November 22, 2022

Thankful to be Naturally Sweet

Bweaking Nooz! Yes, I know it's time for Tuesdays with Dori, but there has been a great upset at my house and so I must inpurrrupt yoor normally scheduled progwam for ...

Last week my pawrents celebwated their annipurrsary of being meowied to each other for--  I wasn't able to get a direct quote, but I did overhear joocy rumors of  them having known each other for at least one hundred years. 

Anyway, due to the arrival of Hurricane Nicole they were unable to go out to dinner because the place Daddy had chosen was in the area where a lot of properties were flooded, if not destroyed. Therefore, they postponed celebwating until this past week.

They arrived before the restaurant opened, so they went across the street to Mon Delice, a cozy French bakery where they drooled over the glass cases until management stepped in with Windex and papurr toweling and told them to make their final selections or leave. They chose two eclairs, a raspberry pastry and a coconut-covered chocolate snowball with raspberry filling. Then they returned to the restaurant across the street.

In an candid intermew with my momma, she admitted they had chosen the restaurant based on atmosphere despite poor reviews on the overpriced food, but they had a delightful time dwinking grape jooce and chatting about their fur babies. Mostly me, because I am the favorite. They skipped dessert because they had the French pastries in the car. 

Back home they watched teevee and enjoyed the eclairs. Momma really wanted to enjoy the snowball, but decided to savor the anticipation until the following night. She placed the pastry box in the cupboard and went to bed.

The next morning, after Daddy left to go play hit balls with sticks despite the hardy cold that had finally arrived at our house, Momma made coffee and eggs, and went into the cupboard for bread to make toast. To her horror she saw micro-ants everywhere!

I was able to catch a few quotes in between her fweaking out, but sadly none of them are printable.

Yes, the ants had found her pastries. Especially her snowball. It was chocolate and round and covered with coconut-flavored micro-ants. Everything went into the trash.

Then she texted Daddy with the bad news. Yes, she's been meowied long enough to know when to deliver bad news in purrson or by text. This was indeed a text message type of bad news.

This is my opinion of this tragic event. God works in mysterious ways. 

The Lord sent those micro-ants to swarm Momma's coconut-covered chocolate snowball with the raspberry filling because God knows she did not need one more calorie.

This coming Thursday we Ameowicans celebrate Thanksgiving. Purrsonally I am thankful to be naturally sweet. I do not need extra sugar to brighten my spirits. Just by making my friends smile is all I need to feel complete in my life.

Sincerely, we at It's a Wonderpurr Life value each of you who participate in our social life, be it here on our blog, or on Instagwam, Faceybook or Twitter. Right now our momanager is spread way too thin with all her accounts while trying to write another book, so we are in the process of combining accounts so that Momma's bwain can stop steaming, and our participation by visiting more blogs and accounts can actually happen instead of wishful thinking.

So, for an extwa treat, I'd now like to purrform my Thanksgiving Song, just for yoo.

Until Next Time...

November 15, 2022

Lost in Translation

Dear Frens, this is Dori. *wavy paws*. I hope this week has started off on a good foot for yoo, without the usual drama that accompanies Mondays. Purrsonally, I don't understand the growling over the first day of the work week, but then I've never worked a day in my life. 

In fact, I don't know the meaning of work. But that's another topic for another day. Today I feel I must address something I became aware of while eavesdropping on my pawrents over the weekend. 

To set the scene, I was draped over the sofa arm with my attention focused on Momma's dinner plate while Daddy sat a few cats down at the opposite end of the sofa, shoveling his food into his mouth as fast as he could while ChauncieMarie leaned heavily into him, hoping for a bite to fall into her mouth.

This is not at all unusual, although typically it is Peaches who is wiping her drippy nose onto Daddy's arm while he is eating. Opie tends to sprawl between my pawrents, purring loudly with the idea that everyone will hear how adorable he is and therefore share their noms. He's 3 for 10 this week, so there is indeed a method to his madness.

My method is to stare lovingly into Momma's eyes, even if she isn't looking at me, with an occasional pat to her face to remind her I'm there to help her lose weight by relieving her of the food on her plate. This scenario is reenacted every night my pawrents eat at home. The expensive Amish table in the next room is not for human dining, rather it is a place for Candy or Wabbit to sprawl when the window hammocks are taken by Fwank and KC.

So, getting back to what I wanted to talk about today... which has nothing to do with eating or sprawling or purring, or even wet noses wiped across Daddy's arm. It has to do with Ameowican's speaking a second language. Like Italian.

The reason I bring this up is because a teevee commercial came on while my pawrents were not sharing a single fweakin' bite of their noms about a European cruiseline where yoo could sail the world like Vikings on rivers, and go on an Italian Sojourn from Rome to Venice.

Daddy told Momma that was on his Bucket List, and Momma replied between the bites that she was not sharing with me that she wondered how difficult a cruise like that would be since they didn't speak Italian. Daddy said he went to Poland when he was a kid and didn't speak Polish, although he picked up the language pretty fast, to which Momma said, "All you picked up were the naughty words the other boys in camp taught you in exchange for you teaching them naughty American words."

So after the commercial ended and the plates were licked clean, I left the sofa feeling hungry and filled with disappointment. Not only are my pawrents stingy about sharing their noms, but they are ignorant about speaking a second language.

I speak Meow, of course, but I also understand Human. This is a phenomenon known as receptive multilingualism where one is able to understand another language without being able to speak it.

