THE ONLY WAY TO CATCH HIM IS GRAB HIM BY THE TAIL (THE CAT, NOT ALAN) WHEN HE SLOWS DOWN

Trying to control a cat is almost impossible. Trying to control a big hateful cat is totally impossible.

I have insisted that Pepper is going to be an inside cat. Pepper's attitude is "The hell I am". I'm quickly losing the  argument.

The problem is my ex, who has alzheimer's and I signed on as his caretaker. He just can't remember to shut the cat up before he opens a door. The cat remembers. This happens several times a day.

If I don't see it happen, the only way I know the cat is missing is to finally see him chasing butterflies in my herb bed or see Alan zipping past my sunroom, trying to chase Pepper around the house. The cat can shoot past Alan so quickly that he doesn't even realize or remember the cat got out. It's like a three-ring circus trying to control both of them at the same time.

Two kittens playing chase is amusing and will make your whole day brighter. Watching Alan and the cat playing chase several times a day is enough to screw up the whole week.  The only way I can catch the little snot is to grab him by his tail  (the cat, not Alan) when he finally slows down for a minute.

So far he's been content to stay in the yard and chase butterflies and grasshoppers. I'm afraid he'll decide to explore the woods and get himself in trouble.

He's still rolling over on command, but now, when he wants a snack, he grabs my arm, pulls it over and flops over on his back while throwing his head on my hand so he doesn't bang his head on the desk.

Pepper is coming up on his second birthday this coming June. He's starting to lose some of that wild streak. He's calming down a little, but I'm really looking forward to him maturing a little more.

Measured him a few weeks ago when I caught him stretched out on the floor. I mismeasured, measuring from tip of tail to tip of front feet. The correct way to measure your cat's length is tip of tail to the tip of the nose. He's about 36 inches long. Cat's wait to get him to the vet and weigh him. He's very muscular and heavy. I believe I already mentioned he's hateful.

It all becomes forgivable though when he jumps up, pulls my hand over and wants to hold hands because we're friends.

QUICKLY LOSING BATTLE TO MAKE PEPPER AN INSIDE CAT.

Trying to control a cat is almost impossible. Trying to control a big hateful cat is totally impossible.

I have insisted that Pepper is going to be an inside cat. Pepper's attitude is "The hell I am". I'm quickly losing the  argument.

The problem is my ex, who has alzheimer's and I signed on as his caretaker. He just can't remember to shut the cat up before he opens a door. The cat remembers. This happens several times a day.

If I don't see it happen, the only way I know the cat is missing is to finally see him chasing butterflies in my herb bed or see Alan zipping past my sun room, trying to chase Pepper around the house. The cat can shoot past Alan so quickly that he doesn't even realize or remember the cat got out. It's like a three-ring circus trying to control both of them at the same time. It's like trying to corral mice.

Two kittens playing chase is amusing and will make your whole day brighter. Watching Alan and the cat playing chase several times a day is enough to screw up the whole week.  The only way I can catch the little snot is to grab him by his tail  (the cat, not Alan) when he finally slows down for a minute.

So far he's been content to stay in the yard and chase butterflies and grasshoppers. I'm afraid he'll decide to explore the woods and get himself in trouble.

He's still rolling over on command, but now, when he wants a snack, he grabs my arm, pulls it over and flops over on his back while throwing his head on my hand so he doesn't bang his head on the desk.

Pepper is coming up on his second birthday this coming June. He's starting to lose some of that wild streak. He's calming down a little, but I'm really looking forward to him maturing a little more.

Measured him a few weeks ago when I caught him stretched out on the floor. I mis-measured, measuring from tip of tail to tip of front feet. The correct way to measure your cat's length is tip of tail to the tip of the nose. He's about 36 inches long. Can't wait to get him to the vet and weigh him. He's very muscular and heavy. I believe I already mentioned he's hateful.

It all becomes forgivable though when he jumps up, pulls my hand over and wants to hold hands because we're friends.

PEPPER NOW A BIG BULLY

My tiny terror, Pepper, has now become a big bully. He keeps Alan scared to even pet him, which seems to suit the cat just fine.

However, I'm still trainable, so he has me trained just like he wants me.

