Tag Archives: pets

Giveaway Winners and Fat Cat

One has nothing to do with the other. I just thought I’d smash all of today’s post into one title.

Before we get to the antics of Fat Cat, I’d like to announce the two giveaway winners I picked both for the Fan Appreciation Giveaway and the winner from my blog during the Six-Pack Stud-a-thon Blog hop.

First, for the Fan Appreciation Giveaway, the random fan I picked was: Tiffany Lynn Spence! Tiffany won a Danica Avet T-shirt. For those of you on the fan page (and those who are interested in future giveaways), I’ll be holding these fan appreciation giveaways every month so be sure to like my fan page!

Second, the winner of the Six-Pack Stud-a-Thon Blog hop,who’ll get a Danica Avet T-shirt and their choice of a book from my backlist, is….Cynderella Duncan!

Congrats ladies, I’ll be contacting you later today to arrange the shipments and all that mess.

Now on to Fat Cat. I’m sure I’ve mentioned it before, but my showers are no longer private. If she believes I’m even thinking of going to shower, she runs into the bathroom ahead of me to observe these strange human traditions. So what, right? Most cats do that. Dogs too. They act as though there’s a secondary exit in the bathroom and if they aren’t there to watch you,  you’ll sneak out of the house.

Fat Cat takes it a step further. This morning as I stepped out of the shower, I caught her licking the cabinet. Just a few little licks as though she was like “hm, pressed wood. Minty with a hint of oak”. Weird cat. Did I mention too that the second I go to my room to change out of my work clothes she throws herself on the ground in front of me like a beached whale and rolls around? I keep expecting her to start saying, “roll, roll in ze hay!”

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Home Sweet Bed

I got back from RT yesterday afternoon and after dragging heavy suitcases all over the south, it was a massive relief to see my brother’s car waiting for me at the airport. It was even better to sit next to Bennett on the ride home. Even if he did tell me “no” to everything I asked him. Which was funny actually.

Danica: Were you a good boy for mommy and daddy?
Bennett: No.Danica: Somehow I knew that.

It was just great to be home. Normally my dog gives me the cold paw when I return from a long trip, but this time she did the lip smacking, head bowed, butt tucked under “Why did you leave me? No one takes care of me the way you do.” And then there was fat cat who had to lick my elbows and follow me everywhere. Actually, it’s been about 16 hours and they still follow me everywhere.

So much for a private shower, eh?

I had a lot of fun at RT. I took a ton of pictures which I haven’t retrieved from my camera yet, but I will try to get that done today so I can bore everyone with my “and this is a giraffe’s ass” slideshow commentary.

Next year should be a lot easier on me since RT is in New Orleans. No waiting in lines at the airport, no hoping the socks I’m wearing don’t have holes in them when I take my shoes off to go through security, no strange people sitting next to me on the plane. Just me and my car. Yay!

Are you planning to go to RT in New Orleans?

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Daylight Savings Time and Men

Those really have nothing to do with each other. My brain is still in bed sleeping the sleep of the innocents. Or not so innocents.

I think y’all liked last week’s interview, right? That’s what it seemed like anyway. Which leads to part of today’s post. It’s fun searching and trying to track down men for the interviews. Unfortunately, it isn’t always easy. I have a couple of guys this month but I may not have them every week the way I’d like. To make sure I have enough to go around (I’m cracking up at myself), I’m going to stagger them a little. Maybe post fantasy men every other week.

For instance, next week we have one of the newest Cavemen to join Ellora’s Cave, Austin. Oh yeah, I have a new Caveman debuting right here on Unearthly Musings! After that? Well, I may have a Marine and fighter scheduled. *shivers* He’s something else. Seriously. So y’all don’t want to miss the upcoming Fantasy Men Interviews. And hopefully, that’s whetted your appetite and will have you coming back again and again. *rubs her hands together with a maniacal laugh*

There’s so much coming up really, that it sucks to have this Daylight Savings Time thing dragging me down. My great-nephew arrives on Thursday (yay!), the Big Cocks and Shamrocks Blog Hop starts on Sunday, my Scavenger Hunt for Dean’s List starts a week from today, Dean’s List comes out next Wednesday and then we have Easter right after that! And here I am having to prop my eyes open.

Heck, I had to nearly carry my dog out of bed because in her mind it was 4:30, not 5:30 when I rolled out of bed and flipped on the light. She blinked at me as though to say “Are you out of your mind, woman? It’s too early to go potty.”