I'm willing to bet every fur in yoor home is also capable of receptive multilingualism.

So, for those of yoo like my pawrents who would like to vacation in Italy, but do not speaka da language, I'm here to learn yoo Italian.

Why do yoo have to learn Italian if yoo have no Bucket List with a visit to Italy on it? Well, listen, I'm not here to carve out a Bucket List for yoo, but it might help to have a back up language in case yoo go to some fancy spaghetti place where the waiters bring yoo extra garlic bread only if yoo say, "Prego" when they serve yoo, and yoo aren't referring to the pasta sauce in a jar. 

So for the sake of argument, let's say yoo suddenly find yoorself checking into a hotel in Rome because yoo got an incredible deal with yoor Senior Discount. Here are my suggestions to help yoo in case yoo aren’t happy with yoor woom:

English: We made these reservations six months ago! 

Italy-speak: Weeee maaade theeese rez-SUE-va-shuns seeex months ah-go!

English: Then we will sleep here in the lobby. 

Italy-speak: Weee will emmm-bar-ASS yoo with LOUD snorr-ing.

English: We reserved a room with a view. 

Italy-speak: Wee waaant a BET-ter woom that NO facea da land-fill.

English: The sheets are still damp.

Italy-speak: Did yoooo eee-vun try to DRY theeese things?

English: What is that smell?

Italy-speak: Eeet steeeenks lika old GO-ata in heeere.

English: Something is living in the bathroom.

Italy-speak: If eeet bitey me, I gonna WAKE da WHOLE-tel with SCREEEMS.

English: There is no hot water. The cold water is brown.

Italy-speak: Dair eees NO haaawt WA-ter. Da COLD WA-ter eees daaark like CHA-co LA-tay.

English: Is this a towel? It’s the size of a postage stamp.

Italy-speak: Ees dees a tow-el? Eeet whoa-ta cov-ver my BOO-tay.

English: Four stars my ass! This hotel is the equivalent to the Motel 6 back home.

Italy-speak: FORRR POINT SEEEX starrrr-zzz my ASS! I am gonna TWEEET about theeese crappy hotel unless you-a gimma da freee breakfast.


I hope my helpful translations will enable yoo to  converse eloquently on yoor next trip to Italy. And iffa yoo geet any complaints, eez notta ma problem-o. I am a kitteh. I do notta speak-a da engleesh.

Until Next Time...

November 08, 2022

The Chubby Chonkers Club and How I Lost 3 Pounds with a Purrsonal Trainer

Hi evfurrybuddy, it's me Dori *wavy paws* with another episode of Tuesdays with Dori, plus all the joocy gossip I could find while prowling the inpurrnet.

This past week I ran into fellow reporter Latte, host of News with Latte, and she told me her pawrents have started calling her a Chonkers "Fun Size" while her sisfur Ellie Mae is a "full-size" Chonkers candy bar. According to Latte, their Momma Kat is either shooing Latte away from Ellie's plate, or chasing Ellie around with a plate to get her to eat. Clearly Ellie is very pawtikular about privacy while dining, as she doesn't like being stared at while she puts food into her mouth.

I ask yoo, what woman enjoys being watched while eating? When was the last time we saw video of  Jennifer Lopez horking a bowl of plain M&M's? Actually, I heard a rumor from my Hollyweird connections that J-Lo throws tantrums when hotel maids dare to give her peanut M&M's. 

Ellie, maybe yoo need to rip a page from Kris Jennier's game book and have evfurryone in yoor fam sign an NDA, pronto! I mean, jesting about girth growth among relatives is one thing, but broadcasting it for all the world to read is a lawsuit waiting to happen. 

Now, while I've signed an NDA at my house, being a Bweaking Nooz reporter I have a special dispensation when it comes to sharing Behind the Scenes insider info on those who share my domain. So what I'm about to reveal is not liable for any lawsuit, mainly because *raises right paw* it's the Troof and Nuthin But The Troof, so Help me Cod.


My sisfur Candy is a Calico, and easily falls under the category of "Chonkers." Momma says the girl just can't say no to a calorie. It's gotten so Candy gets a portion of canned wet pate without a side order of kibbies because we all know she will scarf down her meal, and then lean over to sneak bites off the plate of her boyfriend, KC. 

And KC will then lean over into Opie's plate... who will lean over into Peaches' plate... who will lean into Candy's plate... except Candy's plate is empty because she didn't leave a single crumb for Queen Peaches.

Since wimmen rarely reveal their weight, and I was unable to find a reliable information source at our family veterinarian, I am unable to report at this time just how chonky Candy actually is. However, when I was enrolled at the National Enquirer School for Journalism I learned pictures are worth a thousand meows:

Now from this aerial shot it may appear that KC is also a member of the Chubby Chonkers Club, however he's actually a big boy and looks slim and healthy when he's strutting his fine self around the house. Or maybe he's deliberately bulging just to make Candy feel less self-conscious about her weight.

As we age us wimmen have problems either losing weight or gaining weight for many reasons. Purrsonally, I lost three pounds when a certain AssWabbit joined my family. After a year he started chasing me all around the house, stalking me like he was a lion on the Serengeti and I was prey.

If yoo are stwuggling with a few pounds, I would be happy to send over my purrsonal Turkish Van weight loss coach free of charge provided yoo keep him at yoor house because I am DONE with his boosheet.