I decided Pepper wasn't getting enough exercise, since he was supposed to be an inside cat only. Since Maine coons are more dog-like than like cats, I decided to train him a little. He will do almost anything to get a "snack".  His favorite place to plant himself is in front of the television while we're trying to watch a show.

I started training him to lay down with either voice command or hand signals. So far, so good. Now we've graduated to rolling over on command, this time by hand signals. I just can't seem to now convince him he's supposed to wait until I signal before he shows off for a snack.

While I'm trying to blog, he spends his time jumping on the desk and throwing himself over on his back. He throws himself so hard, you can hear his little head go "thunk" when it hits the wooden desk.  Maine Coons are natural clowns, so he does it over and over. I swear he's going to eventually have brain damage.

If I attempt to start ignoring him, he bites. In his defense, he removes his teeth from the holes in my hand on the loud screaming voice command "DON'T BITE MAMA!". He then lays his little head on my left hand that is trying to type, reaches over and pats me with his little paw to comfort me and con me into thinking he loves me, and goes sound asleep.

PEPPER THE TINY TERROR LEARNS HIS FIRST CUSS WORD

I've written about how my first Maine Coon had learned to talk, would holler "Mama, Mama" whenever he wanted me or couldn't find me. I had worked hard teaching him to say that. But the rest of his vocabulary he picked up by just repeating what he heard us say.

I decided to try and teach Pepper the tiny terror to say "mama". I worked and I worked. Finally I decided it wasn't worth the effort. He had said it twice and then never again. He's about 18 months old now and I had decided he just wasn't as smart as Oscar had been.

I've also written about him grabbing us by the leg and biting whenever we walk through the room. Its his favorite game. Unfortunately, Alan always screams "S--T, STOP IT!"

I had a friend here one day. We were visiting in the sunroom. All of a sudden I heard, "S--T!" coming from the direction of the litter box. My eyes flew wide open with a shocked look as I turned in time to see the same wide-eyed shocked look on my friend's face.

"What did he just say?" I whispered.
She whispered back, "He just said S--T!"
"That's what I was afraid of," I sighed.

We both looked at the litter box, where Pepper was still working hard trying to get the litter off of his feet. He wiped them on the edge of the box, on the carpet, back in the box, finally wiping his foot on the sliding glass door, where he once again screamed "S--T!" We both collapsed laughing this time because it was loud and clear.

I am no longer trying to teach him to talk. I do not need a bad-tempered cat who cusses like a parrot sailor.

PEPPER STEPPED UP THE GAME

One thing about Maine Coons, there's never a dull moment in the house. They are constantly coming up with something new to amuse themselves.

I've had a problem with Pepper waking me up in the morning, always about an hour before I want to get up. His pattern has been to "trill" at me a couple of times. If that doesn't work, he attacks my hands.

I started covering my hands up with the covers so he couldn't shred them and go away.

Not to be outdone, he started getting on the side table and flying through the air, landing on the other side of my head, causing the bed to shake. I finally decided to ignore that, and would just lay there with my eyes closed as his tummy hair dragged across my face.

Another thing about Maine Coons, if you step up the game, they're delighted. They're experts at thinking of new things to do to you.

I felt him get on the side table, so, eyes closed, I braced myself for the tummy hair. I was NOT braced for his whole heavy tummy to land square across my face and just lay there.  Since I didn't react I felt him climb on the table again. This time he jumped higher and landed heavier, square on straddling my head and face.

Needless to say I finally gave up because it's hard to pretend to still be asleep when you're laying there with a heavy cat across your face and you can't breath because you're laughing.

Score: Cat 1   Mom zip

TINY TERROR TURNS INTO KING COON CAT

Having a little fur ball who is damned and determined to be alpha of the whole house is not easy. I know people who think it's all right to swat their cats with a newspaper to discipline them. I AM NOT ONE OF THEM.

But this cat was different from anything I'd ever had to deal with. Honestly, if you even glared at him with a disapproving look, his ears would lay flat, his little fuzzy butt would start to wiggle, and you would have blood dripping down your arm or leg. He was a mean little critter. He did like to be rocked for about 30 minutes and cuddled first thing in the morning and having his little face rubbed. But the rest of the day was chaos.

People have said "I'd get rid of him." Not me. I was as determined to be alpha-mama as he was to be alpha-cat. The game was on.

