Monthly Archives: October 2013


There were little people in the neighborhood, coming to our door and ringing the bell. Obi does not approve of these shenanigans. He’s never seen trick-or-treaters before because I was painting my kitchen at the old house the first year we lived here – and The Boy hid in the basement. Last year, Halloween was on a Wednesday. We drink beer on Wednesdays. Priorities.

Toward the end of the evening, Obi decided to put a stop to it.


We were running out of candy because I didn’t buy much, thinking our neighborhood was kind of slow. And the wind had picked up. So we turned out the light and headed to The Boy’s office to see if we could figure out the issue with our internet. Obi, who had developed hiccups from the stress, nestled down in a box.


He wanted the hiccuping shenanigans to end as well.

Once we got the internet “fixed” (because OF COURSE it works while you’re on the phone with the IT guy), Obi and I went down to the basement to work out. Well, I worked out. 


Obi was on the look out for more of those little people




On the weekend, The Boy gets up much earlier than me. I am, by nature, more of a night owl. This means that The Boy falls asleep on the couch on Saturday night. Then he’ll decide that if he’s sleeping he might as well be in bed. I follow a couple hours later.

And, before we head to bed at 1 or 2 a.m., Kitten Thunder hits me up for breakfast. Last night, Oliver was insistent about breakfast. He was starving TO DEATH and could not wait until morning.

“If I feed you,” I said, “do you promise that you won’t wake me up at the crack of dawn?”

Yes, yes of course, he promised. So Obi and Oli got some breakfast.

This morning, Oliver wanted breakfast. He stomped. He cried. He headbutted me. I rolled over and gave him a look. “You promised me that you wouldn’t beg for breakfast this morning.”

The grey kitten looked at me. He looked out the window. He looked back at me. It was, in fact, well past dawn. Promise kept.

The Boy got up shortly after. I heard him open a can of breakfast for the kittehs. Soon after that, a full and happy grey kitten came back to bed. Night owls sleep in.

Please hold…

The Kitten Thunder blog is moving to We love WordPress and will continue to use it, but I’m going to private hosting.

While we wait, think about Christmas. Think about wrapping your presents in Cousin Spade. He’s very festive.


While The Boy was cooking me pancakes tonight, I heard the kittehs crying at him. Possibly because he was looking for a recipe and they knew what he needed: tuna, milk, cheese. Possibly because I’d asked them to go bite him and they were tattling on me. You see, I’ve been asking for pancakes for over a week and he hasn’t felt like making them.

Much like Congress, he had no better plan for dinner. But he didn’t like my idea. We had a kitchen shut down. But eventually we settled on spaghetti. And the next night we had salmon. And then chicken. And, and, and. But no pancakes. See how that’s done, Congress? Neither of us got the perfect meal, but we didn’t stop eating. 

So this afternoon I marinated some chicken for tikka masala. I knew there was a chance it would wait until Thursday because sometimes we fend for ourselves on Tuesdays. And we have beer for dinner on Wednesday. So, when we decided to fend for ourselves tonight, I decided to be a big girl and make my own dang pancakes. And The Boy thought that pancakes sounded good.

“Obi, go bite The Boy for me.”

I was kidding, of course. I’m seriously not going to complain about anything The Boy cooks for me – considering I used to eat at Wendy’s four times a week to break up my meals at Taco Johns. 

ANYWHO, the kittehs were talking at The Boy in the kitchen. Until I walked into the kitchen. Then there were two streaks of furry leaving the kitchen. I found them in the dining room, casually sitting under the table as if they’d been there all night. What were they up to?


I decided to clean litter boxes while dinner was cooking. Kitten Thunder followed me downstairs. On my way back up, they were sitting casually in the train room as if they’d been there all night. Obi was washing a paw. What were they up to?


A few minutes later, I was standing in the kitchen with The Boy. Two streaks of fur came up the stairs from the basement. The streaks diverged in front of us; one streak went left, into the dining room. One went right, into the hallway. 

Dinner was ready. 

We took our pancakes into the living room and found two kittehs laying under the coffee table. Casual. Like they’d been waiting there all along. Oliver scratched his ear. Not up to anything.


More Man’s Work

I was sitting on the couch yesterday when Oliver came down to lay on my lap. The Boy was knocking a hole in the side of the house, upstairs, and it had disturbed his nap. The grey kitten did not approve.

Obi was all over it.


While The Boy was on a run to Home Depot, the brown kitten showed me his project.





Then The Boy returned.


Oliver came up to see what we were doing. He looked at me with “let’s go take a nap” eyes. I did return to the couch because I had some work to do on my laptop. But The Boy’s work bothered the grey kitten even there – a ladder right next to him on OutTV was not a restful thing.

While The Boy was outside on the ladder, Obi was still upstairs…hanging head and shoulders out of the hole in the wall where a window had been. The Boy did not approve.

This would be a good place to say that The Boy primed a new window sill and put it in. And it was too big, so the window didn’t fit. BUT! When he trimmed it down it was perfectly level so the window went in with no shimming needed. TA DAAA!

This is also a good place to say that I did not sit on the couch, napping and eating bon-bons, while my husband worked. I did my regularly scheduled work on the computer. Then I cleared leaves from around the foundation so it could dry out – today I was supposed to be recaulking in the driveway and pulling out the section of wall that is water damaged. But, because of this plan, it is raining and snowing.

Nothing is drying out.

This morning, The Boy came up and started trimming away excess spray foam from the window. Oliver and I were still in bed. I lifted my head to see what was happening. “Stay,” said the grey kitten, putting a paw on my shoulder.

Obi was supervising the work from the counter. When he noticed the Oli and I were awake, he started to walk toward us. But he walked over the decal that had been on the new window and his feet stuck to it. It was disturbing. It inspired a bath.

Hours later, the window is close to being done. The Boy had to go to a train meeting, but when he comes back he will put up the last bit of trim and seal things like crazy. It looks great. And it will be so nice to have light in the room – the old wood-framed window was covered by an icky piece of plastic so we kept the shower curtain closed to hide it.

During a run to Home Depot, Obi took a nap on my lap. He told me to be sure to let you know that he never would have been able to do this project without The Boy.

The Boy is an excellent helper.

I’m in.



Pecking Order

I had one of those days where a lot of people were lucky I wasn’t packing my spork. Because so many foreheads needed sporking. Spork spork spork (this is awesome if read with Psycho sound effects).

So when I got home tonight, it was fairly easy for Obi to convince me to put off my more work to do in favor of a kitten snuggle. The brown kitten kneaded and purred and offered a head for scritching. When The Boy got home, I lost my snuggle buddy.

Soon to be replaced by a grey kitten. Oliver, too, had a hard day. My eight hour absence was the least of his problems. But that’s another post. What is important, now, is that we had each other. And it was snuggle time.

After an hour or so, The Boy decided to cook spaghetti for dinner. He cooked it all by himself because a) it doesn’t take two people to make spaghetti and b) hello, snuggling. So all was fine. But then dinner was ready.

The Boy came out to inform us that it was time to eat. Oliver fixed him with as steady gaze. Serve me, Boy, by serving The Girl.

The Boy set up TV trays and told Oliver I needed to get up. Serve me, Boy, by serving The Girl.

The Boy scooped his own spaghetti and sat down to eat. He got a hard glare from the grey kitten. Then a sigh. Oliver got up, stretched, and jumped to the floor. I went to get my dinner.

Oliver. Obi. Girl. Boy. Is this pecking order really that hard to understand?