Here's the problem with Candy. She doesn't run, even from Wabbit. She may squeal with outrage, or hiss. But she's a red-blooded Calico and we all know how they are very confidant and will stand their ground when confronted. 

Candy is clearly comfy with her body image and our momma is aware that less calories plus more activity is the secret to getting a pound or so off my sisfur. However there is only so much we can do to motivate someone, and when they are stubborn and constantly hangry, then that purrson is in God's hands and He can deal with her determined cattitude.                                                                                        


Did yoo know bending low over your plate can create digestion malfunction? Think about all the times yoor fur baby has barfed after eating. Were their plates sitting directly on the floor? Raising the food off the ground will help them digest their noms much easier.

A few years ago we bought a plastic children's table, removed the legs and donated the chairs to Goodwill. All we wanted was the pink table. It works perfectly for the Gang to gather around at mealtime and enjoy their noms without digestive upset occurring after they've finished.

The table is stored when not in use, but when it comes out there is a mad rush to gather around and wait for Food Service Girl (as the Trout Tabbies call her) to serve their meals.

Here is an example of Candy asking KC if he's finished with his food because she's done - for now - with hers. Because we are typical cats and will change our minds about what we like to eat at any given moment, our mom serves three different flavors of Fancy Feast at every meal just in case one... or four... of us decides we don't like what we have in front of us and want to change plates with someone else.

In the example below Opie - also a member of the Chubby Chonkers Club - has cleaned his plate, but clearly was not happy with the flavor he got stuck with.

And so this concludes this week's Tuesdays with Dori. We at It's a Wonderpurr Life are in the process of making changes and redefining the purrpose of this blog. If yoo enjoy my Tuesdays with Dori, please let me know why in the comments below. I won't be hurt too much if yoo are ready for something new.

Until next time...

November 03, 2022

The Worst Halloween Ever

handsome tabby cat looking into camera

October 31, 2010. The day my nightmare as a Cat Mom came true.

Up front let me say, I have gone around in circles on whether or not to post this, mostly because I have strived to publish nothing but happy cat humor across all my social media accounts. However, my experience as a cat rescuer sometimes hands me lessons that have sad endings, and yet they provide me with an insight on what to watch for with future rescues.

Kenny was one of those sad lessons that I continue to ache over, even twelve years later. This is his story.

The front yard was set up like a mini graveyard with homemade Styrofoam tombstones and a giant blow-up black widow spider. A furry brown spider, about the size of a bed pillow, was attached to a clear string and pulled to make it jump as Trick or Treaters walked past it. Often the parents jumped higher than the spider.

Two days before I’d noticed my long-haired tabby, Kenny, wasn’t eating. Kenny always ate, so this was a red flag. I’d lost my older tabby, Moose, to horrible kidney failure a couple years previous. His mouth had been filled with poison, making it impossible for him to eat. So I rushed Kenny to the vet. He was diagnosed with a mouth infection and an overactive thyroid. Tests indicated he had kidney disease, but I was told to have him rechecked again in 1-2 months. And we were sent home.

That was on a Saturday. The vet clinic closed after noon, and any problems would be addressed by an emergency vet clinic. I monitored Kenny closely for the day, with my instincts screaming that something more was wrong. I wasn’t happy that I’d been sent home without more information. I’m a full-throttled kind of information girl. I keep religious records of every cat, from yearly vaccinations, to abscesses, to what medication they took for sneezing. I know how much they weighed on any given vet visit. What they went in for and what meds were prescribed.

two tabby cats snuggling together on a cushion
Kenny seemed listless, but he did eat. I decided I wouldn’t wait the 1-2 months for a recheck. I’d take him back when they opened on Monday and demand a more thorough examination.

Halloween night…kids are flocking to our driveway, squealing and jumping with the brown spider. Upstairs, Kenny is bleeding from his urinary tract.

Shaking with fury, I run him to the emergency clinic where they tell me his bladder is the size of a baseball. They inserted a catheter, but he had to be manually expressed. Over the next two days he refused to eat. His kidneys were shutting down, creating blockage.

My regular veterinarian talked to the emergency vet to get answers. She felt as upset as I was that she had not diagnosed the severity of Kenny’s problems. She was told that his kidneys weren’t failing from any diet that I fed him, but rather from toxins his kidneys were producing.

In short, it was just Mother Effing Nature taking him down, without consideration to my feelings, or the fact that Kenny was only eight years old. Too young to die!

Tabby cat getting a full body shave
On November 3rd I was called in to say goodbye. What upsets me to this day is that I never saw this coming. Kenny wasn’t a Drama Queen, like 95% of my other cats. He was a quiet, sweet angel who readily offered to warm my lap. He ate without complaint. He didn’t have aggression issues. He loved to have his whole body shaved in the summertime, and would lie on his back in order for me to shave down his tummy and even his arm pits. I’d sing, ‘Kenny Kenny Coco Pie,’ and he’d run to me, his fluffy tail in the air, ready to hang out with me.

two tabby cats sleeping with one resting his head on the other cat's bottom

At the clinic, they brought Kenny in to me, and gave us privacy to say goodbye. He had a tube inserted into his urinary tract. He looked fine! That’s was really gets me. He was normal looking. All set to get the hell out of there and go home. He kept nudging me, anxious to get off the table. After ten minutes, I was ready to get this over with. I so wanted to run him out of there with complete denial that it was happening at all.

