MSI Press Blog

  Wooper (above) and Bobolink (below), earthquake-proof cats We (three adult humans and eight cats of various ages) live on a hill right on top of the San Andreas Fault, which has been busier than usual lately: three quakes 2.5-3.4 on Thanksgiving Day and the same on Black Friday. Black Friday's early morning earthquake beat the alarm clock by a few minutes and shook us awake. We cleared the sleep from our eyes and looked over to see the cats either still sleeping or yawning in wake-up attempts as the sun began filtering through the windows. That is not what I often read about cats and quakes. Supposedly (though no scientific proof exits), their behavioral changes can tip off humans to pending quakes. Well, no warnings from our eight. So, what is wrong (or right) with our cats? What cats can do during quakes: Dash under beds or into closets 🏃‍⬛ Meow loudly or yowl in distress 😿 Freeze in place, ears back, eyes wide 👀 Attempt to escape outdoors 🚪 Cluster together for rea...

  Simone, a Himalayan who at18 has passed all longevity expectations (typically 10-15 years) and became blind two years ago, cries a lot. She cries when she wants things, and she makes it clear what she wants. If she wants food, she stands by the bowl and cries. If she wants water, she stands by that bowl and cries. If she wants a clean bed pad (she is no longer able to use the litter box), she stands by the pad and cries. If she wants my attention, petting, etc. (about once a day) she approaches my chair beside the bed she sleeps on which is the same height, and cries at my elbow. But she also cries at other times, and I wonder if she is in pain. Most of the time, she sleeps, but her waking time seems not to be all that comfortable. 🐾 What Her Crying Might Mean Clear communication: Her cries for food, water, pad changes, and affection are purposeful. She’s still asserting her needs, and I try to be attuned to them. Sensory disorientation: Blindness can heighten vocalization, ...

  Moo, unsure about the greater world  Pest control came out and confirmed what we suspected—our house is hosting a full-blown rodent convention. Mice in the walls. One rat. And eight cats… who are absolutely scandalized. These are street rescues. Survivors. Cats who once knew the wild. But when a real mouse scurries across the floor? They freeze. They flee. They look at me like, “You expect us to handle that?” Except for Moo. Moo is the Uncat. Moo doesn’t cuddle. Moo doesn’t play. Moo doesn’t socialize. But Moo does patrol the catio and adjacent room with surgical precision. No fuss. No hesitation. One swift zap, and the mouse is history. That space is his domain, and he keeps it rodent-free. Try to bring Moo into the rest of the house, though? He wails. He trembles. He pleads to return to his post. Moo is a specialist. A one-room legend. Meanwhile, the other cats? They adore toy mice. Plush ones, crinkly ones, feathered ones. They bat them across the floor with glee. T...