Finally, I discovered the perfect defense. I had to carry a large squirt bottle with me every time I walked across the floor. This turned into a great game. Kittens love to play chase and I would chase him with the squirt bottle. He was getting exercise which was calming him down for awhile and my leg wasn't bleeding.

Things began to change when I discovered that cats have a language they convey with facial expressions. When you looked him square in the eye with that disapproving look, you had just challenged him to a fight. If you're blinking fast, you're showing you don't trust him and he won't trust you either.

I began to look him in the eye and then slowly close and open my eyes one time. At first he looked at me like "Are you kidding me!" I began to refer to it as a "lovey face". He began to respond with the lovey face.

Then I bought some Whiskas Temptations kitty snacks and started using them as rewards for good behavior. Good behavior in this case means lay down and stop standing in front of the stupid television so we can see it.

No longer do I get attacked on the way to bed because guard cat now knows he'll get a little bedtime snack right before I lay down.  I no longer get attacked on the way to the kitchen to get my morning coffee.

But there is one thing alpha-cat has refused to give up. Whenever I head to the sunroom, where I spend all my time, he runs full speed ahead, gets in front of me, slows down and pulls himself up with every bit of dignity he can muster and slowly leads me through two rooms and to my desk chair. And I let him because it's so obvious he wants to be King Coon Cat, and lead the parade.  Well hey, it is Mardi Gras.

I PAID A SMALL FORTUNE FOR A NASTY TEMPERED REGISTERED BUZZ SAW!

I've never had a pet I didn't get attached to but none like my relationship with Oscar.

When he died, I couldn't sleep because he wasn't purring in my ear. I didn't want to come home from work, because the house felt a complete emptiness I had never experienced before. I was just terribly depressed. Finally I decided the only cure was another Maine Coon.

I wasn't able to find a young one to rescue so I ultimately found a breeder and paid a small fortune for what was supposed to be a little ball of fur who would cuddle at night and purr in my ear, putting me to sleep. I was going to be able to reach over and gently pet him when I awoke in the night and go right back to sleep.

I came home with the high-priced little guy and two hours later my then-husband walked in and said "I got fired". I was stunned. Here I had just irrationally paid way too much for a tiny cat and our income just got cut in half.  I didn't know whether to throw up on the cat or search for a recipe on the internet for tiny fried cat.

After deciding the cat must live, I set about cuddling, rocking, and loving on the little guy. The more I loved on him, the more hateful he became. I'm totally opposed to playing rough with a kitten, because it can cause a mean cat. So I didn't do that. He had plenty of toys.

But from the start, Pepper was a tiny terror. His favorite games seemed to all include making my arms or legs bleed profusely. The more he bit and scratched, the  more I became determined to tame him down.

It's time for his yearly checkup next week. I don't know what he weighs but he's getting to be a big boy. I'm now trying to train him with snacks as a reward. It works unless he's doing something he thinks should be showing me he's a good boy. If I don't notice, he walks up and bites me.

His favorite game is flying out the door before Alan can stop him and then making Alan chase him. Then he hides under the deck where Alan can't reach him.

Pepper does have a sense of humor. One day Alan was going around and around the outside of the house calling at the top of his lungs "COME HERE PEPPER!"

The third time I saw Alan go by my sunroom, here came Pepper, following about 7 feet behind him. Alan made a fourth round and came by my sunroom still calling the cat. And there was Pepper still following him around because Alan never looked behind him. It was obvious Pepper was playing a joke on Alan.

Another of Pepper's favorite games is his version of football. He waits until he can catch Alan go through and then runs and tackles Alan, wrapping both front feet around one of his legs. This is sometimes accompanied by a quick tasty bite of Alan's leg.

He is truly a little terror who apparently thinks he's half buzz saw. He also has a nasty temper. I'm hoping he gets calmer as he ages but at this point, I wouldn't lay money on it.

BOBCAT FEVER KILLING LOCAL HOUSE CATS

Oscar and I had six glorious years together then disaster struck. He always wanted out of the house just as soon as we woke up each morning We were having morning coffee on the front deck when I noticed Oscar laying right in the middle of one of my hostas. It was unusual for him not to come running to the deck as soon as we sat down.