I’d just lost my beloved snowshoe Siamese, Holly, in April. That she lived to be 18 was beside the point. I was still grieving. And now I was losing Kenny. To say I was roiling angry at myself is putting it lightly. I take my responsibility as their guardian with as much seriousness as any parent would their children. I go without in order to afford their medical care and the best of food, always done with intense research. There is no slacking on my part when it comes to my cats. But sometimes no matter how much you know, how much you care, how much you love, there is nothing you can do to make it all better. Sometimes there are no second chances.

tabby on desk inspecting paperwork

I had Kenny cremated. His urn is a handsome wood block with a brass plate and his photo, the best I’d ever taken of him. I remember the day: sunny and clear. He sat in my lap in the sun room and I took his photo close up. Handsome boy!

My stomach tightens whenever I dust his urn. I tear easily at the thought of him. That’s not a good way to remember someone you loved. You’re supposed to be filled with joy that you had them in your life. But with Kenny, I feel that I let him down. I wish that he had been a Drama Queen, grabbing my attention on a daily or even hourly basis, as some of mine do. I may not have been able to save him, regardless if he’d been closely monitored, but that he was in pain and I didn’t know it will eat away at me forever.

two tabby cats lying on one chair under a table

I didn't realized Kenny and Moose were almost inseparable until I went through old photos and saw how many I'd taken of them together. Moose was a full-on feral polydactyl who had suffered great loss when his lady Maggie left us when we lived in Kentucky, and his baby brother Logan disappeared when we moved to Mississippi. It was then that I brought Moose indoors, and it was then he and Kenny apparently became best friends.

I’m determined that Kenny didn’t die in vain. Now aware that my Drama Queens could distract me from another non-Drama Queen, I pay that much closer attention to them so that the unfortunate end of Kenny’s life was a lesson to me, and through my telling of his story, to all who share their lives with multiple pets.

God has the final say on the demise of all of His creatures. For those of us sanctioned with the honor of caring for His creatures, let us honor Him by doing them right.

Love them. Hug them. Feed them good food. Listen to your inner voice warning you something is wrong, and demand answers.

This is how I will always remember Kenny, lying in the cat apartment litter box pretending it's just another day at the beach.

October 28, 2022

Zoo Boo Date with Baunilha


Dear Diary,

I try to make my dates fun with Baunila, my Portuguese girlfriend. Trouble is, like most girls, she gets all nervous when it comes to scary stuff.

I love scary stuff. I love to jump out at my sisfurs and make them scream with either fright or fury, though I still can't tell which cuz it all sounds the same. And I love to prowl the catio at night when flying predators are skulking about in the trees, swooping overhead like they might be hunting me.

Yah, that's a real tail-biter kind of feeling. Like I could become owl poop. Yow!

So since it's Octopurr and Halloween is coming, I thought I'd take Baunilha to a Zoo Boo. Purrsonally I had a blast. *big sigh* Not sure she did. But that's wimmen for ya. 



October 25, 2022

Jesse the Traveling Cat and Why I Wasn't Invited on Vacation

Hi evfurrybuddy, it's me Dori *wavy paws.* If yoo are reading this, I assume yoo have survived the weekend and the return of Monday with all it's despicable hekkishness. Purrsonally I am working on a serious letter to the gov'mint to abolish Mondays at the same time they kick Daylight Savings to the curb for once and for all.

So yoo may have noticed that I was virtually invisible last week to my social media frens. I am mortally wounded to the core of my little heart to be ignored, but my momma explained that she needed a bweak and unfortnately I was sacrificed along with her accounts and our IG Cattoon account.

HOWEVER, I am not just a pwetty face. I am also an adorable purranormal pwivate detective and while there were no ghosts or demons to deal with, I used my spidey senses to find out that not only Wabbit's social media accounts were extremely active, but also a brand new account for Jesse the Toothless Wonder popped up and pwactically overnight went from 116 followers to over 190. And all because he was invited to go on vacation with my momma and daddy.

Not me. I was not invited.

Not that I would have gone if I had been invited. I went to Blogpaws in Kansas City and spent the entire time hiding under the bed behind the headboard, and also behind the bathroom towels. Truly, if I hadn't had Candy with me, I would have probably fainted with the vapors in the truest sense of being a Southern Belle. Which I am, being from Mississippi.

So this is what happened:

Momma was ready to hit the road to some place chilly so she could wear jeans and sweaters, and walk through autumn leaves. She does this every year about this time, so it comes as no surprise to any of us when she hauls out her suitcase and starts running around making notes and piles to pack. However this time I noticed there was a pile of cat food dishes, and a leash and a harness. I fweaked, and hid under the bed, right in the center where Momma can't reach me. I know. I've done this many times.

Finally Fwank knelt down to peek at me all cute and scrunched up in a tight ball of stwess, and told me Jesse had drawn the short straw and was going on vacation.

Yay! I mean... oh too bad. Actually, Fwank doesn't like Jesse from something that happened years ago but Fwank holds a grudge and still isn't over it. And I love Fwank so much, so of course I support him by giving Jesse my very best Stink Eye whenever possible.

So that morning when the car was packed and Jesse was seized unexpectedly and stuffed into his traveling box, I was out and about, giving Momma last minute hugs and ankel rubs. We had a new sitter come to feed us, one who has such a calm demeanor that we all came out of hiding on the second day. 

