Cats in my life

Stories about Rusty and other cat-related content

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From the Cutting Room Floor: Rusty plays Milo

Those of you, to whom Rusty owes dozens of treats for complimenting him on many of his appearances on this blog, probably think that he is a natural on camera. He is – if we’re talking about those times when he didn’t know what was happening: I have hundreds of cute, funny and entertaining pictures of Rusty sleeping, napping or packing himself into the next newly arrived in the mail box.

Rusty on the Pillow

But when it comes to catching him on camera with perfume I plan to feature in the post, it takes a careful planning and some trickery on my part. Without a fail Rusty will photobomb the picture I’m trying to shoot if it’s something new that he hasn’t seen earlier. Unfortunately, he does it with a complete disregard to the lighting, composition and other important things. And then, 15-20 seconds later, he’s done with the exploration and there’s not much I can do to persuade him to stay longer and allow me to take a proper picture of him and the object in question. I tried explaining to him that modelling pays well but in vain: you know how fickle those prima donnas can be. So usually I have to bring everything I want in the picture to the place with an appropriate light, quickly assemble the composition, take the camera, wait – and then quickly take as many pictures, moving around, as possible, hoping that at least one of them will be usable. So from time to time I finally choose one of the “less bad” pictures or give up and go with “still life.”

But sometimes… sometimes Rusty is in an especially good mood, he slept for too long and got bored or some element of the packaging caught his attention – then I get minutes of Rusty’s not paying any attention to my paparazzi act. And then I get another conundrum: which picture to choose when each one of them is good but different?

Sometimes I work around it by using a slide show. But mostly, after agonizing for much longer than I should, I decide on the one I liked a little more hoping that maybe one day I’ll get to use other pictures as well… It doesn’t happen too often, so I decided to do a new series – From the Cutting Room Floor, in which I’ll be publishing pictures of Rusty not included into the posts for which those were taken.

For the first episode I decided to go with pictures of Rusty “playing Milo” during my recent attempts to take a picture of the mimosa confiture (and a YouTube link to the scene from The Mask for those who did not recognize the reference):

Rusty playing Milo (The Mask)

By the way, this dog toy was also a birthday present from the same friend who sent me the confiture. That’s why I wanted to take a picture of both of her gifts with Rusty, which I managed to do in the end (see below), but I think she liked the one above even more.

Rusty playing Milo (The Mask)

Images: my own

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Orange Cats in My Life – Part V: The Ones That Got Away

Last year in December I told what I thought was the last part of the Orange Cats in My Life series. I haven’t opened a new chapter since then – it’s still just Rusty who is everything I’ve ever wanted from a cat (though I wish he’d stop eating plastic because it gets really tedious trying to keep plastic-free all spaces accessible to him). But recently I realized that there were more sides of my obsession with cats that I haven’t covered in either those posts about real cats (Found and Lost and Those that have just broken the flower vase…) or imaginary ones (A Grin without a Cat and Love from the First ‘Awww…’). Hence this interquel (it seems to be a real word; I found it while trying to figure out if there was a special term for a story that was a sequel and a prequel at the same time).

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For many years, while we couldn’t get a real cat, I was drawn to a cat theme in… everything. It doesn’t mean that anything with any cat depiction would do as some non-cat people seem to think (we all like perfumes but there are perfumes and there are perfumes – right?) but I had accumulated a number of cute Christmas ornaments, toys and jewelry featuring that object of my affection, which definitely exceeds any “civilian” person’s interest in felines.

Visual art isn’t something that is present in my day-to-day life. Two-three exhibitions per year at the local museums, three-four hours or until I get extremely bored (whichever comes first) at various museums during vacation trips and an occasional article in New Yorker magazine – that’s the extent of my interest in it. My house is decorated with a couple of enlarged photo prints, two paintings given to me by my father, who knows much more about art, and several ink drawings created by my friend many years ago. From time to time we would visit an art fair or, while on a vacation, walk into one of those galleries that seem to be so popular in all the touristy locations. But most of the objects offered there I cannot classify either as art or even suitable décor pieces – so mostly those visits had an alternate motive of warming up or cooling off (dependent on the weather at the location).

