Tag Archives: Siamese cats

Lokii is four today!

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Today is little Lokii’s fourth birthday! So here’s some baby photos of him.

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In June 2008, we went to the breeder to pick a kitten out of the five she had. Two were boys, and I wanted a boy. One in particular was more adventurous than his siblings and I picked him. He’s so tiny! Fits in the palm of my hand.

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That’s him front and centre, being brave and curious and getting closest to the strange skritchy noise I was making on the cushions.
Of course he was still too young to take home – we had to wait until August! But I was glad we found our boy and I was excited to be having a Siamese coming back into my life soon.

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A terrible photo the breeder emailed us a few weeks later! Crazy bat-eared kitty.

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First day home cuddling with his new Daddy! So small! He’s always been a bit of a daddy’s boy, too.

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Small enough to fit in a 8-pack beer box! Yes, I drink this crap on occasion.

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Playing in the paper that had covered a care package from Socks :)

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All giant nose and big ears back then, and already evidencing his typical, slightly-bewildered expression. He’s a bit goofy and not very mechanical, for a Siamese, but I loves the little guy to bits.

Let’s Meet…Lokii’s Dark Side!

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Part two of getting to know my Lokii-monster. I still love the wee sleekit beastie, no fear – but he does do some difficult-to-bear things.

He eats things that bear no resemblance to food. The prime treats for him are our fuzzy elastic hair ties. We protect these, but he still manages to find them. He’s even taken the lid off of a heavy ceramic bowl to get to them. When he does find one, he thinks it is the best toy ever- until he swallows it whole. I always see them again, from one end or the other.

The other things we have to keep a constant eye on are plush fibre-filled toys. He chews holes in them, then swallows the filling. He even attacked a four-foot long stuffed alligator of mine. I was not amused. He’s done more damage to the dog’s toys than the dog ever has.

He’s also attracted to anything with ball-shaped filling. We had – had! two neck-pillows that we bought for travel. They were soft and scrunchy. I put them in the empty suitcases under the bed in the spare room, a logical place, yes? Where my logic failed me was that I should zip up the empty cases. I woke up to this one morning:

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That’s the smallest part of iDJ’s shoe collection, all filled with Lokii-balls (K-9 is mine). This was the scene of the crime, but he didn’t restrict himself to the spare room.

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That’s about halfway down the stairs. The little weenie dragged the leaking pillow downstairs to play with it.

There were tiny tiny styrofoam balls everywhere. They were charged with static electricity and they clung to everything, including the outside of my Dyson vac when I was trying to clean the tremendous mess up. I’ve never had to vacuum my vacuum before.

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I shit you not, this was two years later after he disemboweled a toy filled with black plastic beads. Do you see that there are STILL little white Lokii-balls in the vacuum?

We quickly hid the remaining neck pillow in a wardrobe with my giant alligator. And we are very, very careful that the door is closed at all times.

He eats cotton buds, stick and all. He eats the plastic ring from a jug of milk or cream. I think that’s sad, because Spot loved to play with them. Nope, they go straight into the bin these days.

The worst things that he eats, though, are our blankets. Evidence:

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I cut off the ragged edges, it seems to make them less attractive to him. Sometimes.

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I’m really sickened about the crocheted one: Socks made it for me as a ready-available hug from her when I was terribly sad, and it helped so much. But I have it hidden away until I find someone who can fix it for me.

Poor Lokii. With all that man-made fibre and plastic and whatnot in his gut, his poop is a bit colourful and dry, and he gets constipated.

Unfortunately, he’s constipated even if he hasn’t swallowed anything but cat food.

He poops little rocks.

Sometimes, he just tries to poop little rocks.

Sometimes, they don’t come out fast enough and he panics. He comes blasting out of the litter box full speed, the door flap banging back and forth like a batwing saloon door in an old western during a firefight, and proceeds to scrape his arse all along the floor until the offending poop-nugget breaks free.

Sometimes, the turd really doesn’t want to leave him (his?) behind. He has to drag himself for several feet – sometimes several rooms – to be free of the offending dingleberry.

(Yet another reason I am grateful that we don’t have carpeting anywhere in the house.)

However, this means he gets to express his creative side! In the morning after one of his bad nights, I am greeted with artistically rendered swirls and skirls of light brown on my kitchen floor. Lokii has his own built-in palette, in sepia shades.

‘Ah!’ I say, when I find the brown gold at the end of the brown rainbow, ‘A kitty-crayon!’

Its become the thing that is said upon seeing the crayon itself or evidence of artwork. There’s the term, and its associated rule: whosoever finds the kitty-crayon, cleans up the kitty-crayon.* The art, like some modern art is meant to be, is temporary: we clean up all traces of creativity backward from turd to litterbox, and eliminate all traces of elimination. We go through a good amount of anti-bacterial spray and paper towels, as you can imagine. *This holds true for any accident that our kids have. You find it/step in it, you clean it.

About the only good part of all this is that his desiccated poo has hardly any smell.

