Mixing It Up with Country Fairs and Dental Scans


Hello Furends and their Pawents. This is Kim, hip-checking Dori and Rabbit, and the rest of the Wonderpurr Gang aside for a little me time on my own damn blog. I've noticed most of us pet pawrents rarely step in front of the camera, so to speak, but when you're going through a semi-burn out like I've been this past summer... um... year... it's time to mix things up.

I am not a fan of summertime humidity, but here in Flory-Da, as Dori refers to our new home state, it feels like humidity is a way of life. I tend to move slowly throughout my day, like I'm wading through an invisible wall of damp heat. My joints have notified me that unless things change, they will ramp up the inflammation, and I will cease to enjoy physical activity... like walking without pain.

Bloody Friday

Hi evfurryone, time for another Tuesdays with Dori. It's me, Dori. *wavy paws* 

So, last week I mentioned I had something rather exciting to meow about. But after what my momma did to her paw, what I'd planned to show you pales in comparison. So let me give you my report on the sordid details of what will live down in history at my house as BLOODY FRIDAY, and then I'll show yoo what I was hinting about last week.

So now that we have that gruesome piece of bizness out of the way, I want to tell yoo about Chevy and Nikolas' Man Cave.

When we lived at the house where I ... and evfurrybuddy else except Wabbit was borned, my daddy Nikolas and Uncle Chevy were always outside kittehs. And Uncle Jesse, too. Always outside because they were all a bit on the wild side, plus they started a Garage Band, so they'd be out caterwauling throughout the night. 

But when we moved here to Flory-Da, because there are dangerous creatures like alligators and snakes and HUGE birds of prey, nobuddy is safe outside. Unfortunately that meant Chevy, Nik and Jesse had to become indoor cats. Not an easy transition because Chevy is still pretty feral, plus he's FIV+. And he once rolled Hwermie, so Mom says she won't trust him not to do that with me or my sisfurs. And daddy Nikolas likes to squirt his mancat juice on stuff. So they are not allowed even in Jesse's cat apartment.

The trouble has been with my pawrents worried about their mental health. How to keep them stimulated. Mom carries them to the Catio to have sunshine and smell the fresh air, but Nik doesn't like the Catio and immediately begs to go back to the garage. Chevy likes the Catio, but only while Momma is out there hanging with him. She takes him for walks in Mosey the stroller too. But my pawrents still didn't think that was enough.

They bought sod and created a grass pool in the garage, complete with sun lamp. And they brought in moving toys so the boys can hunt. Daddy made a cool box tunnel, and there is a radio playing. But it still isn't enough.

So then Daddy says, "Let's give them the old TV." They'd had a small one since 2006, and it was still working. Momma and Daddy are now into Roku, so setting up the TV in the garage was not a big deal. Daddy installed a shelf, and Mom insisted on putting stuff on either side so the boys couldn't get behind the TV and send it crashing to the floor.

And yoo know what? The minute the TV was on, and Momma set it to a Zen-like Aquarium channel, Chevy immediately settled into his cat tree right in front of it. And Nikolas seems to enjoy it too, although for some reason he won't lounge on the bench in front of the TV. But the soothing sound is nice for them all to enjoy.

Momma has been playing around with different channels, since the Aquarium channel can get kinda tedious. So she found more animal channels, and was thrilled when Chevy took a particular liking to a dog channel, watching the doggo's play and bark and run around like dog's tend to do.

So, while some may think it's crazy to give feral garage cats their own TV, it wouldn't be the first time deeply devoted cat pawrents like ours went to the extreme to provide mental enrichment for their fur kids.

Hope yoo all enjoyed today's show.

Until next time...

Writer Inpurr-rupted

Before Ray retired I knew I had from 9 a.m. to 3 p.m. to get my blogging and writing done before he came home, but now it's a free for all where at any given moment he will pop in to my office to see if I'm hungry because he is (hint hint), or to let me know that one of the cats barfed cuz he heard it but isn't exactly sure where the barf is. He might need help doing something on his laptop because while Ray is fantastic at fixing stuff, he is clueless when it comes to anything techy. Or maybe he wants me to drop everything and film the snake-eating bird in our front yard. I know you're dying to see that video, so I will post it here with a slight warning: It's rated PG for ... you guessed it. Pretty Gross.

Is it Friday Yet?

Hi, this is Kim subbing for Dori who says she's off on assignment, but I happen to know she's napping on her newly favorite window hammock, and doesn't seem inclined to write her Tuesday report.

