The Gratitude Project & Happy Adoption Day, Nox!
So, following 
liminalia's lead, I'm going to attempt to do The Gratitude Project, wherein from Lammas to Mabon, I post one thing I'm grateful about every day. I'm already behind, so today, there are two.
1. I am grateful for the support of my customers, which has made me able to fulfill my desire of having a creative job. Without the support of my regulars, it is very likely I'd still be behind a desk somewhere, wasting my talents and not doing what I truly want to do at this point in my life. Thank you.
2. I am grateful for my Nox, my soul kitty. The shelter we got him from sent me an automated email yesterday, reminding me that it was his adoption anniversary. My dude has been with us for a whole year now! So, like the Tribute to Olivebean, I give you...
">
The Story of Nox.
Once upon a time, we had one kitty named Olive, and also an empty spot in our hearts where her twin, Squeaky, had been. Olive did, too, as she got severe anxiety whenever we left the apartment-- it was clear to us that she needed a companion for her. After about a month, we started scoping our humane society's website for kittens in her age range (3 months). We decided on an all black kitten named Hiro, so on Lammas 2009, we headed down to scoop him up.
When we got there, though he was still there, pawing at us like "hello! Hi! I'm here! I want to go home with you!", we were told that he'd been officially adopted 45 mins prior, as had the polydactyl we were also considering. Balls.
So, heartbroken, we went to the BARCS shelter downtown, which Dixie had recently sent me a flyer for. When we got there, most of their kittens were still in need of fostering, and we'd either have to take two to three or take none. We knew we couldn't foster. If we took three home, we'd fall in love with three, and not be able to re-home. Not to mention, having four kittens on our hands at once was a lot, especially with the wedding planning madness. I was resigned that it was just not the right time to get a kitty.
On the way out through the cat cages, I felt a scratch on my jeans, right above my knee. I looked down and at first didn't see anything. But then I looked, and there was a little black face, crusty with goo.
He was a little out of our age range. We were told he was 4-5 months, though our vet later confirmed he was more like a malnourished 5-6 months. But I asked to hold him, and he immediately started purring and pawing at my face when he was placed in my arms. I looked at Jason. He reached up and rubbed his little gooey face all over Jason. It was a done deal. "Foster" was coming home with us.
When we got him in the light of day, it was immediately apparent just how skinny he was. You could count his ribs. He had a shaved tail. The shelter people said that he'd been found in someone's garage, with sticky stuff in his tail that they'd had to shave out. He also had giant radio dish ears. All in all, with the green crusties all over his face from the worst upper respiratory infection ever, he looked a whole lot like an alien.
It would be two days until we could get him to the vet. He wouldn't eat because he couldn't smell his food, wet or dry.tamnonlinear gave us emergency kitty advice, and he went on high-calorie nutritional goo, which he loved and eagerly licked right out of my hand. That first night, I slept in the office with him, where he had to be quarantined away from Olive. He curled up on my pillow with me and slept tangled up in my hair. From that point on, he was TOTALLY a momma's boy.
Things were rough with Olive at first. She hissed. And hissed. And hissed. And then two weeks later, it was "shut up, you're dirty, I'm gonna give you a bath." Nox relented.
There was also dude bonding time.
But it wasn't until Mim showed up that Nox showed the true extent of his lovin'. Then it was a kissing free-for-all. Mom, dad, strangers, any stationary object? Kisses. Stinky, smelly kisses.
Since then, we've pretty much learned that there is only one thing on earth we can do to him to break his chill 'tude. And that is...
Ho ho no.
But other than that? Cool as a cucumber, the Noxman. He's a lover, not a fighter. All he wants to do is cuddle. Sleep on mom's belly. Give as many kisses as possible. And eat. He's not so much the shrimpy little dude any more. He's more the size of a small pony or a medium-sized dog.
Sookeh is maaaahn!
Baroo?
A regular occurence: Nox loves to be the little spoon.
I don't care what you do, so long as you feed me.
He's got his mind on his kibble, and his kibble on his mind.
Just this morning, he was mewing piteously at our door. I came outside to lay on the couch. Little dude gets separation anxiety, I guess. He immediately jumped up, kissed my face, and assumed little spoon position with a contented purr.
