Showing posts with label soft paw. Show all posts
Showing posts with label soft paw. Show all posts

Friday, January 20, 2012

Soft Paw* Perils





[*If you are unfamiliar with the feline command "Soft Paw," please read up on the subject HERE. A short video on Soft Paw Training is included.]

We recently bought a 16 pound bag of Friskies cat kibble. The price sealed the deal, although the promise of an enclosed cat toy sweetened the pot, let me tell you. It's impossible to litter the floor with enough small, squeaky playthings.

The chow is about gone, a pretty amazing feat for three cats, but not, I guess, when you figure that one of those three is a healthy, young Maine Coon. That would be Citizen Buddy, the Freakishly Large Kitten.

From elle est belle la seine la seine elle est belle


Buddy it was who assumed ownership of the Friskies enclosure, one very weird "Crinkling Paw Toy" that purportedly depicts Humpty-Dumpty, as featured in the 2011 blockbuster film Puss in Boots. It's made of felt, has a crispy creaking bit of something inside, and spindly legs and arms that flop around. Humpty sports an unlikely hat, a weird waistcoat, and drug-addled eyes. An embroidered porcine pug nose.

To a cat, I suppose it might look like a bug. A creepy, overweight bug.

Buddy is obsessed with his Humpty toy. In the course of a day, I've seen the thing staring up at me from almost every room in the West Wing of The Manor. I doublechecked to see if we had more than the one Freak of a Pastime. We don't.

Beady-eyed lippy creature.

We still spend lots of time each day playing fetch, in the hopes of reinforcing the "soft-paw" command in little Buddy's tiny mind. I cannot trim his claws and Fred refuses to. That leaves the natural erosive effect of running, sliding, and skidding like a cartoon across rough-hewn medieval timber flooring, as well as fine renaissance era parquet, plus vigorous scratching of fine leather furniture as the tacitly approved nail-trimming activities for indoor Manor cats. We are resigned to letting him work off the scalpel ends of his talons on Haddock finery, because we have experienced their entry into our flesh, and were humbled.

Teaching him to use "soft paws" on my CRPS limbs was a stroke of genius on my part, and I expect award upon award once he generalizes the command from the game of fetch and applies his learned gentleness to my hands and legs. In the interim, we just continue to strap extra large, industrial grade feminine napkins to my limbs with duct tape.

I am not sure how Humpty Dumpty fits into the Puss in Boots story, or even what the Puss in Boots story is, to begin with. I cannot imagine the narrative need for a ruined and bitter egg, who looks to be a bit of a failed metrosexual.



When I set out to find the lore at the heart of this eggy tale, I landed on a Christian movie review site. Great Caesar's ghost!

While this film was cleaner than the Shrek series, there was still some questionable material that I feel must be noted in order for parents to make an informed decision about whether or not to see this movie


Violence: Moderate. There are several fight scenes between Puss in Boots and other characters in the film, including a few sword fights. Of course, Puss in Boots steals from people. There is a scene where Puss in Boots, Kitty Soft paws, and Humpty Dumpty, are being shot at with guns and cannons. There is another scene where Humpty Dumpty pretends to be hit by a cart. Kitty Soft Paws scratches Jack’s face. There is another scene where Puss in Boots scratches faces (unintentionally). There is a brief scene where Humpty Dumpty is hit in his private area. Lastly, Puss in Boots is knocked out.


Profanity: Mild. One character says the phrase “Holy Frijoles.” There is a scene where Kitty Soft Paws mentions to Humpty Dumpty that she knows how to speak “meow.” The word “pooper” is mentioned, and Puss in Boots is referred as “frisky” two times.


Sex/Nudity: Mild. There are a couple scenes where a man’s pants fall down. Humpty Dumpty is seen changing in front of Puss and Soft Paws. Lastly, toward the end of the film, one man is seen bathing.


Other: There is one dance sequence in the film where Puss in Boots makes a couple obscene dance gestures, but this is brief. There is a mention of “catnip” (a mild drug reference). ***SPOILER*** One of the main characters dies ***SPOILER END***.