Yes, I know I should take him to the vet. I’m broke as all nine circles of hell, and I thought I’d do some research myself first and see if there was anything I could do at home. But I’m a bad cat-mom and kept forgetting to do it. I asked Dianda at Cats & Co to look up kitty constipation for me, and she did – thank you! Her good work only confirmed that I should take him to the vet, though. Ugh. I was motivated to try a few things, though, while I wait for anything resembling money or credit to accumulate.

Dairy was suggested, as it makes most cats get the squitters. No, he will only take a couple laps of milk. Ditto, cream. He wanted nothing to do with yoghurt. I had one last home remedy left – olive oil. Two cc’s per day, I was told. I even had an unused, needle-less syringe I could use to measure with! No problem, I thought, I’ll try that.

We-l-l-l-l… it seems Lokii is immune to that most basic of cat-restraining measures: the scruff-of-the-neck hold. It didn’t stop him from struggling at all. There was no way we were getting that syringe in his mouth short of wrapping him up in several towels and getting a third person in to help hold him. This clearly would not do. I don’t want to upset the little guy, and I don’t have a third person handy.

My next idea was to put the oil onto something he would eat. That would have to be either raw minced beef or wet cat food. I opted for cat food as it costs less, even though I’d rather not feed them cheap smelly crud. Oh yes, ‘them’ – because there is no way I can give a treat to just one cat. The ruckus is unbearable, and I’m sure they would find a clever way of getting revenge. Sigh. So, I started them on one-half of a small tin of food a day, split again between the boys, with oil on Lokii’s portion. Easy-peasy, says I, Spot will only have a little taste in any case.

Oh no, of course not! The cat that will eat fabric doesn’t want the food with the oil on it, he wants the plain version. Spottie, the pickiest eater ever, wants the oily bowl …aaaaaa… Rethink. Give them one bowl, with the oil, and let ‘em fight it out. Fine, okay; Spot still only has a nibble and wanders away, and I don’t have Lokii screaming his head off because he wants what he has not got. Whew.

Now the big question. Does it work? After fourteen days, we have had only two crayon incidents. Yay! And judging from the red, yellow and blue coloration inside of the first crayon, it was entirely due to him eating a blanket. His box still has very dry poop in it, and Spot’s has some of the nastiest smelling little brown gifties ever, but I think I can keep this up until our financial deficit will allow me some wiggle room to take Lokii-mon to the doctor.

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Aren’t you glad I didn’t take you a picture of his ‘art?’

Let’s Meet…Lokii!

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I intend to complain about things my Siamese does. But first, some cuteness.

I love my little Lokii. We brought him home in August 2008, and he was (and still is, of course) adorable. At first, he and Spot didn’t get along. To be expected, with cats. They never ‘instantly’ bond. A few fireworks are normal.

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It appears here that Lokii was more afraid of Spot, even though Spottie-pants isn’t being aggressive at all.

He also hid a lot in the first few days. Everything was new, and there was a ginormous dog in the house that scared the wits out of him. (My boy Shade; he’s gone and I can’t talk about him just yet.)

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This is like one of those kid’s games. Can You Find The Kitty-Cat? Of course, he picked the bookshelf full of the authors I avidly collect – Koontz and King. Yikes…

It didn’t take long for the two boys to become buddies though.

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On the dirty laundry…

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And on my hideous 1960′s ‘quilt.’

The reason they got along so well was all due to Lokii’s puursonality. He is so very loving. He missed his momma and all his siblings, and the temptation to snuggle up to Spottie was too great. Spot would be napping, and *poof!* there’s Lokii muscling in. Repeat. Until Spot gave up hissing and jumping away, and let the little interloper share his space, and his nap.

This all happened in less than a month! All of these pics are from that August. It seems not so very long ago, and it is hard to think he will be four this year. Time flies.

He’s indoor only, both of the cats are. He has zero interest in the world on the other side of the glass, unless there is a bug within view. He never seems to see the birds or other cats. He doesn’t even wait at the window for us to come home like Spot and Neko do. We’ve only ever taken him to the vet twice – once when we first brought him home, and once to get his boy bits removed and the microchip implanted. He’s never been sick, he eats just fine, and while I think he has a little bit of belly-fat, he is a very healthy boy.

Except for two things…

Firs and furs

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I do believe I will have a big long rambling post. It feels like one of those days. Where to start? How about some adorable Neko pictures from this morning?

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She loves her toy carrot. I’ve used it as a neck pillow when doing the exercises Sled recommended, too. It’s a little smelly but pretty comfortable.

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But apparently not comfortable for too long. She rarely puts her legs all wonky like that; I think she knew I was waiting to take a picture.

She’s not been good today. I think I’ll have to take her back to the vet again soon. She eats well one day, then the next she lies around with her tummy gurgling and growling but won’t eat. She’ll eat a carrot – but if she knows better than to eat her kibble, she shouldn’t be eating a treat either. She doesn’t even nom the whole carrot at once like she does when she feels good. This morning, she had two runny poops, and barfed yellow stomach acid. The vet said she has colitis, but didn’t give us a plan of action. Before I go to the vet I’m trying something that worked for my sister’s first greyhound: a little bit of milk. Not too much or she’ll barf it up (I’m guessing, she does that if we give her a lot of liquid at once, like chicken broth). We gave her some around five, and within an hour she ate her food, yay! It stopped the tummy noises right away, too.

