08 juillet 2008
My flatmate is not flat but she is my mate
Personne ne me demande de nouvelles de ma co-loc. C'est pas très sympa.
No one has been asking about my flatmate. Not very nice from you.
Elle a pourtant bien emménagé avec moi.
She did move in with me though.
Au départ, elle a squatté un carton pour être sûre de faire partie du voyage.
Before departure, she sat on a box to make sure she wouldn't be left behind.
A l'arrivée, elle squatte un carton pour me rappeler que je ne les ai toujours pas tous déballés.
After arrival, she sits on a box to remind me that I still haven't completely unpacked.
Bref. Anyway.
Mais en ce moment, mademoiselle est au vert.
Right now mademoiselle is spending some time in the countryside.
Mademoiselle se repose. Mademoiselle is resting.
J'ai donc profité qu'elle était détendue pour l'emmener chez le vétérinaire local, pour sa piqûre annuelle. Eh bien, il (elle, d'ailleurs) sait beaucoup mieux s'y prendre que son prédécesseur qui avait promis à Myrtille la cellule de dégrisement pour sa prochaine visite.
I took adavantage of her relaxed mood and took her to the local vet, for her annual injection. This vet (it's a woman) managed far better than the previous one, who said last year that considering her 'edginess', Myrtille would have to go into some sort of cage before the injection.
Globalement ça s'est bien passé. Et vite.
All in all it went well. And quick.
Une fois sortie de cet endroit plein d'odeurs d'horribles animaux tout est rentré dans l'ordre et elle est retournée sereine se mettre au vert.
The minute we left this place full of terrible animals' smells, she calmed down and quietly went back to the countryside.
10 mars 2008
Boxing days
Bilan à J+19...
...je suis encore loin d'attaquer la déco
Myrtille prend doucement possession des lieux, à sa manière...
entre irrésistible curiosité et flip intégral...
06 mars 2008
Quiet, please
I agree with Melle J'teferaisdire : I want to be a cat in my next life too, possibly my own cat actually...
14 février 2008
Migration
In 3 days time I am leaving this... :
for that... : and that... :
Yes, I know... I am ready for the shock.
And I'll have to bring Myrtille back to real life, after 3 months at her grand-parents'. Let me tell you she looks like a tubby barrel. You're done with this cosy only-child life, Myrtille, here comes the diet time again ! I think I am missing my parental role and authority. Poor animal.
But for now I am still at this stage :
17 octobre 2007
C'est grave, docteur ?
Myrtille doesn't like her yearly visit to the vet. That's a fact. Strange though, because the one I've taken her to so far is the one who took care of her while she was staying at the SPA (or maybe that's the cause) and he seems to be skilled and experienced (he is old - and ugly, by the way). But it turns into a worse nightmare every time and in next April, I am going to change the vet.
Ok, the first time we were there -over 2 years ago-, I let a colley come close to Myrtille's travelling box, in the waiting room. He was friendly but Myrtille "spit" and totally freaked out. Later on in the vet's office, the vet could hardly check her temperature (he got her by surprise) but had to give up on touching her in any way. For the injection he had to put a towel over her head and hold her firmly. It was no pleasure but it went through in the end.
The following year, I was cautious not to let any animal come close to her. But again, tragedy, comedy, crisis, stress... no examination of any sort that time ! Just an injection with a blanket over her head and the help of Cruella Jr (the vet's daughter, far nicer than his witch-wife).
This year, the pompon ! Myrtille seemed relaxed and quiet. The milli-second I put her box on the vet's table, she turned into a little infuriated devil. It took 10 minutes to the vet and myself to remove the top of the box since there was no way she was going to get out through the door. And in this case, it is not like she is playing... no no no ! She is REALLY aggressive, back to a wild terrified animal.
The thing is that the purpose of the visit is to have her vaccinated. So no choice but make it. First, prepare the injection. Second, get a thick blanket. Third, shove it over her head. Fourth, hold her very firmly. Fifth, start all over again because she got hysterical, bit and scratched the vet, sent the injection needle to the other side of the room and literally screamed all along. Ahem... Myrtille, this is not nice a way, the doctor is here to help, calm down... after another 10 minutes of hard struggle, the vet finally won, leaving Myrtille in a state close to nervous breakdown. If cats could cry, she would have collapsed in tears and panic.
But well done ! To punish this evil doctor, you peed on his table, I am proud of you and won't tell anyone that you also popoed in your box.
27 septembre 2007
Ma dondon
En attendant que j'ordonne mes idées et mes photos sur mon séjour à New York, je vais en rajouter un peu sur ma co-loc.
J'aimerais en parler aussi bien que Pounk parle de son fils James car Myrtille, c'est un peu ma fille (j'ai bien dit un peu, j'entends encore des collègues de boulot en huer une autre qui disait que son chat c'était son fils, son bébé.... et alors ???) mais il le fait trop bien, pas la peine de risquer un pauvre plagiat nul.
Depuis qu'elle a débarqué chez moi, Myrtille a bien changé. Physiquement déjà. 3kg700 au départ, sorte de Chr*istophe Wille*m de l'espèce féline, elle s'est rapidement "étoffée" et moins d'un an plus tard elle pesait 5kg800, se retrouvant donc plutôt dans la catégorie Miss Domi*nique. A sa décharge et à la mienne, elle s'était faite stériliser pendant son séjour à la SPA, elle est devenue (ou a continué d'être ?) un chat de sofa, elle a eu des croquettes à volonté puisqu'il paraît que les chats se régulent tout seuls... (ouais c'est ça). Bref, c'est devenu un Garfield au féminin, ce qui lui va plutôt bien au demeurant.
Immédiatement qualifiée d'obèse lors de la visite annuelle par l'espèce de Cruella qui sert d'assistante et de femme au véto, Myrtille a donc été mise au régime et je me retrouve à faire un truc que jamais j'aurais cru faire : je lui achète des croquettes light. Oui, Myrtille mange light. Mon chat (j'ai un peu de mal à dire "ma chatte") mange de l'allégé, du "pour chats ayant tendance à l'embonpoint" en sacs de 4 kg. C'est tout juste si je réalise que je parle de moi et de mon chat.
Enfin bon... du coup elle est plus photogénique et elle ne fait plus pitié, surtout vautrée sur "son" canapé, pas vrai ?
28 août 2007
Let me introduce you...
It is about time I mention the... thing which is sharing my life, my flat, my tub and my bed...
This 'person' is a hairy-furry feline named Myrtille and arrived in my 40 sq.m. two and a half years ago. It is actually all my fault. She (yes, it is a girl) had delegated the search of a new home to some kind of broker : the SPA (French equivalent to US Animal Care and Control or British RSPCA) which I happened to visit on and off, willing to adopt an under-aged black male cat.
Unfortunately, March is not the best period in the year for kittens and young cats and there was no such cat 
available. But Myrtille is very good at marketing and advertised herself in the most attractive possible way : she was lying in one of the locked boxes, very sweet and quiet in the rear corner, with some sort of Droopy-look in the eyes. She had been sterilised, tatooed and vaccinated a few days back. I told the SPA lady I liked her (Myrtille, not HER) and she opened the box so I could let her get to know me and see her reaction. Everything went well and I melted for good. Off we went, Myrtille in her travel box and I over the moon. Instead of a young black male, I went for a gray/brown tiger adult female of 3 years. Anyway...
Here is the very first pic I took of her (and the mess in my flat, but this is exceptional) on a bright Saturday of March 05. See how skinny, scared and miserable she looks ? No wonder she got me.