Spiritual issues/morals:


As we see Puss in Boots progress through this film, he realizes toward the end that he never had to steal, in the first place. He realizes he was wrong, and he tries to repay the town of San Ricardo for his misdoing. He seeks forgiveness. In the same way, God is willing to forgive us of all our sins, if we are truly sorry and repent of our sins. The Bible says in 1 John 1:9,


“If we confess our sins he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.” (NIV)

Well, that scared the hell out of me, for sure.  The story of Puss in Boots is a Shrek spinoff?  Is there no respect for... oh, I dunno... Charles Perrault and his Histoires ou contes du temps passé, avec des moralités: Contes de ma mère l'Oye? You know, the father of Mother Goose? Wouldn't making that link bring the whole moralizing side of things into something of a clearer focus?

I've been glaring at Buddy, but none of this is his fault. He thinks it's a bug, this floppy, felted, belted (and hatted) toy.

My shoulders hurt, but then, you know that. You likely assume, though, that I baby them, that I spare myself the pain that would come from stuff like clearing the deck of a season of oak leaves or gathering six miles of garden hose coils onto a wall-mounted reel. It wouldn't occur to you that I'd expend any energy, much less necrotic bone and pus-imbued tissue, on attempts to throw a piffling bit of fluff like the Friskies Crinkling Humpty-Dumpty Paw Toy.

If you don't have one of these creatures, try throwing a feather. Or a dandelion seed head. Go on, give it your all.

Fred gives Humpty's hat a firm grip between his index and thumb, then flicks the thing like he'd toss a frisbee. He achieves loft but has no lateral control, and so, when he does the deed while lying in bed, for instance, Humpty often lands on The Fred's head, performing more as a perversely soft boomerang weapon system than a dependable and proper flying pie pan.

I'll try most anything once, and will repeat most anything to near death if I get a whiff of success and enjoyment out of it. So it is that my titanium shoulders have nearly come undone trying to please Buddy by launching the Friskies Humpty-Dumpty into very thin air.

My best efforts seem to come when I ball the darned thing up and whip it, side-armed, aiming for one of the dozen linen closets in our well-appointed living quarters, in front of which is a flimsy bit of area rug, the perfect foil for a cat pretending to be a torpedo.

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the king's horses and all the king's men
Couldn't put Humpty together again.
We mutter that bit of doggerel all the live long day, as if it were a promise from the Creator.  Fred has dropped the zombie toy into the kissing stones of the grist mill.  I have run it through various graters, coffee grinders, and even sliced the thing on my Calphalon Precision Mandoline.  And still, when we creep back into our luxurious apartment, our hearts lighter at the thought of Humpty's unexpected demise, there he sits, lank legs crossed, shell intact, weird headgear perched jauntily on his big, fat, pointy head.

Who knew, back when we started Project Soft Paw, where it would lead?

Save yourselves, Friends.  Beware the Crinkling Paw Toy.


Monday, October 31, 2011

Soft Paw [with a side of Sweet Honey in the Rock]

All you need to know is that you get to see "more Buddy," and we'll be fine, you and I, youse guys and me.

Don't worry, as soon as the need for a bathroom assumes gigantonormous proportions, I will find a way to exit this wheelchair and knee-knobble to the loo.  But at the moment, my legs won't work and I am -- as the Bible might put it -- sore irritated.  Sore afraid.  Sore stuck.  Not to mention sore sore.


adv

archaic direly; sorely (now only in such phrases as sorepressed, sore afraid)
[Old English sār; related to Old Norse sārr, Old High German sēr, Gothic sair sore, Latin saevus angry]

Until then, it's cat videos and anything else that is both inane and distracting.  Oh, a new episode of Hoarders is on.  Be still my heart.  Quick, give me something to clean, a feline to brush, lint to pick, dust to scatter, a suspicion of dirt!  I bet this show has inspired a whole heck of a lot of cleaning in Amerika.

Okay, back to the subject at hand.  Mostly, that is Buddy the Freakishly Large Kitten Recently Discovered to be of the Maine Coon Variety.