I called him a couple of times. He just laid there and looked at me. Finally I told Alan to go get him. He picked Oscar up and carried him up on the deck. He was fine an hour before but was now breathing hard. I watched him for a few hours and it became obvious his breathing was getting more labored and I could now hear a rattle in his lungs.

I quickly called my vet. When he answered he said he was on his way to California but told me not to waste any time. "Get him to the emergency animal clinic immediately. It's bobcat fever and you may not be able to get him there in time. Do it right now, Zelpha."

The emergency clinic was 40 miles away. I drove him as quickly as I dared. It was the most horrible death I've ever seen an animal suffer. He would all of a sudden try to stand up and he'd scream. I was almost hysterical. I handed him to the nurses and they rushed me into another room to wait. Within 5 minutes the doctor came in and said Oscar had died before they could even get him on the table.

And yes, then I got totally hysterical. I couldn't believe he was gone so quick. Dear God, what had happened! I spent lots of time that day in parking lots sitting and crying too hard to drive. Then I'd try to drive again and have to pull into another parking lot. I had him in a little cardboard casket beside me in the car and I just couldn't get control of the hysteria. Finally I called my 12-step sponsor and she talked me through it so I could get home.

Alan buried the little guy when he got home from work and I cried for days. I couldn't sleep because I didn't have him beside me. I would always wake just enough to aware of him at night and pet his little fuzzy tummy. Now I'd wake and start feeling around and no little fuzzy Oscar.

I'd wait for him to gently pat my cheek and say "mama" when he wanted out of a morning. I felt like I was waking up to nothingness.

What was this bobcat fever the vet had mentioned? We have lots of bobcats in our area. It's carried by bobcats and when a tick has come into contact with it and then bites a cat, the cat will be dead within 24 hours. Every time Oscar came into the house I'd check him for ticks, even though I was using a medication that would keep most of them off of him. I was very thorough about it because I'm extremely allergic to tick bites. He would occasionally have one on him and I'd get it off quickly. 

The vet said once the tick bites the damage is done. Removing the tick quickly won't stop this thing. It's transferred with the initial bite. I wasn't aware that many many people had lost their cats to this horrible disease that summer. It's still a danger in this area. I swore I'd never have another outside cat and I'd never let myself get as totally attached and that in love with another pet.

I soon realized that I was going to have to find another Maine Coon or I was going to die from lack of sleep. And that's when T-R-O-U-B-L-E began with a vengeance.




News story: Bobcat fever killing house cats

OSCAR AND THE HOUSE FIRE

I've discovered writing this blog about Oscar is hard for me. I've had lots of pets I loved and was attached to, but the relationship between Oscar and I was not on the same level as the others. There's no way to even describe how much I loved him and that love was returned.

At one point we had a house fire. I made it out fine and didn't worry about Oscar because he was out roaming.Sitting in my car with paramedics checking me, I was just fine. All of a sudden there HE was! He ran through the fire trucks, hoses and firemen and ran straight into the house through the smoke. Oh dear God, NO!

I kept telling people Oscar had run into the house looking for me and nobody would believe me. As soon as everyone had left, and knowing he had run into the house, I began to get a little hysterical. Finally one of my daughters condescended to go through the house just to prove to me Oscar was not there. "MOM, No cat would run INTO a fire."

A couple of minutes she was back holding Oscar who had made it into my bedroom apparently trying to find me. He was as glad to see me as I was to see him. He had a couple of burns on his little tummy but he was fine. At that point I ended up at the hospital with a stress heart attack, but was fine the next day and the doctor could find no sign of damage.

We had bad smoke damage and had to stay in a motel for about a month while friends renovated our house. Oscar stayed at the house and guarded it for us. The house couldn't be closed up at that point but he stayed right there until I got there early every morning and would greet me.

The first night we were actually able to stay back in the house, he was one really happy little boy. He stretched out on his back in "his" place between Alan and I and just purred like crazy. I think I was purring louder than he was.

MAINE COONS NOT FOR EVERYONE

Just in case you decide you need to get a Maine Coon, let me tell you a little about them. DO NOT MAKE A HASTY DECISION! These are just not like your ordinary old house cat, or Siamese, or whatever you've had before.

First of all, don't even consider you can use a regular litter box for a coon. These cute little guys become big cats in a short period of time. Walmart carries a good selection of plastic storage boxes.  Get one of those.