The cat, who has to oversee my shower every morning, did not look happy to do so at such an early time. She sat on the counter glaring at me throughout the entire process. I could see her through the shower curtain. I felt like such an inconsiderate pet owner. Why was I up and making noise? Why was I making them get out of bed before they were ready? Didn’t they realize I stayed up later than usual to watch that Vikings show? (Which was really good, by the way.) How could I possibly justify going to bed late and waking up so early?

Well I don’t feel that bad really. Why should I? I’m going to be working all day to make enough money to keep them in good food and litter while they’re going to sleep all day. *mutters* I really need to win the lottery. Or find a rich man to take care of me. Do y’all know any who might be looking for a Cajun woman who prefers jeans to dresses, has a fingernail polish fetish, three pets, writes smut and loves men with beards? No? Me neither.

Happy Daylight Savings Time. Yeah, I’m shuddering at that phrase too. *mutters*

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A Plague Upon the House of Avet

At least that’s what it feels like.

Last week, I thought I was dying. Went to the doctor to find out I had an upper respiratory infection. Okay, I can handle that as long as I get a shot and some meds. I was a good girl. I took all of my medicine, which is unusual for me, and I rested. I didn’t overdo it or anything. Thanksgiving rolled around and I had a wonderful time.

The food was plentiful and good. The football games were plentiful and two of them were really good. I had big plans for Friday and Saturday. I have so many WIPs that need to be worked on, I promised myself (and my muse) that we’d sit down and churn out some serious numbers. Friday morning I woke up, had a cup of coffee, took a shower, put clean pjs on and went back to bed. I slept until 2 pm. Obviously I wasn’t going to get any writing done. It had to be some kind of post-Thanksgiving funk. I shrugged off the thought and enjoyed a day of laziness because Saturday it was on like Donkey Kong!

Saturday morning I woke up, groaned and heaved and coughed and sneezed. Ugh. I wasn’t going anywhere. Not even the store to pick up groceries for me and the animals. I rolled back in bed, certain I’d feel better by Sunday when I absolutely had to go to the store. No excuses.

Yup, still sick on Sunday morning, but I went to the store and bought sweets. Why? I have no idea, but when I got home I had cookies and doughnuts and ice cream. I wanted to eat all of it, while sniffling and sneezing over it, permanently claiming it all as mine. I didn’t of course, but I did eat a lot of bad stuff yesterday. And guess what? It didn’t make me feel any better.

Here we are an exact week after my doctor’s appointment and the cold still lingers. *shakes her fist at the fates* However, I did start writing last night after the Saints broke my heart by losing. Despite the sniffling, sneezing and cold sweats, I got a good word count in and I did it again this morning. I haven’t worked out since Thanksgiving morning and I feel awful for it, but there’s no way I can sweat with this cold thing going on without feeling as though I was back in the 1600’s and still believed in the four humors.

Yeah, it’s a miserable Danica you’re reading about today. But I did have lovely Thanksgiving holiday otherwise. I read a lot. I watched a lot of movies (hello, The Black Swan was fucked up!) and I cuddled with fat cat and needy dog.

How was yours?

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Preparations

As I’m sure most of you know, Tropical Storm/Hurricane Isaac is bearing down on the Gulf Coast. The way things are looking, it’s actually headed in my direction. Chances are I won’t be around much this week due to the weather. Luckily, I can write posts ahead of time and schedule them for the dates I want so you’ll still be able to check out What’s Playing Wednesday and Fantasy Man Friday. So don’t think I’ve forgotten about y’all!

We’re not overly worried about Isaac. Sure, we bought our hurricane supplies and will finish preparing the house for strong winds, but I feel pretty confident we’ll get through it with hardly any problems. Of course now that I’ve said that, things will probably go to hell. Oh I know we’re going to lose electricity. That’s a given and I’d be surprised if we didn’t. We checked out the generator this weekend, bought extra gas and batteries for flashlights. I think we’re ready.

The ones not ready are my pets. My old cat, who stays outside all the time (on her porch) will have to come inside and because she hates fat cat, she’ll have to stay in one of the bathrooms until things blow over. I can hear her moaning and groaning now. Bad weather makes her nervous under normal circumstances, add in being locked in a tiny room and she’ll be fit to be tied. The other two animals will probably want to sit at the door. I hope they won’t taunt her, but they act like toddlers, so…yeah, I envision a lot of noise during our lockdown.

For my friends on the Gulf Coast, I hope y’all are safe and ready for the storm coming. For those of you outside the danger area, please keep us all in your prayers.