I've previously explained that he is trained to the command "Soft Paw," by necessity, as his natural Paw State is far from being one of squishy-soft, pastel-colored angelic intentions.  His paws will one day be registered lethal weapons.  To the immunosuppressed among us, they are killers right *now*!

So the big-little guy loves to play Fetch with his mice, and will in fact, bug the badinage right out of you until you acquiesce to his every freaking fetching ploy and demand.  Mwa ha ha!  Help!  

In order to give the Soft Paw command some currency in the World of Buddy, we train him through his love of Fetch.  In short, we do what all animal lovers/owners do but I am trying so hard not to think of how I need to peeeeeeeeeeeee but cannot get out of this magnificent red Pronto that I will expound and pound upon the least little detail just to get through one more blessed [dry] minute.

Oh dear God, I'm gonna die laughing, at least.  Fred just flew by, telling me, at a high rate of speed, that he discovered that Marmy Fluffy Butt has organized the entire Feline Remnant of Marlinspike Hall such that Dobby the Runt and Buddy the Freakishly Large Kitten are pooping in one litter box, and urinating in a second one.  Marmy herself?  She pees in a third litter box, and poops... well, at the moment, she is pooping, very neatly and discreetly, right next to the paper we put down for her by the back door.  Right... the back door leading to the Private Palatial Porch.  Making yet another delightful obstacle to my getting out that door into the fresh, pine-scented air.  Wait!  That was yesterday's rant!

Anyway, God bless Fred.  Because I am not supposed to dabble in things kitty-litter related.  Also, thank the dear Lord that Fred shares every toileting detail with me as I would otherwise be oblivious to that important part of the animals' lives.  Now I know what Dobby has been whining about -- Marmy has extended the web of her powerful influence to actually designating which waste receptacles are to be used for which waste.  

shiver::of::pure::terror 

Right.
Hmm.
So.

Ah, yes!  Soft Paws.  I was able to make two very short videos of Buddy's training.  As usual, what I recorded turned out to be aberrant from the norm.  Dobby has become jealous of the Big-Little Guy and so his pink nose turns up quite close to the camera every time.  He's a bit of a diva.  And Marmy even has decided that there must be something inherently rewarding about this camera business, but when she pops up (she's the one who always looks a little confused), that scares Buddy in the extreme.  Her terrorism of him, early and often, is now paying its dividends.  In one of these videos, he has turned to chase the beloved mouse, after successfully tapping my hand at the Soft Paw command, and then he FREEZES.  That would be because Marmy Fluffy Butt decided to appear, just out of camera range.  It is a testimonial to her ridiculous power that the kitten nearly ceases to breathe, holds his crouch, and -- though we cannot see them -- allows his pupils to madly dilate as he points like a Bracco Italiano after feathered game in old Lombardy.

I've come to dearly love Buddy's face.  He is so clueless, you might think.  You might even hold this wrongheaded opinion for six months or so, and who could blame you?  Because until you have the chance to watch his cagey self on video -- hitting rewind with frequency -- you are fooled by the vacant expression, the goofy grin.

He's sly, this one.

He has developed little tics as he plays Soft Paw Fetch.  He wants to NOT tap my hand.  Or if he gives in, and goes for a tap, he wants to claw me to death, just a little.  But then he won't get the mouse.  So he bobs and weaves, ducks his head, does a little rope-a-dope.  Oh Lord, I have to pee!

If you see Buddy tap my hand but not receive the Fetch reward of a Tossed Mouse, it's because he forgot the soft part of the command.  When that happens, he does sometimes have to do some Quality Control calibrations, the first of which is always to offer his head as a paw replacement.  This is terribly important to him, so I give him verbal praise, but repeat the request for a Soft Paw.  It's cool, watching him weigh how much he wants what, what he's willing to do, etcetera.

All right, that's it.  I'll be right back.  If I drive the wheelchair to the threshold of the bathroom door and then throw myself forward with all my might, I am bound to hit porcelain of some kind.  Wish me luck.  If I am not back in 10 minutes, please, would someone call Tante Louise?