Interested

The Boy has a dresser that had moved around with him since he was a child. It was, possibly, his dad’s before that. As a child he chose to have it painted bright red.

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I didn’t want it to be red anymore.

I’ve been painting the dresser a little at a time for a couple weeks. Out in the garage. As you know, Kitten Thunder did not approve.

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I’m not quite done painting but the snow storm inspired me to close up painting operations in the garage so my car could sleep inside. With a 7 a.m. meeting, I was not interested in risking an inch of ice on the windshield.

So the bench that I bought lady week came in. Oliver stood in the way and I had to yell at him to move.

He was interested.

Then I brought in the dresser and tried to put the drawers in. Oliver wanted to supervise from inside.

He was interested.

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Then I wanted to take a picture with him with the finished dresser and bench. I set him on the bench. Nope. The dresser? Nope.

He wasn’t interested.

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***
I did manage to get photos of Oliver on the bench by Obi’s favorite OutTV Channel.

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Obi sharing the channel with his brother? Not interested.

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***
In case you’re interested, the handles of the dresser are faucet handles. There are two more for the top drawer. And I think we’ll get the more so we can put one in the middle – they look a little awkward to me with only two. We just need to find a store with a different design.

No Mo Snow

Ah, Wyoming. Where it snows at least once every September. Always. In spite of this being a fact and required by the laws of nature, it always catches us by surprise when the severe weather announcements start.

And we try to deny that is happening.

Which is why it was 40 degrees and raining a fat drizzle on Thursday afternoon when I started the desperate process of bringing plants in from the cold. My pepper plant and eggplant have just started making fruit (remember the hail storm in late June?) so I’m glad they are in pots.

Obi is glad, too.

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He’s been asked not to sit in the parsley this year. Nobody said anything about the oregano.

Not a Big Deal

As you know, me leaving the house is generally unacceptable in Kitten Thunder’s opinion. So I was very casual about getting up at way too early this morning and getting dressed while the kittehs ate breakfast.

No big deal.

Nothing to worry about.

The kittehs were not fooled. They pulled out the big guns.

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Obi casually made himself at home in my lap while I was drinking coffee. No big deal. Not a big thing for my unsnuggly brown kitten to show up instead of the super snuggle grey kitten.

And he wouldn’t leave. I petted. I kissed. I took his picture. Nothing would move Obi from his post. No torture was great enough to convince him that he’d rather have me leave.

He was holding me down at all costs.

Alas, it was all for nothing. Here I sit at a conference.

We both wish he’d won.

Cliffhanger

The Boy has made exciting progress in the basement. Now we have an actual door-shaped hole in the wall of the laundry room. For months, I have had to continue walking around the basement to use the old door or duck through the small hole in the wall. Of course I was always wearing dark jeans whenever I lost my balance and touched the chalky edges of the hole. So I very much like the bigger hole. Kitten Thunder thinks it is less fun this way.

The other day, I went to walk through the new hole in the wall and found Obi hanging by two fingers from a wire from the ceiling. Then he fell to the floor, thumping against the washing machine on his way down. I followed him out to the hallway and subjected him to an inspection. No cuts. No sore spots. Just a mad kitten.

I attempted to scold him for his behavior. He flicked his tail at me as he strolled up the stairs.

As if world champion rock climbers don’t fall down if their mother walks into the room and screams about it.

Sheesh.

***

On Friday, the brown kitten was feeling compelled to get into the ceiling again. I thought I had him talked out of it and left him in the window while I finished getting dressed. Then I heard the big noise. It was a weird noise.

I paused. I listened.

Obi cried.

I rushed over to the hole in the wall and immediately noticed the piece of wood across the doorway. Obi was sitting on the washing machine looking angry.

He’d decided to jump for the ceiling where The Boy had run the new lights for the spare room. Neither the trim along the ceiling, nor the vertical stud on which it had been sitting, were attached to the wall all that well. Certainly not well enough to support a ten pound kitten with velocity. The Boy said – when he got home and I showed him what the kitten had done – that he hadn’t thought that would be a problem for one day. He was wrong. Obviously.

Obi does not approve of shoddy workmanship.

Especially if it makes it look like the brown kitten didn’t make his jump.

Bad Boy.

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.