The gallery on the Big Island, in addition to a nice cool environment had also an extra attraction: a large selection of fine and costume jewelry. And while I was killing unswimmable scorching hours searching for a gem (figuratively speaking) among the offerings my vSO was browsing paintings. I do not remember if it was the only work of that author in the gallery, I don’t even know what exactly it was – an oil painting (most likely) or lithography, but it immediately captured our attention.

Nazran Govinder The Shining Sinners

Nazran Govinder, The Shining Sinners. We spent some time dancing around this piece. We almost bought it. But none of us had ever heard of the author; we’d never bought any art before, so we had no point of reference to figure out if the price was even close to be right (around $800, I think). We didn’t have a smartphone or even Internet at the condo back then to do a research. So we arrogantly decided we would do it once we were back at home. Worst come worse, I could always call the gallery and buy it over the phone…

After we came back, I read more about the artist, realized that I previously saw some of his sculptures at other galleries, decided that I wanted to get that painting (and maybe one more), got distracted… By the time I started actively looking for The Shining Sinners the author had suddenly died at age of 44. You can probably imagine what it did to his work. I couldn’t believe that I, all by myself, without reading somebody else’s reviews or articles, discovered an artist, whose paintings I liked, and I missed the chance to buy the piece that I really liked.

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Once a friend of mine sent me a link to the perfect pair of boots. She said she thought those were made for me.

Camper Cat Boots

What happened next is hard to explain. They were on sale for $100. By Nordstrom. With free delivery & return. They had my size. But I didn’t know the brand (do you see the pattern?) and I thought that maybe I should look for them in a store… By the time I figured out none of the stores around carried Camper (the brand), the boots were gone. I knew everything about them by that time but it didn’t help. I searched all online stores – no luck. I set up the recurring search on eBay – nothing but a misrepresented pair in a bad shape that I bought and returned. I even wrote to Camper Customer Support recently to ask if they ever plan to re-introduce the model – they don’t. The only positive outcome from that experience is that now I and two of my friends who were following my fiasco remember it every time we are about to postpone a purchase that might not happen later. There’s a rule called “Julia’s boots”: buy first, have doubts later.

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Wouldn’t it be appropriate to round-up the topic telling the story of a missed perfume opportunity? I can’t: not only there are no cat-themed perfumes that I let slip away (like those on the picture below that I borrowed from The Scented Hound’s 2014 Holiday Gift Guide) but I don’t have a single regret about any perfume. It’s not that there are no perfumed I wished I could get now that aren’t available – there are plenty of those. But none of them fits the bill of “could have but haven’t.” What about you? Were there any perfumes in your life that got away?

Rare Perfumes

And since it’s almost a New Year Eve here, Happy New Year to all my friends and readers! Be happy, be healthy and let the missed opportunities in your life be only of the caliber of those in this post.

Happy New Year from me and from the most important orange cat in my life.

Happy New Year 2015

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Orange Cats in My Life – Part IV: Those that have just broken the flower vase…

 

… all animals are divided into one of 14 categories:
– Those that belong to the emperor
– Embalmed ones
– Those that are trained
– Suckling pigs
– Mermaids (or Sirens)
– Fabulous ones
– Stray dogs
-Those that are included in this classification
– Those that tremble as if they were mad
– Innumerable ones
– Those drawn with a very fine camel hair brush
– Et cetera
– Those that have just broken the flower vase
– Those that, at a distance, resemble flies
J. L. Borges, Celestial Emporium of Benevolent Knowledge

I do not like kittens. It’s not that I have a dislike for them but I don’t get that well-studied feeling of cuteness overload when I see kittens in real life or on pictures. I love mature cats. So when a new management of the complex where we lived changed the rules allowing small pets, on our trip to the shelter we intended to offer our home to a 1-2 year old cat. The only other requirement I had at the time was that it had to be a male cat.