Anyway, the week just started, but  I'm already wishing it were over. I'm still waiting for my new desk with the hutch and chair to be delivered, so that means my office has become a disorganized mess filled with boxes from the closet purging Ray and I did last week (our third sweep since moving but we're calling it "a process"). 

Since there's no place for me to sit in my office, I have to use the living room, and if I write, I do it with my laptop literally in my lap.  And since I can't concentrate with a hot body weighing down my arm, or draped over my keyboard, I haven't been inspired to write. So what I suspect will be a rambling, disjointed post may or may not see publication.


One big hurdle after another this past week started with Dori's daddy Nikolas not eating, and drooling plenty. So I ran him over to the vet by the beach who said he had a bad tooth and needed a dental cleaning. She then quoted me $700-$1000. After I picked myself up off the floor, I then engaged my brain cells to figure out I ain't livin' in Kansas no more. This county has some high end homes and a vet at the beach isn't exactly cheap, what with the rent I'm sure she pays. So, I went to work on Google, checking into other counties around me that had lower financial obligations. I found one, and took Nikky there for a second opinion. 

I had to sit in the car during a lightning storm while my fur kid was examined, but when the vet called me she had a surprise. She said Nik indeed needed a cleaning, but he had also lost a tooth. It apparently broke off under the gum line. She said it would heal fine, and she would give him an antibiotic and his rabies update, and the cost would be $156. So, I will be seeing this vet again and again. Especially after she told me that my county had a 4 pet limit. Huh? OMG and @&%$#. She then said, knowing I'm a cat rescuer (I have a problem biting my tongue when it comes to my cats) she thinks its ridiculous and she has lots of clients with more than 4 pets. Said she vets are supposed to report those with more than 4, which I also found shocking. But again she reassured me she thought that was stupid, and since I am a rebel and so is she, we are going to keep each other's secrets.


After Nik came Frank, suffering with another UTI for the third time this year. I have him on Orbax but he keeps getting the dang things. So I consulted my Anipals who are helpful in suggesting different litters, different boxes, different foods and cranberry to add to his diet. I'm trying them all, plus I'm putting the entire gang on urinary tract health food, because Frank, along with Opie, plate hop during mealtime, so I am never sure exactly who is eating what.

Monkey on my Back

After years of writing blogs and novels, my back is in bad shape. You can't sit at a desk for years for hours a day and not have some problems. My issues returned with a vengeance after we moved and after putting it off for way too long, I have finally returned to seeking chiropractic help. I had one great doctor at my prior home, but several bad ones. So when choosing a chiropractor here, I looked at the reviews and the number of years he's been in biz. The one I found has been in biz for 46 years! Yay! I clicked with him on the first visit since he's from Detroit, and he's 71, which told me he's been around the block a few times and there wouldn't be any nonsense. I know what I can take, and what I can't. I was pleasantly surprised when he pulled out a Homedics massager and ran it over my spine. Oh! It hurt so good! 

So good that I bought my own Homedics massager. It arrived last night. I immediately used it on Ray who has been whining complaining about his back after scrubbing the pool. Our pool is once again giving Ray the fits, and he's been bending over scrubbing algae and running samples over to Pinch a Penny to see what's going on. He's determined to conquer this beast without hiring a Pool Master, especially since we have a very small pool. Anyway, he enjoyed the machine with its heat running over his lower back, and as I expertly ran it over his spine, up to his neck and back down to his hips, he went limp. Then it was my turn.

After about three minutes I had not gone limp. In fact, I was tense and braced for pain. This was not the massage I experienced at the chiropractor. But it was the same machine. What was different?

One guess: Ray.

He was running the machine back and forth over my spine from side to side, hitting my shoulder blades and jarring my hips. I finally told him to stop, and this time LISTEN TO ME and do it like I instructed: up and down the spine, not back and forth like he's playing bumper cars. I should have known better than to give Ray a weapon like the massager. It's like giving a monkey a gun.

Jesse the Toothless Wonder

On the positive side, Jesse is suddenly sick of his own company in the cat apartment, and is happy to hang out with Ray and I while we watch evening television. I think it was the positive vibes sent by Marjorie Dawson at Dash Kitten who made several suggestions to get Jesse out of his room and back to socializing. For whatever reason, he suddenly joined us, not only on the couch, but also in our laps. It might have a lot to do with Frank and Dori (his arch nemesis) being out on the Catio while he's with us, and Rabbit is in his Zen Den, but for several nights now Jesse has been schmoozing with us for well over an hour. And that is huge for this dude.