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The Beau

I don’t know if I’ve ever told y’all about old cat. Her real name is Ty. I got her when I was in college. I had this idea to name her Titania from Shakespeare (I was taking a class on him at the time), but it was only as I got to know her well that I realized she was more like Byron’s Tyger. Hence, the spelling of her name went from Ti to Ty. She’s definitely no fairy princess.

Ty is fifteen years old. She’s disciplined my nephews, cousins, and even me. She’s known as this fierce, dangerous cat, but when she wants to be, she can be the most adoring kitty. Especially if you’re my brother. She does love him something awful.

Ty is an outside cat. She’s been fixed for years and years, but that never stopped her from doing her seductive play-cat pose all over the driveway. I’m telling you she’s shameless! How many times have I seen her rolling around on the driveway like she’s waiting for someone to start taking pictures for the next issue of CatBoy magazine? Too many to count.

Therefore, it shouldn’t have come as any surprise when her beaus started showing up. See, she has a good set up. Yes, she’s outside, but she sleeps in the screened porch. She has a very nice bed with lots of blankets and towels to make her comfortable. A huge bowl of water, and as much food as I can give her. We even put shades up over the screens during the winter to cut down on the cold air so she doesn’t get cold.

It was a sweet set up. Until the boyfriends started showing up. I came home one afternoon to see a huge tear in the screen door. I just knew she’d done it because she still hasn’t forgiven us for putting her outside. Yet when I walked onto the porch, this strange male cat started flipping out, running around like I wanted to catch him. I ended up throwing doors open left, right, and center to get him out of the porch.

That was the first boyfriend. A big orange tomcat. We mended the screen as best as we could and went on with our lives. Then I came home one day to see a strange gray cat sleeping in Ty’s house. I kid you not, this male had torn through the other screen door, came onto the porch, ate all of her food, drank most of her water, and then slept in her house! And where was Ty? Sitting on one of the chairs watching him.

Really. Something had to be done. That’s when we bought storm doors for the porch. Of course I had to listen to my brother and nephew complain about who was doing what wrong while they put one of them up, but Ty’s boyfriends haven’t been back since. I still see them now and then. I hear them fighting over her honor, but they don’t get on the porch.

The way I figure it, they should do things the old-fashioned way and court her with mouse heads and grass for her to eat. No way am I letting my poor old kitty let some male sponge off her. You know?

Happy Monday!

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Confession Time

As you all know, I adore my dog, Mia. She’s a miniature Schnauzer and my constant companion. If she had things her way I’d stay home all the time and let her sit/sleep in my lap. That’s her idea of heaven. Poor puppy.

I admit I baby her. I can’t help myself. She’s just so cute and needy, I want to protect her from everything. I give her treats, I have her groomed and that’s where the confession comes into play.

She’s a nervous rider. She whines and cries in the car and tries to climb in my lap. The first time I brought her to the groomer, it was her first time away from me ever. I dropped her off and went about my business trying not to think of the horror stories I’ve heard of dog groomers.

That afternoon they called to let me know she was ready. I was filled to bursting with happiness to get my baby girl back again. I raced to the groomer and walked in the door. A mini-Schnauzer was on the counter and the minute I walked in the door, she went berserk with joy. She looked so good! Her fur was trimmed, her beard and mustache looked brighter and she was thrilled to see me. I picked her up and brought her home. She was so well-behaved in the car, so completely happy to be going home and I realized this grooming thing couldn’t be too bad.

But when I got home and she jumped out of the car she took one look at my old cat (whom she’d grown up with) and tore after her like a demon. About that time, my mom came to the door and shouted the words no pet owner wants to hear:

You brought the wrong dog home!

What??? That was impossible! This was my Mia! She’d been so happy to see me she’d almost jumped in my arms, but then I saw the way she and the cat were going at it and realized I had indeed brought the wrong dog home. My cousin, she of the warped sense of humor I’ll tell you about another time, was there and offered to go back to the groomer with me. I was so embarrassed to have brought the wrong dog home, I made my cousin go in with the imposter and bring my Mia out.

To this day, whenever I say how much I love my dog, my family reminds me (and Mia) of how I brought the wrong dog home. I have to soothe my baby girl and tell her it was only an accident. That’s when I give her another treat because I don’t want her feelings hurt.

And of course, every time I pick her up from the groomer I study her carefully. Is her little birthmark on her back? Does she have curved canines? Is she whining and crying in the car? Does she ignore the cat in favor of a treat? If she does all of that, I know it’s my Mia and not another imposter.

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