Chicken Sticks

Poor Obi has no toys.

I mean, yes, he has a cave. And a pink fuzzy. And the funky chicken. And flat mousie. And an egg – plus the chicken that goes with the egg. But other than that, he has no toys.

So The Boy got out the magic toy making sick and waved it under the love seat. He found the rubber mouse ball. Obi tried to play with it, but it was boring. Until it rolled under the love seat again. Then he wanted it back! The Boy rescued it. But it was boring.

Poor Obi has no toys.

So The Girl opened the coat closet and found the other flat mousie. Obi took it and ran over to the quilt. He plunked down with flat mousie, and other flat mousie, and pink fuzzy, and the funky chicken.

But poor Obi has no toys.

For a little while Obi had a moth. He chased it and hopped and ran around the living room. He chased the moth as it few against the window.

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Then he ate the moth.

Poor Obi has no toys.

We had chicken kabobs for dinner. The Boy’s sticks were very fun. Both kittens ran their noses along the length of the sticks.

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It was a lot of fun. But then The Boy threw the sticks away.

Poor Obi has no toys.

Sick as a Dog

It isn’t often that illness shuts me down completely, but on Thursday I did the few things that had to be done and then crawled onto the couch. I covered myself with all the living room blankets and slept through most of the day.

Oliver was in heaven. Administering intensive rounds of purr therapy is the most challenging and rewarding part of his job.

But even the pros need to rest after a long day. Lucky for me, I have two. Obi relieved Oliver at about 4 p.m.

I thought I took a picture of Obi stretched the length of my lap – I was holding his feet and his front paws were on my ankles – but I didn’t.

Instead, please enjoy this picture from Friday. I was in my office and Kitten Thunder was on the bed, playing Bed Monster. At some point, Oliver was feeling a little peckish so he left for a snack.

The bed monster was not impressed.

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A Really Gross Story

Seriously, this is a gross story.

Really gross.

You should probably stop reading right now.

Really.

Stop.

Still there?

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

This morning started like any other day. The alarm went off. I rolled over to hug The Boy and convince myself to get up. Oliver stomped on us and cried for breakfast.

I got up and followed the kittehs downstairs and gave them breakfast. Then I headed to the bathroom.

From the other side of the door I heard a kitten exploding.

I stepped carefully out of the bathroom and stepped gingerly through the kitchen. I saw no vomit.

What I did see was that all of the breakfast had moved, like magic, to one of the food plates. The kittehs were happily chowing down.

I stood there for a moment. Blinking. Thinking.

The kittehs continued to eat.

I shrugged and went to the couch. The secrets in the sauce.

Neglective

A note from Obi:

Our purrsons did the following things this weekend:

- refinished a dresser
– dry walled the laundry room
– trimmed the plum tree
– started framing a door
– manned the registration desk at a conference
– went to train club
– layout for the weekly edition of Tidbits

You’ll notice, if you are a good purrson, that there are two things missing from this list:

- adequately snuggle with Oliver
– adequately entertain Obi

Seriously, this is a problem. I mean, yes, The Girl did snuggle with Oliver last night during the movie and for a couple hours after The Boy got up this morning. And an hour after she got up. And yes, The Boy did rub my belly ten times or so during the weekend and play with me on the rubbing rug. And sure, The Girl found Funky Chicken for me. And I laid on her lap a couple times.

But it was all just an afterthought between all that stuff they did. The called it “productive.”

I call it neglective.

I’m out,
Obi Wan Kittenobi

***

Here’s a picture of Obi giving us a hard, disapproving stare from the laundry room window as we worked in the garage.

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By late afternoon, Kitten Thunder was supervising from the cat shelf.

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Rage

I play on social media for a living. Okay, it is actual real work. Sometimes it is even more hard than fun. But imagine getting sucked into the Facebook time warp…times six because that’s how many different personalities I have. On Facebook. So it is not a good thing for me to “check what is happening on my Facebook pages” at midnight. This is why I was up at 2 a.m. on Sunday morning (a.k.a. Saturday night) for Oliver to ask for breakfast.

We’ve been here before.

“Do you promise to let us sleep in in the morning if I feed you now?”

Yes. Yes, of course he would.

So Sunday morning, he starts in on me. Feed me. Feeeeeed me. FEED ME! He poked me in the nose. He bit my ear. He jumped and lunged and yowled. I flung my arms at him, trying to shove him away. It was obnoxious. I got angrier and angrier. He jumped up on the bed and I shoved him hard. He returned over and over.

Then Oliver poked me gently on the nose and meowed. Feed me?

I was up and out of bed, following him and Obi down the stairs. When we got to the breakfast nook, I snatched him up. “YOU PROMISED!!!” I yelled and pushed him into the stairwell to the basement. I slammed the door shut behind me.

As I walked back up the stairs, I started to wake up a little bit. And I realized…it was all in a dream. Oliver had not done most of what he was in trouble for. Oh. But it was still 7 a.m., far from sleeping in, so I left him in the basement. I crawled back into bed and Obi jumped in with us. Play? The Boy and I rubbed the brown kitten’s belly for a minute. Then he was off – he didn’t want to snuggle.

Two seconds after I closed my eyes, I needed to use the bathroom.

When I returned to bed, I realized I was awake. And guilty.

I went back downstairs and liberated the grey kitten. He fixed me with a questioning gaze: breakfast? No. I picked him up and we snuggled on the couch. It’s the second best thing to breakfast. And nobody – awake or asleep – gets in trouble for snuggles.

***

Sunday night, I rolled over in bed and found Pine Cone Mousie. Obi must have decided that he needed to bring The Boy a toy to clarify what HE wants in the morning.

Congratulations

The Boy bought a new car a couple weeks ago. You would think that would be reward enough, but a package arrived on Friday that shows the dealership knows how to win the hearts of the whole family.

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The Boy can keep his coffee mug. I stole the gummi bears. And the kittehs got the best present of all.

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Congratulations to them.

A Cry for Help

Kitten Thunder knew the day was going to be bad when I started ironing clothes while The Boy was brushing his teeth. You see, I don’t iron my tank tops and jeans. So I was doing the unthinkable: I was preparing to leave the house.

Kitten Thunder did not approve.

Oliver decided to handle it by going missing. He has found a hiding place somewhere in the house for his morning nap. I’ve got no idea where it is. I’ve looked every morning this week.

Obi followed me to the basement to help me get ready. He talked to me for a while from the chair outside the bathroom. Then his meows were further away.

And more urgent.

I went to see where he was and found him in the cutout in the wall to the laundry room. “I am going to get into the ceiling,” he said. I went back into the bathroom.

The cries came again with a hint of panic and I went to see what was wrong. The brown kitten was sitting on the dryer. “I am going to get into the ceiling,” he said.

“Obi,” I said. “I have a meeting. Please don’t make me send a text that says ‘kitten in the ceiling, may be late.'” He walked over to the washing machine and looked back at me.

“I am going to get into the ceiling.”

He sat down, so I continued to get dressed. Just as I finished, the cries from the laundry room became urgent. Panicked. Scared.

I ducked through the hole to the laundry room to find Obi up on the framework, right by the opening into the ceiling where he got stuck a couple weeks ago.

“I’M GOING TO GET IN THE CEILING!” he cried. “I have to. I AM COMPELLED BY FORCES BEYOND MY POWER!”

It was clear that he did not actually want to be in the ceiling, but that he needed me to intervene. So I reached up and plucked him from the framework. As I carried him up the stairs, the brown kitten head butted my chin and started to purr.

“Thank you, Girl.”

***

What does a kitten do after a near miss like that? He takes a nap on the desk – in his working box – of course.

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