My Noxman. My soul kitty.
liminalia's lead, I'm going to attempt to do The Gratitude Project, wherein from Lammas to Mabon, I post one thing I'm grateful about every day. I'm already behind, so today, there are two. 1. I am grateful for the support of my customers, which has made me able to fulfill my desire of having a creative job. Without the support of my regulars, it is very likely I'd still be behind a desk somewhere, wasting my talents and not doing what I truly want to do at this point in my life. Thank you.
2. I am grateful for my Nox, my soul kitty. The shelter we got him from sent me an automated email yesterday, reminding me that it was his adoption anniversary. My dude has been with us for a whole year now! So, like the Tribute to Olivebean, I give you...
">The Story of Nox.
Once upon a time, we had one kitty named Olive, and also an empty spot in our hearts where her twin, Squeaky, had been. Olive did, too, as she got severe anxiety whenever we left the apartment-- it was clear to us that she needed a companion for her. After about a month, we started scoping our humane society's website for kittens in her age range (3 months). We decided on an all black kitten named Hiro, so on Lammas 2009, we headed down to scoop him up.
When we got there, though he was still there, pawing at us like "hello! Hi! I'm here! I want to go home with you!", we were told that he'd been officially adopted 45 mins prior, as had the polydactyl we were also considering. Balls.
So, heartbroken, we went to the BARCS shelter downtown, which Dixie had recently sent me a flyer for. When we got there, most of their kittens were still in need of fostering, and we'd either have to take two to three or take none. We knew we couldn't foster. If we took three home, we'd fall in love with three, and not be able to re-home. Not to mention, having four kittens on our hands at once was a lot, especially with the wedding planning madness. I was resigned that it was just not the right time to get a kitty.
On the way out through the cat cages, I felt a scratch on my jeans, right above my knee. I looked down and at first didn't see anything. But then I looked, and there was a little black face, crusty with goo.
He was a little out of our age range. We were told he was 4-5 months, though our vet later confirmed he was more like a malnourished 5-6 months. But I asked to hold him, and he immediately started purring and pawing at my face when he was placed in my arms. I looked at Jason. He reached up and rubbed his little gooey face all over Jason. It was a done deal. "Foster" was coming home with us.
When we got him in the light of day, it was immediately apparent just how skinny he was. You could count his ribs. He had a shaved tail. The shelter people said that he'd been found in someone's garage, with sticky stuff in his tail that they'd had to shave out. He also had giant radio dish ears. All in all, with the green crusties all over his face from the worst upper respiratory infection ever, he looked a whole lot like an alien.
It would be two days until we could get him to the vet. He wouldn't eat because he couldn't smell his food, wet or dry.
tamnonlinear gave us emergency kitty advice, and he went on high-calorie nutritional goo, which he loved and eagerly licked right out of my hand. That first night, I slept in the office with him, where he had to be quarantined away from Olive. He curled up on my pillow with me and slept tangled up in my hair. From that point on, he was TOTALLY a momma's boy.Things were rough with Olive at first. She hissed. And hissed. And hissed. And then two weeks later, it was "shut up, you're dirty, I'm gonna give you a bath." Nox relented.
There was also dude bonding time.
But it wasn't until Mim showed up that Nox showed the true extent of his lovin'. Then it was a kissing free-for-all. Mom, dad, strangers, any stationary object? Kisses. Stinky, smelly kisses.
Since then, we've pretty much learned that there is only one thing on earth we can do to him to break his chill 'tude. And that is...
Ho ho no.
But other than that? Cool as a cucumber, the Noxman. He's a lover, not a fighter. All he wants to do is cuddle. Sleep on mom's belly. Give as many kisses as possible. And eat. He's not so much the shrimpy little dude any more. He's more the size of a small pony or a medium-sized dog.
Sookeh is maaaahn!
Baroo?
A regular occurence: Nox loves to be the little spoon.
I don't care what you do, so long as you feed me.
He's got his mind on his kibble, and his kibble on his mind.
Just this morning, he was mewing piteously at our door. I came outside to lay on the couch. Little dude gets separation anxiety, I guess. He immediately jumped up, kissed my face, and assumed little spoon position with a contented purr.
My Noxman. My soul kitty.