Rainbow Bridge

This past week also brought sad news with the passing of Newt the Cat, Wiley Cat and Momma's Kat's Bear Cat. Herman thought of all three as his good furends on Twitter, and it hurts our hearts to hear of their passing. We send each of their families our sincerest condolences.

Marjorie wrote a lovely tribute to Newt that you can read by clicking here.

Until Next Time...


The SpaceX Launch

 Using the aroma of my favorite Pikes Peak coffee, Ray lured me out of bed at five a.m. on Friday to drive to Flagler Beach. The launch of the SpaceX rocket was scheduled to lift off at 5:49. He chatted like a sugared-up six-year-old the entire thirteen minutes it took to get there, while I silently sipped my coffee, praying he'd come down with laryngitis... but only until I got enough coffee in me to comprehend the conversation.

I used to be a MORNING PERSON, but between the Covid Quarantine chaos, Ray retiring and being home ALL THE TIME, plus the endless antics of my Flying Monkeys aka The Wonderpurr Gang, I'm now only a MORNING PERSON after two cups of coffee and one episode of Cybill or I Dream of Jeannie on the Roku channel.

Watching the NASA lift offs is part of our Bucket List while living in Florida. SpaceX was the second one we've enjoyed so far, with beautifully clear skies enabling us to see the entire launch. My video is a little over six minutes, but it's worth it.

If you missed Rabbit's First Feline Astro-Nut in Space, click here to enjoy.

Happy Jifabu Day


Did you know Tuesday was Scrabble Day?

As life simmers down to a dull roar around Chateau Wonderpurr, Ray and I are playing Scrabble more often, both the board game and on our phones. 

Ray isn't one to sit around watching television, and he isn't a big reader, so the challenge for me was finding something that would keep him entertained, other than exploring his new Facebook account, and showing me cute animal videos (the ones I'd just posted on my account.) He's still getting the hang of Facebook, and his other passion is exploring Class Rock videos on his phone at high volume, some of which I'd never heard, even though I grew up alongside him listening to Detroit Motown music. Float On by The Floaters is one example. 

Florida Wildlife Featuring Ibis

Last month Ray joined a Facebook group devoted to sharing information about Flagler Beach. He was told by the owner of our favorite Italian restaurant, Tuscany, (featuring two huge slices of pizza and one large soft drink for $5.00 - Ray's all about great pizza with an even greater price) that the group will post about whales spotted along the shoreline. He really wanted to see whales this year, but alas that didn't happen.

However, a couple weeks later someone mentioned a huge flock of Ibis roosting at sunset in a parking lot that just so happened to be where my hair salon is located. Even though I knew exactly where the flock was, and that Ray himself had been to the strip mall where he got his car license tags, he carefully punched the directions into his Google Maps, and away we went.

A couple weeks earlier I'd filmed a group of Ibis hanging out along the side of the road, enjoying a rain puddle. I'm always amazed by how much wildlife we see along side the road. Ibis, vultures, herons aplenty.

As we pulled into the parking lot we saw a couple cars parked off to one side with people standing on the curb. I had never noticed the pond before, but there it was, and there were already over one hundred Ibis settling in for the night. Ray told me he'd read there were alligators in the pond. Well, duh. Where there's water, there's sure to be alligators around here.

We were there for about thirty minutes, and the birds kept coming, like they'd also subscribed to the Flagler Beach for Friends group and knew exactly where to go. In no time the group had doubled, and still they kept coming. I felt rather bad for those late-comers as they had a struggle finding a decent branch to settle on. All that was left were those flimsy ones near the bottom.

27th Day of Retirement

It was a beautiful Wednesday morning in Flagler County, Florida, USA. 69 degrees. Tufted titmice serenaded the fragrant ocean air. The Wonderpurr Gang had just finished their after-breakfast snacks (as specified in their contracts), and were settled down throughout the house taking their before-lunch naps. A soft breeze drifted through our lanai where my husband had set up to clean the pool cage screens.
Giddy with the promise of having several hours to myself, I headed toward my office with an aromatic cup of Green Mountain Nantucket Blend to work on my blog when from the corner of my eye I spied the scene below:\

Let it be known, after taking one photo to publish on my social media accounts, I tossed down my phone and ran to hold the ladder.

