Monthly Archives: November 2013

I’d love to know…

There was a big Thunder going on on the main floor while I was working in the basement. When I came upstairs, this is what I found.

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The questions are, of course, why did they move my shoe to the middle of the doorway in the hall? And why did they decide that was the right place to store a bouncy ball?

I’m open to theories.

Brokefast

As I mentioned earlier this week, yesterday was the 50th anniversary of Doctor Who. Before I watched the special episode which, due to the world wide simulcast, aired in Wyoming at 12:50 p.m., I wanted to catch up on episode I’d missed last spring.

So I was up at 4:15 a.m.

That time is also known as the crack of Oliver-isn’t-even-hungry-yet. He was willing to get up and eat breakfast when I got up. And then he climbed into my pile of blankets on the couch and we watched the Doctor Who marathon. It was a good day for the kittens as I didn’t move from the couch, except for coffee and bathroom runs, for ten hours.

And the special episode was awesome.

Saturday night, The Boy decided that sleeping in the chair was silly so he went upstairs to bed before I did. I finished what I was doing and got ready to sleep as well. But here’s where I did something smart.

Realizing that Kitten Thunder had eaten at 4:20 a.m., I knew they would be hungry early. Really early. To give myself some uninterrupted hours of sleep, I fed them a bonus breakfast shortly after midnight.

Then I was stupid and left the bathroom door open. I blame this on the fact that someone knocked everything off the nightstand. This everything included my alarm clock and bite guard (in a case). I found the clock at arm’s length under the bed. I did not find my bite guard and gave up – one night of teeth grinding wouldn’t kill anyone. But I was distracted; hence the open door.

So Obi bump bump bumped in the night.

And since I was awake, Oliver would be okay with some breakfast. If I wanted. Did I want? How about now? Now? Aaaaaand now? No? Now?

Finally, The Boy got up. I heard him talking to Oliver. Oliver was maintaining that he was starving to death. The Boy was suggesting that, since there was a can on the top of the garbage in the can, perhaps starvation was a strong word. I wondered if I should get up long enough to tell The Boy that they did, in fact, need to be fed. But then I heard a can open.

A while later, Oliver was back in bed for his extended Sunday snuggle.

A while after than, when I got up, Oliver didn’t get up right away. He didn’t tell me he was starving. I assumed everything was right with the world.

But then I noticed there was not a second can of food in the garbage. I confirmed it with The Boy. Kitten Thunder did not get fed this morning. The Boy had seen the evidence and assumed that I’d gotten up without waking him to feed them. And I didn’t make it up to them by feeding them at any other point today.

Oh, the catmanity.

I’m sure they’ll be ready to eat at around 4 a.m. tomorrow.

Oh, the Girlmanity.

Seriously

Why is this so funny?!

You have got to go check out my Pinterest board. I have the best kitteh pictures from the past couple weeks.

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Oliver is laying next to me and every once in a while he licks my side where my sweater has ridden up. I have to say that little kitteh tongue is the most best tickle in the world.

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It was cold and snowy today. I had to wear my winter coat for the second time this fall – which is wrong, as it is nearly December. I’m a little afraid of the upcoming winter when it finally gets here.

But cold days mean that I had help with my design work and Facebooking today. Oliver likes to lay next to me, with his elbow on my stomach. He insists on putting his front paws on my laptop. Often, one of those paws hits the trackpad and suddenly my screen zooms WAY in or WAAAAAY out. When that happens I slide my hands under his paw.

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He feels like he’s in control. I get some work done.

Does this qualify as micromanagement?

Doctor Pi

Do do doooo, do da doooooooo. Do wa do wa do wa doo dah dooooooooo.

It is the 50th anniversary of Doctor Who and BBC America is playing all Doctor all the time this week as a lead in to Saturday’s Day of the Doctor special episode.

I’ll be watching on Saturday with eleven of my closest friends.

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And all this week, Kitten Thunder and I have been catching up on episodes I’ve missed, specials I’ve missed, things I’ve seen a hundred times and things I’d see a hundred more times.

And I sing the song. Do do doooo, do da doooooooo. Do wa do wa do wa doo dah dooooooooo.

Right this very instant, “Blink,” with the weeping angels is on. Which leads to this brilliance.

Which never, EVER gets old.

With all of this exposure, it is no wonder that Oliver’s dreams have been infiltrated by Doctor Who adventures.

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At first he was just laying next to me, wedged between the couch and my legs. Then his toes started tapping against my waist. Dap dappa da dap dappa da dap. Do do doooooo…

Then his claws dug in and his front arm started flicking. I imagine Doctor Pi was using a sonic screwdriver to open a can of tuna. Do do tuuuuuuna…

And then his lips started smacking. Good tuna for The Doctor.