Meanwhile, from what I've been able to put together from conversations upon my pawrents return, Jesse spent the first day of travel sleeping under the back seat. He didn't eat. He didn't poo. But he did come out to sit in Daddy's lap and to investigate the minivan. He thought it was like a house on wheels.

Fwankly, I am suspiciouis that Jesse was a willing participant on this trip. I looked at his Instagwam and saw him acting like he was truly enjoying being the center of attenshun. Well, naturally I enjoy that too, but I wouldn't pose for pictures the way Jesse did.

Here he is actually looking out the window at moving traffic. And he's not even barfing from motion sickness like Fwank does. Momma repeatedly told Jesse he was a "gud boi" and boy did he eat that up. He purred like he's never purred before, and he was extremely chatty, especially between 2 - 5 am.

So they arrived on the Cherokee Reservation in North Carolina and that night Jesse was left to have some quiet time while Momma and Daddy went to find noms. Unfortnately late at night not many places are open on the reservation, but they found a nice Kobe Express where their lovely waitpurrson showed them photos of elk standing on her front lawn. So Daddy was very excited that he might see elk as well.

When they got back to the hotel room, Jesse was no where to be found. He didn't eat or use his litter box. And they knew he did not escape, so the next thing they did was tear apart the bed. I assume memory of me doing this same thing in Kansas City tipped them off, and sure enough, Jesse was crouched behind the headboard. Yoo can't go under the bed, but there is a gap between the bed box and the wall, which makes it a most excellent hidey hole when yoo are traveling against yoor will.

My momma is allergic to strong bleach and she gets horrible rashes, so they always travel with blankets and towels and their own pillows. So after they pulled Jesse out, they stuffed the hotel pillows on either side so any future access to the hidey hole was foiled. From that day on, Jesse had a wonderpurr time being an only kitteh.

For those of yoo who don't know his backstory, Jesse was born under a neighbor's deck where his momma Peaches had found to keep her babies safe. Unfortunately when all but two kittens were taken away, Peaches made a run for it with Jesse and Jack, and when she returned the entrance hole was covered. So she brought her kittens to my momma next door, and found a forever home for them all.

Jesse has always lived outdoors. Even after Peaches and Jack moved inside, Jesse remained a garage cat because the two times she gave him a chance to be an indoor cat, he peed on stuff. I understand it was a dream of Jesse's to live indoors one day, and finally when we moved to FloryDa, that dream came true. He was once again a garage cat with Chevy and my daddy Nikolas, but when he got stomititis and lost all of his teeth, he had to spend a couple days at the V.E.T., and then a week in Momma's office. When he was well enough to return to the garage, Nik and Chevy told him he was no longer a part of their Garage Band and he was kicked out. So he moved into the house, and has been pretty good about not misbehaving. He has a cool box cave in the loft over the refrigerator, and at night he comes down to eat and socialize with my pawrents. He was pretty happy with the arrangement...

Until he went on vacation and then came home. That's when he got really upset. He wants to be the onliest kitteh, but he can't. He's 13, and he's set in his ways, and even if Momma loved him enough to find him a new home, she knows in her heart he wouldn't adjust too well. So the plan now is to work extra hard getting Jesse to acclimate into the Gang instead of staying on the fringe like he's done since we moved here.

Plans are to get him out and about more often. He did so well in the van, and also riding in Mosey, our stroller. Momma says the more confident he is, the less intimidated by Fwank (and me) he will be.

One thing... can anybuddy recommend a good body harness? Jesse wore a red bandana harness from Kitty Holster and also an orange from Cat Travel, but Jesse pulled in his elbows and got out of them both. Possibly Momma will try the harness again and slip one of Wabbit's tee shirts over it so Jesse can't escape.

So to wrap this up, yes Daddy saw Elk. Lots of them. Momma sez on the Cherokee Reservation the elk are like stray cats -- they're everywhere! In fact at one point when their GPS was acting up and Daddy pulled over, Momma looked up from her map long enough to realize she was staring at a family standing on the road right in front of the car!

The Cherokee Reservation had a lovely casino with top notch restaurants, and the land is beautiful with waterfalls and streams, and thick woodlands. Momma discovered Qualla Java coffee shop where everyone is so nice. Her favorite drink was the Spearfinger, a chocolate, caramel and vanilla latte that she ordered every day she was there. 

The street signs were in both English and in Cherokee.

And there were Bears everywhere! Bear statues that is. Bears play a large part in the Cherokee culture and artists from the clans of Bird, Blue, Deer, Long Hair, Paint, Wild Potato, and Wolf all contributed to the Bear Project.

So, if yoo ever have the chance to visit Cherokee, North Carolina, be sure to take walking shoes and bring yoor camera. Here is the highlight of the trip for Momma when Jesse willingly posed in a box of gourds. His leash was missing so she used her iphone cord to make sure he didn't take off on a walkabout.

Until Next Time...

October 14, 2022

It's Official. Dori Turns Professional.


I have exciting news! It's official. I've turned pawfessional.

Pawfessional what? Meowdel? Nooo, although I got a lot of admiring compliments when I showed off wearing my new birthday sweater with the plaid skirt.

Pawfessional Bweaking Nooz Repurrter? Nooo, although my repurrting at the Cat Olympics in 2020 is still being talking about among the judges, and charges are still pending on whether or not I had anything to do with some of the disqualifications among the competitors.

Pawfessional singer? Well, yes. My hits Purrple Underpants, Lets Go Outside and Don't You Put A Bitey (On Me) are still on the Top 10 Greatest Hits List for Pretty Tabby Cats.