And yes, Ray got the Speech of Shame where I told him how disappointed I was that he had chosen to risk his life and the future we had planned on by standing at the top of an unsecured ladder--over a cement pool--wearing FLIP FLOPS!

I also pointed out with wifely disgust, that the right back leg of the ladder was less than ONE INCH from the edge of the water.

Typical of my A-type husband, he calmly pointed out that he had not placed the ladder atop the waterfall tiles, as that (he stated in a smug tone) would be too dangerous.

As of today we are 27 days into Ray's retirement, and honestly our footing is precarious as we try to find our New Normal. With that thought in mind, I came to the conclusion that...

Retirement + Quarantine + Ray + AssRabbit = Kim experiencing a daily meltdown.

I'm a glass half-full kind of gal, so the upside from today's drama is, I've found a new category to work from on this blog: 

Stay tuned for future posts very much like this one... (she said with resignation.)

Precious Cargo

Hi everyone, this is Kim. I know most of you will be dissy-pointed (as Dori would say), but I just couldn’t get her to focus this week to write Part 3. Dori has been in competition with Rabbit to see who can catch the most tiny black frogs that slip into our pool lanai – so far the score is Dori 4, Rabbit 1. And she’s been flirting with her dragon boyfriend in my office window.

Also, she’s decided that Jesse the Toothless Wonder needs to GO. Every chance she gets she gives him hell to the point where the poor guy is backed into a corner, screaming for help. In fact, twice now Dori has been sent to an early bedtime in my office with Rabbit, as she comes alive during the night to harass poor Jesse. He’s tried to tell her he’s been a member of our family since 2009. He’s a former member of the Garage Band. He’s also the son of Peaches and the brother of Jack, but Dori doesn’t recognize him, and therefore he’s got to GO. Methinks my darling Dori is transforming into an AssBunny. So this week’s post will be written by me. That makes sense too, because from this point in the story Dori was asleep inside a travel tent.

After saying goodbye to our beloved neighbors, Ray and I loaded the vans, not only with cats, but with odds and ends that couldn’t fit into the U-Haul truck. I refused to leave our home in any less than move-in-ready for the new family. By the time we finished, Ray and I were hot, sweaty and majorly stressed. I didn’t have time to shower, and I couldn’t find my friggin’ toothbrush. Atlanta was five and a half hours away, and we were destined to hit it after dark.

Did I mention we both have night blindness?

From the beginning when Ray gave me a heads up about retiring to Florida, I had one concern: moving my cats. I’ve moved a herd of cats before, from Jacksonville to Kentucky with wire cages that I’d had commissioned to hold 3 to 4 including litter box. I used those same cages when I again moved from Kentucky to Pensacola, and from Pensacola to Southaven. Yes, I truly am a cat magnet. This move, however, was different. I would not have storage for those large cages in our new home, so I sold them on Facebook to a woman about to start breeding bunnies. Like the world needs more rabbits, right? I then bought Necoichi Portable Stress Free Cat Cages from Chewy that seemed like the perfect solution for a long distance move. Unfortunately, they were far from perfect.

I had everyone except Frank in the cages, ready to be loaded into the vans, when suddenly Dori’s dad, Nikolas, one of my Garage Band, was free, running amok with his black tail high in the air. Nik thought it glorious fun to lead me on a chase throughout the house, especially since he is not indoor cat material thanks to his tomcat desire to soak whatever strikes his fancy. My knees and back were screaming by the time I got him back in the cage. That’s when I discovered the zippers were cheap Chinese plastic sh*t that split easily under the duress of a single claw. Ideal for transporting cats, right? I found one safety pin in my purse and used that to secure the zipper. As a couple other carriers predicted zipper splits, I flipped those cages zipper-side down to avoid any escapes inside the vans.

After driving from Southaven to Palm Coast numerous times over the past year, I knew the trip would be stressful for the Wonderpurr Gang. Let’s be honest, I don’t adopt easy housecats. I take the hard cases. Every one of them has quirks that can cause blood pressure to go from zero to sixty. Even Herman and Dori, and Frank, and sweet Chauncie Marie. I made a list of who I would take, and who Ray would take. I gave Ray the Garage Band, knowing they were pretty chill. I took Rabbit, knowing he would be hoarse from bleating like a goat by the time we hit Alabama. I also took Frank, who has chronic motion sickness. I cannot recall who else I took. I’m pretty sure I blacked out with stress amnesia.