Obi and I watched him dreaming for a while. Then I giggled and the grey kitten woke up. Stretching, he decided it was time to go get a snack.

Saving the whoniverse from evil cans of closed tuna is hungry work.

Balls!

I have this strange habit of doing things that will keep me from getting a good night’s sleep. These things seem innocent enough when I’m doing them. Later, when awoken in the middle of the night, it seems obvious that I’m…well… an idiot.

For instance, I didn’t think twice about emptying the change in my pockets onto the toothbrush stand so I could wash my jeans. At 3 a.m., though, as Obi knocked the coins one by one to the floor, my mistake was clear.

And then there was the bouncy ball. The ball that had been sitting on the floor in my office for days, untouched. The ball that I picked up and carried up into the bedroom and bounced across the room for Obi.

The ball that rolled across the floor all night.

For three nights.

Because I’m an idiot. And because, in the light of day, I’d forget to take the ball downstairs.

Idiot.

But my idiocy did lead to cuteness.

Thursday morning, as I was brushing my teeth, I glanced over to see Oliver looking at the bouncy ball. It was rolling toward him. Slowly. I looked around for the brown kitten who surely was responsible for the roll.

No kitten.

Then I saw it. A big black kitten paw was peeking out from under the bed. There was also a stripey tail poking out from the around the corner of the bed.

With one toe, I scooted the ball back toward the paw. A few seconds later, the ball rolled back to me. Scoot. Roll. Scoot. Roll. When my toothbrush turned off I returned to the bathroom. I looked back to see Oliver stretch out on the floor and gently tap the ball back to the bed.

Scoot. Roll.

***

On Friday, I had a meeting over lunch and suggested we order bocce balls and salad from a local restaurant, Pizzeria Venti. Bocce balls are large meatballs, wrapped in dough and covered in marinara sauce. Kind of like inside-out spaghetti. There were leftovers. Facing a weekend without The Boy, gone to California for a train thing, I claimed the leftovers.

For lunch today, I ate the last three bocce balls. Oliver sat behind me on the armrest of the couch. He wasn’t coveting, but he did rest his chin on my shoulder and gaze lovingly at my plate. And when I set the plate on my knee with one uneaten meatball, he attempted to help me out. When I moved the plate to the back of the couch, he attempted to follow.

I wolfed down the bocce ball – all except a little bit of dough – and set the plate on the floor. Oliver inspected the plate. He tasted the dough. Then he walked off in disgust.

He prefers a little more ball and a little less bocce.

The Highs and Lows

I left Cheyenne for the girls shopping trip last Thursday. That evening, we went to my grandparents’ house and the trip could have ended right then. Because I got the perfect gift.

My aunt brought Oliver milk rings, all the way from California.

I couldn’t wait to get home to give them to him. But thank goodness I did because I got Kitten Thunder another great gift the next day. Our very first purchase in Salt Lake was at a Skechers store. I looked at my sister’s bag and declared that our mission was accomplished and that we could all go home.

She disagreed.

So I tried again at our next purchase, at Loft. Here it is, the perfect gift.

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Obi got a real charge out of being in the bag.

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Oli felt powerful…and pirate-y.

Unfortunately, a bag won’t do a kitten any good if The Girl insists on doing something stupid like working a 15 hour day. Especially if she spends most of that time away from the house.

And then insists on working in the office instead of on the couch.

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Obi supervised from the condo.

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Oliver contemplated his hard, hard life from the bed.

So hard.

 

I Work for Peanuts

I got home from the girls’ shopping trip to find a Boy reading a book and two kittens that were set on punishing me. After, of course, they got a little snuggle in to hold themselves over until the punishment was over. After all, THEY had done nothing to deserve the punishment.

After the snuggle, when the punishment had begun, they checked out the bag I’d brought them from The Loft. And Oliver played with his milk ring that my aunt brought for him from California.

Also, while I was gone, packing peanuts escaped from a box in the breakfast nook. No one took credit. And no one cleaned it up.

Because if we cleaned it up, this couldn’t happen:

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Kitten Thunder would like to send out some purr therapy to Mona, who lost Gus-the-Girl of The Three fame, today. Extra purrs to the kitteh siblings who remain to take care of their person.

Also, purr therapy to The Guardians and disciples of the Cult of Otis. Otis, too, recently passed.

To everyone else, hug your kittehs tonight and be glad for every moment of their too short but wonderful lives.