Fuzz has been with us for about a month now. He’s gone from a small fluffy bit of fur into a much larger curious beast intent on practicing his pouncing skills every time one of us comes out of the bathroom. His larger size has increased his jump height as well, so nothing is out of reach anymore. We’ve tried babyproofing some areas, but who’d have thought the baby could get up on top of the piano at his size and age?
Fuzz has also been working on training us to meet his demands. He enjoys chin rubs and belly tickles at regular intervals. His food consumption has increased and his way of letting me know that he needs more sustenance is to bite my toes furiously.
He’s been pretty good about using the bathroom outside in his litter box. For a while, he was using my back porch planters as a giant toilet, but I’ve replanted it with spikey plants and that seems to have taken care of that.
He’s learned how to let himself in and out of the house should we be tardy about opening the door. When he wants to go out, he launches himself full force with a running start at it, as if he’s on platform 9 ¾ with a luggage trolley heading to Hogwart’s. He can open the door from the outside when he’s really determined as well. He shimmies his paw underneath and pulls. He doesn’t always get it open enough to dash through but the banging he makes is enough to wake me from even the deepest slumber and open the door for him.
This morning, we left Fuzz alone in the house for about 30 minutes. We came back to complete chaos. He had gotten into a bucket of car oil my husband left in the garage and tracked it throughout the house. This meant a whole-house double-time mopping session and a bath for Fuzz which he didn’t enjoy at all. Not all the stains came up and my daybed cover is ruined.
Our other animals are practicing their magic tricks as well. Terry chewed through his third leash in a fit of jealousy while we were walking the Puppers. Fred and George have discovered that if they team up with Lady, between the three of them, they can remove the bars that keep Lady in her stall so she can mosey on out for a sweet nispero leaf snack. They were so proud of themselves that my son didn’t have the heart to scold them. You should have seen their beaming faces and wagging tails.
Fred has adopted his own chicken pet. Perhaps it’s his familiar? The rooster had been pecking the living daylights out of one of our gringa chickens. She took refuge with Fred and George under the rain tarp one day. Fred wouldn’t allow the rooster to come in out of the rain. Since then, Ms. Gringa eats, sleeps, and cuddles up with Fred, her savior.
Wonders never cease around here!
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Surviving Mexico 