The only one not caged for the trip was Frank. God love him, he’s a mess just going 5 minutes down the road to the vet. I knew this trip would virtually kill him, so I bought Cerenia. I gave it to him in the morning, but didn’t have a chance to give him a second dose. The cats had had a minimal breakfast. I’d thought we were leaving around 11 a.m. Not 2:30 in the afternoon with the barometer cresting at 98 degrees coupled with a humidity factor of eleventy-zillion. I tarped the area between my driver’s seat and the start of the cages. I gave Frank a litter box and a bowl of water, and prayed the medication would make him sleep.

There wasn’t time for one final trip down Memory Lane in a house that had been home for 14 years. We loaded the cats, water, Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwiches, and headed out. I do not recall anything more than seeing the Haley boys playing football on their front lawn. My Precious Cargo was already singing the song of their people accompanied by Frank hurling into his litter box.

We were an hour and a half down the road, just outside Tupelo, when I had to deal with Frank. At one point he’d climbed into the front seat, his face lathered with drool and sweat, and yelled at the passing cars. I’d tried to wipe his face best I could with a spare tissue, but was left with a smelly, slimy hand… and no damp cloth to rinse with. Frank soon returned to his stinky lair, but instead of lying on a towel, he crawled into his much-abused litter box. I pulled onto a little-used exit where Ray handed me a jug of water and paper toweling. He later told me he was shocked to see how bad Frank looked. His paws were soaked with sweat and drool, and had crusted with litter. I did my best to clean him up, but there was nothing more I could do for him.

Due to the Chinese Virus hysteria, we stopped only twice for gas and bathroom breaks. Since March Ray and I had been on the road back and forth looking for the right home, and with every trip we risked getting sick. We used copious amounts of sanitizing gel, and Lysoled our shoes. We brought our own food, and avoided touching anything that others had touched. We were freaked, and it heightened the drama that night with umpteen cats in tow, especially when rain came while dodging reckless drivers in Atlanta. At one point Ray’s GPS failed—right in the middle of trying to cross five lanes of hellish traffic—and he had no idea where to go. He had to punch in his business phone’s passcode in order to call me, all the while driving. Talk about scary! It’s easy for a GPS to get confused as the highways cross and crisscross. But my GPS worked, and I took over to lead our tiny caravan for the next few hours.

Relentless storms, driving unfamiliar roads, car problems and three detours stretched a non-stop, twelve-hour drive into sixteen. We were somewhere in the bowels of Georgia, perhaps Macon, when Ray called. Warning lights had come on in our Town and Country. The car is a 2016, but we’d managed to wear out the alternator.

It was at that point that our trip became a Battle of Wills to see who would cave first. Ray and I, or Mother Nature and her evil step-brother, The Odds.

Until next time,

The Heartbreak of Saying Goodbye

Hi everybuddy! It’s me, Dori. *wavy paws* I’m so glad to see yoo. Welcome to Part 2 of my Octopurr Spooky Stories.

As I mentioned last week, in the past I made up spooky stories for the month of Octopurr, but this year, the stories are REAL! So grab yoor bag of Reese’s Franken-Cups, and a mug of hot buttered rum, cuz I’m going to scare every one of yoo, especially those who are considering a future move with cats.

In last week’s story, Disappearing Rooms and Stranger Danger, furniture dissy-peared and strangers kept ringing our doorbell to come inside. They even trapped us under false beds, and prevented us from using the litter boxes. Extremely scary stuff, folks! Yoo see, Daddy had set a date for retiring from the company that makes Amazon boxes, and he wanted to move his family before that happened since buying a home while employed has less hoops to jump through than after retirement. So, for the past year and a half my pawrents had traveled through Mrs. Ippi, Ally Bama, and Aunt Lanna (<- scary ol’ witch) at least six or seven times to search for the purrfect home in FloryDa. That’s where Daddy wanted to live. Not Momma. Momma loves the Tennessee mountains, but she caved. So sad, cuz Momma gets very crabby in the hoomidity.

Eventually they finally found a smaller house on the northeast side of the state with a huge water bowl in the backyard. Plus the screened-in Catio would allow the Wonderpurr Gang to get fresh air, as it was three miles from the ocean. The only trouble was, it took 12 hours without stopping to get there. And as that scary bad Chinese virus had suddenly turned the world upside down, traveling anywhere, even to the grocery store, had not only become dangerous… It had become deadly.