A break here: the Twelve Days of Gay Christmas is playing on SomaFM. “Two stiletto PUMPS!!!” Makes us giggle. we love the Xmas in Frisco station, it is mostly irreverent holiday music and not safe for work! That second link takes you to the live stream, be careful…

We finally have ‘Frisco’ on tonight because we finally have our tree, and it has lights on it. That’s it, just lights. That’s enough for one night. It took nearly two damn hours. I hate putting lights on the tree, but it is my job. I’d love to pass the torch over to iDJ, but he has a touch of OCD and would insist that each light was exactly 4 inches from all the others.

It would take a hell of a lot longer than two hours.

We have some fancy kind of tree this year. We normally get a bog-standard pine for €20 at the local garage (gas station). I just made the mistake of asking iDJ what kind of pine tree we usually get… After being asked to visually confirm what he found on the ‘net, we can say that for the past six years, it has been a lodgepole pine.

Anyhoo, this year neither garage had trees until the 8th, and one still doesn’t have them – and the one that did had four. Four crappy, short, ugly, bald, pine trees. So yesterday we borrowed his work van and drove to Claremorris for a tree. We hit five places – three had nothing, one had pines for €25 and fancy trees for €35 and they were all just six foot – but the last place had every tree €25, no matter what kind it was! We rooted through everything and ended up getting the first tree I looked at. Because I’m ‘particular.’ Heh. Yes, the Yank chooses not to spend €20+ on a Charlie Brown tree, thank you.

It appears, according to the ‘net, that we got what is possibly a Nordman Fir, and it is 7foot 9inches tall in the stand. Whattabargain!

We were a bit concerned about getting a fancy tree, because iDJ had a bad allergic reaction to a Norway Spruce a few years ago. But he poked himself on it intentionally and was fine.

I, however, seem to be having a disagreement with this tree about me not being allergic to anything. I recover pretty quickly if I don’t scratch the places it stabs me… but as you can imagine putting five strings of lights on the damn thing left my hands peppered with itchy spots. Even with gloves. Sigh.

Anyway, it is up, the lights are on it, and the fun part of completely obliterating any hint of greenery with tinsel and forty years worth of baubles and ornaments is still to come.

We also did a shit-ton of grocery shopping today. But that was mostly boring. We were cold and cranky when we got home, so I took a bath and iDJ started a fire for me to sit in front of when I was done. He even came up and scrubbed my back for me – an extreme pleasure. Thanks babe!

Here’s what happened to me once the fire was nice and hot.

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My thigh, with Lokii draped across it totally asleep but stretching for the fire. Poor always-cold kitty. Ignore the mess – fires are sloppy, but way cheaper than oil heating…

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My view. He’s soooo pathetic.

Distracted by cuteness

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I was going through old Facebook photos. My intention was to find some things for me to draw while I’m at the Open Fair. I found one cow and then starting saving pics to put up over here. The kids are just too cute…

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Spottie, showing his best side. It must be his best, he always sticks it in our faces for a good, close look. That’s iDJ’s hair :)

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Lokii, at the breeder’s house. He looked goofy even then. We got to bring him home a few weeks later. So tiny! Ah, look at the little pink kitten-belly, too!

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The Kitty Kings, on their thrones – pun intended :) In the morning, this part of the room gets sun so they like to sit on the litterboxes and warm themselves. Yes, my kitchen is lavender.

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Awwwwww….

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Spot annoying Neko. I have a whole series from this day – Neko was asleep until Spot interrupted and plopped himself down right where her head had been. She couldn’t go back to sleep afterward without squishing Spot – not that he would have minded. She is too gentle a dog to even consider something that would hurt Spottie, though.

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VERY rare occurrence. Even after two years, Lokii is scared of the dog. This is the closest he ever got and stayed relaxed about it. Of course, Spot is his guardian.

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A last one, to get us in the holiday spirit. Sing it with me: “Cat Butts Roasting on an Open Fire…”

Waking up Lokii

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Lokii-monster was being cute last night, and I tried to get a few pictures.

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Napping with his brother.

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Yawn…I’ve woken him up. Normally, not a big deal. Sleeping is awfully important, especially on a lovely warm hand-crocheted blanket by Auntie Socks.

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Nope, I’m apparently more interesting. He’s Siamese, he talks. This is one of many, many times he was saying, “Hi! Hi! Hi!” Ugh, my table’s a mess. iPhone, booze, iPhone, tissue box, peanuts, pumpkin seeds, National Geographics…is that my used dental floss? Eww, I’m a slob.

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He wasn’t amused by my lack of interaction, or the big iPad blocking his view of my face. So, he stood up on me for a stretch and to make sure I was paying attention.

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He’s a big boy, and can sink his claws into my collarbone from this position. Time to put the technology down and hug a kitty.