But despite all of my accompliments, I'm now an pawfessional froggy hunter.

This is how it happened:

So, Enquiring Minds want to know...

Have yoo ever had the lovely experience of catching something squishy in yoor mouth? And if so, what happened? Did yoo lick it? Did yoo bite? Did yoo *gasp* eat it?

Please let me know, as I'm building a case for my Momma who says anything we catch alive in our Catio is not on the menu and must be handed over without any growling or sassy talk.

Until next time...

October 11, 2022

Dori's Birthday Featuring Entries From Her Adoption Diary

Hi evfurrybuddy, it’s me, Dori. *wavy paws* Guess what? Yesterday I celebrated my birthday! Nooo, I’m not wevealing how old I am cuz us wimmen need to keep some mystery as we age. 

I got lots of presents. My my favorite is a soft cushion snuggled between Momma and Daddy’s pillows where I sleep at night. I also got a small soft pink blanket with poky dots, and a little pink ball. And I got a sweater dwess with a plaid skirt. I will meowdel for yoo.

I also got Friskies Cheesy treats - a huge bag but I have to share with my fursibs. And I got a package of Churu's that I really love a lot. So I had a nice day celebrating me.

Recently my momma was purging an enormous box of papers in her office, and she came across my baby diary kept during the first months after I was rescued. I've given purrmission for her to publish the first month here for yoor viewing enjoyment.

In case yoo don’t know my story, I was born to a black feral momma named Annie who brought me to the house where I got adopted. She also brought my twin sisfur, Patsy, my two panther brofurs Kepurr and Kopea, and my daddy Nikolas who still lives with us. It was late December, and I was two months old. We were a huge handful for the hoomons who eventually adopted me. We were wild and hissy and scared. However, we all were vetted and put on PetFinders to find homes. Only my brofurs were adopted, and the man who took them kept their names.

My momma Annie, however, did not want to be adopted. She was half blind from herpes (which she passed onto the rest of us) and honestly didn’t even want to be a mother. She never played with us, but Daddy Nikolas did. He loved being a daddy. So, after she wasn’t adopted, Annie returned outside along with Patsy and Nikolas. One day she left the yard, never to return. Patsy made friends with a neighbor’s Siamese and moved in with them. And daddy Nikolas is now a member of the Wonderpurr Garage Band with Chevy.

So! About my diary. I have restrained myself from editing out the good parts, even if I am hoomilliated with embarrassment. We all know shocking details from our pasts make for social media excitement.

My diary begins on March 16th when I’m four months old. This is the date where I ran free in the house for the first time. March 20th was the date I wore my first collar. It was red.

From here I will let my momma take over to tell my story:

March 21: I heard Buddy (my 24-year-old-tabby) grumbling in the next room. When I went to check on him, I found Dori all comfy in his bed. Buddy has passed the age where he is willing to cuddle with someone, so I removed her to her own bed.

Later that day I saw Peaches playing with Dori, chasing her around the staircase and through the living room. Today is also the first time Dori jumped on top of the kitchen counter. “Yay.”

March 23: I again found Dori asleep in Buddy’s bed, this time with Buddy, curled around his arthritic backside. She looked so incredibly sweet, while he wore a definite sneer on his white-whiskered face.

Dori loves to visit her family in the upstairs guest room where they’re staying until I find them homes. They always greet her like she’s a celebrity.

March 24: Dori is getting rather “full” of herself. I saw her pounce onto her dad, Nikolas, and beat the dickens out of him. All four kittens are rather wild, and while Dori is the tamest, she reverts to her semi-feral roots when she rejoins her family. Nikolas is incredibly sweet with all of the kittens, and never disciplines them.

Dori also challenges Herman, who has such an expressive face. So often he’s looked at me as if to say, “We really don’t need a kitten.”

March 30: Dori plays chase and hunt with Peaches, using the circle of rooms around the staircase. I love watching Peaches crouch and peek around the sofa or corner, then chase Dori who then chases Peaches back.

(The photo to the right is of Dori and her dad Nikolas before they were pulled inside to be found homes on PetFinders. They lived on my porch in a couple of the dog houses I always provided for strays during winter.)

Ray is giddy in love with Dori to the point where he thinks it’s cute when she climbs his leg into his lap to eat off his plate. She’s jumping the gate to eat Buddy’s kibble, and as a result she’s getting a fat tummy.

Dori loves to ride on a carpet runner with her daddy Nikolas in the cat apartment upstairs. I drag the carpet around the room with Nik surfing with Dori hanging on by her baby claws with her tummy sliding on the wood floor.

April 2: Dori spent the day with her family upstairs playing hide and seek under a blanket tent. She’s turning into a cuddlebug, preferring to sleep in my lap while I watch television. Ray wanted her to snuggle with him and tried to get her to lay in his lap, but she got up and returned to mine. Awww.

April 3: Dori loves to ride the carpet runner with Nikolas. She is clearly advanced compared to her twin, Patsy, who doesn’t want to interact with me. I’ve been working with Annie the mom cat with the hope she will be adopted, but I’m losing hope. No interest at all on PetFinders as older cats in this area struggle to find homes. Annie now looks forward to my attention, and even rubbed against my leg the other day. Nikolas loves being brushed. When the weather turns nice they will be released outside where I’ll continue to care for them. At least Annie won’t be having any more kittens.