All cats we saw that day were either much older or females. But I think we looked like people who were seriously going to get a cat so shelter workers kept showing us all the cats they had there not paying attention to my insistent “young but adult male cat.” And then we saw Him.

Four months old, playful and not in the least shy kitten had no objections to us picking him up and petting. And he was white and orange and resembled a little our first cat (see Part I: Found and Lost). And even his name on the cage’s label – Rusty – was reminiscent of that first cat’s name Rizhik (not surprisingly since words used in both languages were intended to describe the exterior). We just couldn’t leave without him.

Rusty at 5 months

When we got home, I told Rusty another requirement I had in mind: I would not have a cat who doesn’t like to be petted or sit on my lap. I even threatened to take him back to the shelter if he decides to be too independent. Either he took the warning very seriously or we both just lucked out but whenever I sit down Rusty almost always comes to me.

“Medium hair orange tabby” it says in his official documents. Judging by his look and behavior there was a Maine Coon climbing Rusty’s family tree at some point. And nine out of every twelve months in the year I really want to invite the kind person who thought of that “medium hair” joke. Rusty’s hair is everywhere!

Medium hair orange tabby

Even though from the beginning we were feeding him cat food, he doesn’t discriminate: cat food, human food – food is food – and it never stays in his bowl for longer than 2-3 minutes. And he never stops foraging around hoping to find anything edible we left unattended. Rusty is so strongly food-motivated that he would do tricks for treats: “Sit“, “(another) Paw!“, “Down“, “Up“, “Jump“. Also we suspect that eating for him is a social interaction as well: both my vSO and I love fruits and Rusty also developed taste for some of them. He loves (as in actually tries to pry them from my hands) oranges, peaches and apricots.

Rusty and Orange

Before we got Rusty, my vSO and I had two favorite Dunoon mugs (different shapes but both with cats on them). For years, unless we had guests over, we would drink everything only from those mugs. While I managed to train Rusty in many areas (for example, not to wake us up in the morning) there are rules that he refuses to follow. Rusty knows that he’s not allowed to be on counters and tables but every time he hopes to find there something to eat or wants to annoy us because he thinks we’re withholding food beyond the allowed schedule, he keeps jumping to where he’s not  supposed to be and then plays “dead weight” when we try to remove him. My favorite mug has become a casualty in one of those battles. Since I couldn’t replace it (retired pattern) my vSO out of solidarity (and not to lose it as well, I guess) retired his mug into a cupboard.

Rusty and the Broken Mug

Same as my other favorite cat Garfield (see Part II: Grin without a Cat), Rusty doesn’t like spiders. He hunts them and eats them – if he can get to them and if they are not too yucky. Otherwise he attracts our attention to them meowing loudly and gets a treat for each spider. Rusty also gets a treat for each “Awww…” (see Part III: Love from the First ‘Awww…’) or other expression of admiration from my readers for his appearances in my perfume pictures.

Since the age they told us when we adopted Rusty was approximate, we made a decision that he would be our “Christmas cat” and we celebrate his birthday on Christmas Eve. This year he turned five. As a birthday gift he got a new cat bed. I was afraid he wouldn’t like it and had an elaborate plan of pretending it was something I brought for myself to sit on… I didn’t get a chance to play it out: Rusty loved it immediately and he slept in it through almost the whole day.

Rusty in His New Bed

My vSO found a back-up for his mug under the Christmas tree so his favorite mug came back from the retirement. And this concludes the Orange Cats in My Life series. In January I will go back to my kind of perfume-related posts with Year 2013 Entertaining Statistics.

Happy New Year to all my friends and readers!

