catching a few minutes here at 4:30 am while my two-month old son's Zantac kicks in. That's right, the kid's got reflux. We found out today at the pediatrician that this stuff is to be given prior to a feeding so John stops barfing up his dinner. I plopped him little green swing wrapped up like a burrito, his pie hole plugged with a pacifier, and he's making fussy, hungry I'm dissatisified with this fake boob which doesn't produce milk grunting noises.

Doodle's also making weird sounds. She has to take a dump, so she's running around the apartment crying. She knows where the toilet is, it's simply that she'd rather poop like the big cats in a pile of dirt--or Tidy Cat--which we don't have over here at Two Can Anne. So I'm shuuushing the boy, I'm shuuushing the cat...wait, okay, Doodle just flew out of the bathroom with a gutteral howl, she's officially finished with her business.

It's a pretty busy place around here this morning, aren't you glad you checked in?

We also learned at the doctor's that the rash on John's face which began as a few cute pimples and then traveled all over his head and upper torso is completely normal, just upsetting for first-time parents and innocent onlookers. Although there's a prescription for hydrocortisone and heavy moisturizing, allegedly it will just go away. Essentially, babies's systems are sensitive and wackadoo and they "just get stuff." Encouraging.

Having a kid is kind of like having a plant. And the name of the game is Keep It Alive. The difference is that your plant is wicked expensive, and when it gets aphids, and Miracle Grow doesn't work, you can't just throw it out for the trash man and buy a new one. So when your plant cries at 4 in the morning you can't ignore it; you have to change its diaper, grease it up with Desitin, olive oil and hydrocortisone, give it Zantac, walk it around, put it in a bouncer, put it in a swing, put a plug in it, play childish music to it, flash colorful toys in its face, and breastfeed it, supplementing with formula. Repeat every three hours.

And when you feel like hurling it out the window, you remember that you signed a paper in the hospital promising you wouldn't shake your plant. Plus, your plant just got a Social Security card in the mail so people might notice if you suddenly didn't have a plant anymore.

Ok, well it appears as if I've distracted my plant from breakfast long enough, so I must go. I've decided from now on seize the minutes in the wee hours of the morning waiting for John's Zantac to kick in--and Doodle to relieve herself--to blog. But there's so much to write about, and so little time. I need some structure, an assignment, so to speak, in order to make this work, so why don't we make the next few posts interactive? What else do you want to know about what's poppin' (or poopin') at Baby Barftown USA? Ask your questions the comments, and I'll try to find time to answer some of them.

Fisher price forever, yo.

After These Messages We'll Be Right Back

Doodle Meets John. NYC ~ 3/24/10 - 3/30/10

Would You Get in Bed With This Cat?

Doodle ~ NYC, March 8, 2009

They Say It's My Birthday and I'm Gonna Have a Good Time?

I'll do my best. Today, I'm a daughter, a sister, a parent (to Doodle), and soon, I'll be a mother. Holy Mom-oli!

Where's Doodle-O

Doodle, NYC ~ March 2, 2010

My furry baby is as wigged out about the arrival of the hairless baby as I am. Look at this place. Are we ready? Please! I guess we could put baby in the corner, on the balance ball maybe? Whether or not she's mimicing my mood, Doodle can't get a grip on the chaos. Sitting atop the bookcase as uncomfortable as can be, longing for normalcy. The normal show's over, Dood.

I'd Would Have Wished You a Happy Presidents Day

But my office wasn't closed Monday, so to me, it just was a regular day. I suppose I could have wished you a Happy Regular Day. And I didn't.

That wasn't very nice of me, was it?

Frankly, I've been a tad self-absorbed.

In a month, I'm due to give birth to a baby, you see, and I'm simply not ready for my new roommate. The kitchen and living room still need to be painted, and the painter allegedly arrived this morning. With hope, he's not robbing me blind and perving out on my underwear drawer. And there's still stuff to be moved around and put up for his arrival, and it's tough enough for me to get out of my own way, let alone find the energy for that. Doodle has been supportive emotionally, but when it comes to manual labor she comes up short; unless, of course, I need a mouse caught in the basement, brought up 9 flights of stairs into the apartment, and tortured and beheaded in the bathroom, and well, clearly that chore isn't on the top of my checklist right now. Sorry, Doodle. Different priorities.

Other things on the checklist Doodle won't be much help with include electrical work, renewing my license at the DMV, filing my taxes, finding a pediatrician, and researching childcare options. Then there's see my friends and do things I enjoy before I can't anymore. Oh, and sleep, which I don't.

Saturday morning I'll visit the hair salon for the first time since August, considering there won't be time for that come March. According to my last childbirth class, however, I won't have to worry about my hairdo after the baby's born, because it will be falling out all over the place.

Other things to look forward to when you have a baby:

• Violent mood swings
• Tearing your undercarriage from "ear to ear"
• Blowing your butt hole out like cauliflower
• Boobs which sprink leaks at random

Yippee!!!!!!!!!!!!

Quality Time with Doodle Before Baby

An oldie but a goodie

Anne & Doodle ~ NYC, Summer, 2007