April 6: Dori thinks the kid pool we use for a litter box in the cat apartment is fun to play in. She loves to help me find poop, and tonight she did a cartwheel while I was cleaning.

April 7: I used the squirt bottle on Dori when she mimicked Opie by swatting Herman’s tail. Herm has absolutely no sense of humor, and he’s been rather crabby lately. Tonight, Ray and I were in my office doing taxes, and Dori was being a brat to Herm. So, I squirted her a couple of times. She looked surprised. And Herm “got it.” He immediately moved to sit beside me, knowing Dori was not going to approach the mean lady with the squirt bottle.

April 9: Dori experienced her first real pain. She has been staying in my office to give the rest of the Wonderpurr Gang a break from her sassy kitten routine. At lunchtime I went to leave to feed the cats and as I closed the French doors, I heard an awful growl. I had accidentally closed the door on Dori’s tail. When I released it, she ran, afraid of me, like I had deliberately hurt her. Opie and Peaches came rushing, ready to defend their little sweetheart. Herm was there but, clearly, he doesn’t give a rat’s patootie about her. She does pester him like a typical little sister. I finally caught her and rubbed her tail and gave her treats so I’ve been forgiven.

April 11: I guess it’s the Kitten Stage she’s in, but Dori is clumsy. She flings herself at surfaces, but misses – often. Tonight, she threw herself at my desk, missed, caught the corner on her chin. I rubbed it and she seemed okay.

She loves the kiddie pool litter box. Today I saw her lying on her back like a kid at the beach.

While hanging out in the cat apartment Dori caught her bottom jaw under her red collar. When I found her, she had her mouth hanging open. I had a hard time getting the collar off her, as it wasn’t the safety type I usually use. So no more collars until I’m able to find her a safety collar small enough for her tiny neck.

Tonight, Herman and Dori slept with us. Herm was mad at Opie for pestering him, so I brought Herm to bed and Dori joined us. There were no events throughout the night. Herm slept beside my pillow with Dori sprawled between Ray and I. Around 4 am I awoke to see her lying next to me, beside Herm. Awww, she loves her big brother, Herman.

April 12: As the time nears to release Annie, Nikolas and Patsy, I make sure she spends quality time with them. She’s been teaching Patsy to play and not be so shy.

April 15: Today I released Dori’s family. Before I did I fed them a hearty breakfast. I caged them and put them in the kitchen while I dragged their cat trees, blankets and the carpet runner outside onto the backyard porch. They spent awhile outside sniffing the fresh air. Finally, I opened the cages. Anticlimatic. They casually wandered out.

Nik and Annie were thrilled to be free, especially Nik who rolled around on the patio in a sun puddle. Then he ran around the yard, literally skipping with joy. Later I returned to see how they were doing, and they all came running out of the woods when I called.

I also noticed Feral Charlie, a brawny black tom cat, was greeted by Annie and Patsy. He’s a mess, but they were so happy to be reunited with him. I went to bed feeling better than I have in weeks. Sad because they weren’t adopted, worried for their safety, but happy because their joy was huge at returning to the life they’d always known.

Sometimes colony cats are not meant to be kept inside homes. Annie seemed depressed the longer she was kept in that bedroom. And Nik seemed bored.

April 16: Today I saw Dori standing in the doorway to the empty cat apartment where she family used to live. Since Ray has started calling her his Little Peanut, there’s no question we are officially adopting her. I have hopes for her twin Patsy to simmer down as she ages, but as it stands now, she’s too wild to remain indoors.

April 18: Today I saw Peaches’ son Jesse, another one of my outside cats, bump heads with Nikolas. I guess they are now officially brothers. And, to my honest surprise, I pet Patsy. She had hissed at me the entire time she was living in the cat apartment, but today she seems happy and secure. She came to me while I was filled a plate with kibble and rubbed against me. Yay!

Also, my semi-feral Siamese, YumYum, is making friends with Nik, Annie, and Patsy. Yum is Jesse’s girl. As I made a porch tent for the cats, they gathered to eat dinner together.

April 30: Tonight, Dori and Patsy saw each other through the living room window. They pawed at the window. Heartbreaking! I opened it to allow them to smell each other through the screen and Patsy hissed. Apparently, Dori now smells like us, and is no longer her family.

I'm so glad Dori and her family found my home when they did. Ray and I have provided food, medical and found homes to over 100 cats who were adoptable during our adult lifetime. Not all were adoptable, but after they met me, they were not longer out there overpopulating, or sick from whatever milady they had picked up from colony life.

So, Dori had a nice birthday, and while she's not overly crazy about wearing clothes, she will indulge me. The sweater dress was just too cute to pass up. Here's the video of her meowdeling for you.

October 04, 2022

Hurricane Ian Report

We at It's a Wonderpurr Life are sincerely touched by the outpouring of concern by our social media friends during this past week when Hurricane Ian knocked on our door.

Compared to those who lost their lives and their homes in south Florida, we had literally nothing to complain about. 

We lost power at 4am on Thursday and didn't get it back until 10:30 pm on Friday, and our Internet didn't return until Saturday noon. We lost everything in our refrigerator/freezer. And we lost a four-foot roof panel on our Catio. But no trees fell, and we didn't flood. So your prayers for us were answered.

From 1981 - 1999 Ray and I lived in Jacksonville located in Florida's Northeast corner. During those years we never experienced a hurricane. I think at the time I recall reading Florida was in a thirty year cycle where the hurricanes were busy devastating people on the other side of the world. So having returned to Florida in 2020, this was our very first hurricane.