Most of them love water. They have 3 different layers of fur/hair. Water will roll off of them like water on a duck's back.

Another difference is the ruff they develop around their necks. Rather like a lion and gives them a regal look. Ears are bigger and farther apart, and lots of hair in the ears. Sometimes they have the tufts on top of the ears like a lynx.

They have claws that need to be trimmed periodically. I haven't had any experience with the female of the species, but the males can be a handful. My theory is never play rough with a cat or you can make him mean. That theory worked so well on Oscar.

Hasn't worked well at all on Pepper the tiny terror. More about that later.

They need to be house cats. Good theory, but Oscar and Pepper could both rush a door before you knew what had happened.

Maine coons are clowns. Everything is a toy, even your leg if they decide to tackle you. The females usually calm down as they get older. If you've got a male, you've got a clown for life.

And if you DARE to make one mad at you, you will not have to wonder if he's gonna get you. He is. I carry a squirt bottle for such occasions.

Also if you think they're going to eat a little 3 times a day…..forget it. You leave a big bowl of food out all the time and the same with water.

When they exercise in the house, they run from one end to the other as fast as they can, and will hit whatever they jump on at top speed. It better be sturdy.

But if you've got plenty of space and a sense of humor, this could be the cat for you.

THE HEART OF A PUPPY...THE SCREAM OF A PANTHER

One of my neighbors, who lived about one-half mile from me, dropped in one day.

"Punky (Oscar) is keeping us awake at night," he complained. I informed him that Oscar was kept in the house at night so it couldn't be him. "I've seen him," he said.

The man owned a beautiful white Persian female. "He gets under our bedroom window and screams like a panther," he said, "It just about scares us to death."

I told him Oscar was only out occasionally when we couldn't get him to come in. Besides I had NEVER heard him scream like that. Oscar had been "fixed" at an early age, so there was no reasonable reason for him to be stalking this man's female.

A few weeks later I was sitting at the computer, when I saw a bobcat go across our deck. He stopped at the sliding glass door and looked in. All of a sudden Oscar spotted him. Every hair on his body stood straight up, his tail tripled in size as he bounced to the glass door and let out the gawd-awfullest scream I had ever heard. When I say it scared the crap out of me, that's almost an understatement. It was absolutely bone chilling.

If you've ever heard a panther or mountain lion scream you know what I'm talking about. The bobcat knew exactly what that meant. He took off like a shot and I never saw him on my deck again.

I had no idea a Maine Coon could scream like that. I only heard him do that one other time, I knew he was getting ready to do it, and there's still no way to prepare yourself for that sound.

OSCAR "REARRANGES" A NEIGHBOR'S WREATH

To a Maine Coon, EVERYTHING is a toy. We had some tall decorative grass outside. One of his favorite games was to climb up the tree next to the grass, then leap into the grass while trying to grab one of the big fluffy seed heads on the tip of each grass blade.

The holiday season around Thanksgiving after Oscar turned 3-years-old, I began to find what appeared to be dry grass on the living room carpet. I'd let him play with it for a few days, then I'd throw it away because it would be shredded everywhere.

It was almost Christmas when the "grass" he was bringing in, was in the form of a raffia bow. You know the kind. The ones that go on the bottom of a wreath. I was horrified. Getting in my vehicle, I started driving around to see who's decorations were shredded. Only took me a few minutes to find the "toy" that Oscar kept bringing pieces home. A house down the road, still had the wreath hanging on the door hanging in shreds. Maybe they left it up because they liked watching him systematically dismantle it. I know I wasn't about to ask them.

I have an herb bed and have planted two kinds of catnip in it. Another cat would come every evening, lay down on the catnip and roll around. Oscar would be so frustrated about it and would have to go outside and mark HIS yard again. He was diligent, taking as much as an hour doing his kitty work.

Oscar thought of himself as a "car cat". He loved to go, standing up on the seat with his front paws on the dash watching the cars. He never got to go for any long car rides, just running to the market type of trips. If our trip was more than a day, Oscar had to go to the kitty hotel (vet) where they spoiled him almost as bad as I did.

From the time he was a small kitty he was his "mama's" boy. Any time Mama wasn't feeling good, Oscar would stay right beside me until I was better. I was down for quite awhile when I had a knee replacement and that sweet baby stayed right with me until I was up and around. He would then go outside but would come back to check on me every 10 to 15 minutes. He'd lay down beside me, flop over on his back, and go to sleep while I rubbed his little tummy.  I loved him and I still miss him.