Happy New Year 2014

 

Images: my own

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Orange Cats in My Life – Part III: Love from the First ‘Awww…’

 

When I published the first episode of this series in December I thought I’d be done with all parts within a month. But then something kept coming up. So for those who recently started reading this blog, here are the links to the first two episodes of Orange Cats in My Life – Part I: Found and Lost and Part II: A Grin without a Cat

 

I do not like going to movie theaters. I have multiple reasons for that but three main ones are: the length of modern films (who can sit straight through three hours of anything??!), not numbered seats (which for me adds anxiety and at least 30 minutes to an already insane time at cinema) and popcorn smell (I hate it).

For most new releases I wait for a DVD to watch in the comfort of my home with food (and smells!) of my choice. But some movies are just made to be watched in theaters. Titanic, for instance. Ok, I’m joking – I haven’t seen this one in a theater or otherwise. But once a year I find a movie that I want to experience on a big screen.

For three years Lord of the Rings films were my once-per-year cinema fix. But after the last chapter was over it was hard to find a suitable candidate. After some considerations the choice was made: Shrek 2. I wasn’t a huge fan of the first movie and the only reason for seeing the sequel that I can remember was that there were going to be two of my favorite singers – Tom Waits and Nick Cave.

The first time Puss in Boots put on his doe-eyed expression the theater went “Awwww…” and I could swear I heard not only women’s and children’s voices there. That was the moment when I fell in love with that adorable deceitfully innocent gaze.

Puss in Boots

I became obsessed – not even with the character himself but with that particular video frame. Once I found it (it took some time for people to steal it in a good quality and share with the World), this cuteness overload epitome literally stayed in my day-to-day life for years: I used this picture as a wallpaper on two (consecutive) laptops and two (once again, consecutive) smartphones.

A couple of years ago while moving to the next computer I decided that it was time to let him go. But every time I come across this transfixing gaze somewhere on Internet my heart sinks a little in that culturally acquired* “Awww… “

 

*I do not recall a similar exclamation or sentiment itself in my native language/culture.

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Orange Cats in My Life – Part I: Found and Lost

 

Usually in this blog I write not-a-review life stories about perfumes. This one is a life story that has no perfumes connection whatsoever.

 

Do you know how children usually ask parents to get a dog and parents are reluctant since they know it will be an extra chore for them? When I was a kid in my family roles were switched: my mother used to bring home homeless dogs to live with us (luckily one at a time) and I tried to dissuade her (without any success). So even though I was always more of a cat person it had never even occurred to me to ask for a cat.

The first cat appeared in my life after I got married. One morning my mother in law knocked at our bedroom door (we lived together at the time), peeped inside and asked unsurely: Did you bring home a kitten last night? We woke up completely, looked at each other, back at her and asked: What kitten?

As we deduced later (though we weren’t sure), a little kitten sneaked into the apartment the day before and hid. I’m not sure what would have happened to him had one of us stumbled upon him that night. But he was smart, lucky or just scared and showed up when there was no chance anyone would get spooked by that scrawny white and orange lump of fur. It was late autumn, cold and unpleasant outside and we just couldn’t throw him out there.

I named him Rizhik.

Lactarius deliciosus (Rizhik)

He was a funny kitten. He loved to lie on my lap with his belly up. He cartoonishly followed his reflection in the polished wood to the end of the reflective surface and tried to peek quickly around the corner to see where it went. He used to purr so loudly at night that my vSO would through him out of the bed.

He grew up, became an outdoor cat, stopped chasing his reflection and didn’t purr anymore. We moved out and Rizhik stayed at the parents’ place but whenever we visited he still liked spending time with me.

One winter he disappeared. Not as mysteriously as he came into our lives: he just went outside, as usual, and didn’t come back. We didn’t know what happened to him.  But it was a very bad winter in the country – economically- and weather-wise. It was rumored that homeless were eating stray dogs and cats…

Months later we saw on a street a cat that looked exactly like Rizhik. We followed him as he was running away (as cats usually do); I kept calling his name, he stopped for a second, turned his head as if recognizing my voice and then he was gone. We tried looking for him again – with no luck.

We chose to believe that he just found a place where he was happy and decided to stay there.

 

Image: from the Wikimedia Commons