And like all newbies, despite reading about how to prepare, we were sadly clueless. We had a fridge full of perishables, and when I realized we may lose power, I ran back to the store to buy stuff that wouldn't go bad. Like mac and cheese... except I forgot to make it and also... without refrigeration... it will go bad. (Duh!)

Ray also ran out separate from me, so his grocery haul was giant muffins, cookies, chips, bread...frozen pizza. We've been married 44 years this November so sadly yes, we do think alike.

However with the wind at 50+ mph, our appetites were really the last thing on our minds. Our number one concern was that the pine trees behind our house would fall on us. We've had so many storms over the past weeks that the sandy ground is over-saturated. And since we had visible standing water before the hurricane arrived, I envisioned the high winds would create costly havoc for us.

As it was, the storm ripped off a roof screen on our Catio. We saw it happen and watched as it flew into the pool. Happily, that was the only damage, and one of Ray's golfing friends (think Joe Pesci in Goodfellas) called in a "favor" to get someone over as of tomorrow to give us a repair estimate. Totally appreciated... although I'm wondering what "favor" Ray will be subjected to when his buddy needs something in the future. Ah, fahgettaboudit!

After the storm passed a few members of the Wonderpurr Gang followed us outside to assess the damage. And while we were out there we saw a Great Horned Owl perched on a branch overhead. 

Talk about word getting out among the community predators!

While I ushered the cats back inside... because those birds are big enough to swoop a cat off their paws... Ray went to work building a wooden frame around the screen that had fallen into the pool. When I asked what he was doing he said he was building a patch that he would slide over the hole, thus preventing a hysterical wife watching one of her beloved fur kids be carried away to feed baby owls.

Now, I've been at the bottom of many ladders while Ray does his man-thing and there have been a couple of times when I swore I'd call a divorce lawyer once he was back on land. Kentucky comes to mind. We lived on five acres at the top of a very steep hill, and the house sat on an even steeper hill which meant Ray needed a fifty foot extension ladder in order to stain the wood siding.  

Picture this: Richmond, Kentucky, off I-75. Five acres at the top of a very steep hill surrounded by woodlands. It's mid-November with brisk high winds. Ray is perched precariously at the tippy-top of a 50-foot ladder, half-laying on the roof while applying stain. Kim, fashionably dressed in Kentucky couture - Gloria Vanderbilt jeans, sweater, wool jacket, tennis shoes with probably no socks and maybe a pair of gloves... seriously doubt there was a hat or scarf in sight -  is pressed against the bottom of the ladder freezing her bejeebies off, trying to hold it in place because the winds are strong.

Recalling this event, I asked Ray yesterday why exactly we did that particular job in No-freaking-vember and he replied, "I worried the stain would dry differently if I left it until spring." 

I also have ladder stories involving Ray perched on our Southaven home stairs trying to paint the twenty foot ceiling in the alcove. And of Ray on the same house roof tugging a tarp to cover damage after a huge tree fell on our roof. And he repainted our twenty-foot high living room several times during our 14 years there. I'm sure there are more occasions that I probably blacked out, so yeah, I have a severe ladder phobia that came into play when Ray said he planned to crawl up on our Catio roof to slide his patch into place.

And, of course, he went ahead and did it anyway, despite my concern that he would fall and break his neck, leaving me to figure out how to file insurance claims before I sold the house and moved the heck out of Florida.

For your viewing pleasure, this video reveals the snarky interaction between two people who have been together since their teens. The  man is totally in his element of Home Improvement while his wife is clearly not appreciating the finer points of his creative artistry.

Since this is a cat blog, I'm sure you are wonderpurring how the cats did during the storm. The answer: far better than Ray and I.

They knew something was going on, of course. Rabbit spent Thursday morning acting out beyond his usual AssRabbity antics to the point where I fed him kibble laced with Jackson Galaxy's Bully Solution, then sent him to his ZenDen to sleep.

The senior room became uncomfortable when the air conditioning had been off for a time, so I alternated Rabbit in his room while everyone else roamed freely. 

For those who may be new here, Rabbit is five years old, and a Turkish Van who is extremely intelligent, but has absolutely no filters when it comes to the welfare of his senior fursibs. Particularly Dori. Rabbit has been known to hunt her down, grab her by the scruff of her neck, and drag her into his lair under the couch. 

I kid you not. 

So once that happened, Dori filed a "westwaining odor" against Rabbit, and moved into the senior room.

My only regret was that Chevy and Nikolas aka the Garage Band had to spend two days without light. Nik was fine as he is a Child of the Darkness, but Chevy howled for a flashlight a few times and of course, I obliged.

There was lots of lap snuggling, kibble munching, and sleeping during the storm. And when power returned on Friday at 5 pm, we celebrated by dancing around the living room... except the power went out again a minute later.  

Ray has a theory that if the power companies boot everything up during the day, there will be a massive rush to turn everything back on, probably resulting in a power crash. So the companies turn the power back on after most everyone has gone to bed. And as usual, he was right. It came back on at 10:30 pm, this time permanently.

And so to end this incredibly long adventure, I'll leave you with a video I shot yesterday evening while Dori was in the Catio and suddenly realized she was being watched by an Osprey who belatedly heard about the hole in our roof and was hoping to pick "something" up on his way home to the wife and kids.

Until Nextime...