OSCAR'S LITTLE CHIPMUNK

From the first day Oscar came to live with us, his favorite place to sleep was on my right shoulder. It was wonderful having that little ball of fur snuggling against my face. When he got to 20 pounds it was a little crowded on my pillow. When he hit 30 pounds it was almost impossible. The only thing that saved the day night was Oscar's heavy fur coat. He would get too hot after 15 minutes and roll off my shoulder and land between my husband and me. Then he would stretch out on his back with his head on his own little pillow and go back to sleep. The good news is we had a queen size bed so we weren't too crowded.

Oscar could get to the 18 hole golf course easily by traveling over a couple of hills. I had many reports of him being seen on the course. When I'd ask what he was doing when they spotted him, the answer was always the same. "He was chasing golf balls." I'm sure the golfers had various names they called him.

I was afraid someone would mistake him for a wild cat because of the big ruff around his neck and his size. He had a menacing look about him and we live in a region where bobcats and mountain lions are seen frequently. The vet was right about one thing. Once a cat has been allowed to go outside, you can't keep them in.

We used to refer to him as Mighty Hunter. I've seen him try to jump on the backs of deer and of course, he loved chasing squirrels. He killed many chipmunks and baby rabbits. Many hours were spent herding lizards out the door. He would bring them in the house and chase them around. I'd have to catch him, shut him in another room, then herd his victims out the door.

One day he brought in a tiny, baby chipmunk. When he put in down it ran under my desk where we couldn't get it. I didn't see the little guy for a couple of weeks and had visions of him dying under my desk and starting to stink up the place.

I was working at the desk one day, when the little chipmunk came out from under it, climbed up on the edge of Oscar's water bowl. Oscar walked up slowly, laid down next to the bowl and watched the chipmunk with so pride. I could hardly believe my eyes. Oscar was raising it and thought it was his baby. Good grief. It was living on the cat food too.

When we had the carpet replaced, I warned the workers not to hurt the chipmunk that was living under my desk, but to make sure he lived outside from then on. When I returned they couldn't stop laughing. They got the little guy outside but he kept trying to get back in whenever they weren't watching. Oscar was distressed because he couldn't find his baby but he never killed another chipmunk.

OSCAR THE TALKING CAT

As Oscar grew, he seemed to double in size about every two weeks.  By the time he reached 18 months old, he was really getting two big and heavy for me to hold and by 4 years old he was a whopping 30 pounds.

He was a clown. Everything was a toy to him. Alan brought home one of those two story carpeted cat "apartments". He would climb onto the top "floor" and then flop out onto the floor on his back. We just rolled laughing and he continued the same thing over and over for 30 minutes. He was a silly cat.

By the time he was a year old, he could no longer fit into the apartment so he would just turn it over and roll it all over the floor. It made a great toy.

From the time we brought him home, he was mama's boy. I was home recovering from a knee replacement, Alan was working 2 jobs, so Oscar was my constant companion. I talked to him all the time. About one year old, I thought I heard him say "mama". I tried to get him to repeat it but it was a couple of months before he repeated it. After that, he used the word all the time and then began to repeat other words I used frequently. He couldn't say an "L" so when he would say "hello" it came out Hewoe.

Every morning I would get Alan up to go to work. I would step into the utility room (right outside Alan's bedroom) and holler, "Alan, get up!" One night about 3 a.m., Alan woke me up, flopping around in bed, obviously irritated. "What's your problem!" I snarled at him.

Alan said "That cat keeps calling me." Sure enough, a few minutes later I heard the cat outside the bedroom in the utility room hollering, "Ow-in UP! Ow-in UP!" I was roaring with laughter and got up so poor "Ow-in" could go back to sleep.

By the time Oscar was 4 years old he had an eleven word English vocabulary, that included yeah, no, out, and tub. Every time I would go to the bathroom, he would say "tub" because he wanted me to turn on the water so he could play. He loved water! In the summers he would play in the water whenever I would water the plants outside. He played in the pond catching frogs. And if it started raining, he insisted on going outside and running around in the rain. He was a real water-baby.