Monthly Archives: January 2014

BrokEN or BrokIN?

I would love to be delivering the CEK’s State of the Household Address to you tonight, but Oliver was SO tired. Being the Chief Executive Kitten is hard work. After dinner, The Boy stood up to put his dishes in the sink and Oliver immediately left my lap to take over the warm spot in the recliner. The Boy returned, made a comment, and tucked the TARDIS blanket around the grey kitten. And that is where he is, still.

Luckily, a big controversy is brewing in the hall. The pundits have been talking about it all night – in between mentions of how Cathy McMorris Rodgers is relevant to me as an American woman because she is a MOTHER of THREE CHILDREN. That, by the way, is not picking on the Republican party but on the news folk who only feel the need to list family as a qualification IF the politician has/has had ovaries. I’M LOOKING AT YOU NBC.

But I digress. Back to the real controversy.

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This box came home with us from our holiday travels. Kitten Thunder loves it. Someone is laying in it almost constantly.

The Boy says it is broken.

Obi? He says it is broken in.

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***

In other news, we made chicken masala last night. I prepared a lot so we would have leftovers. And today I made spaghetti squash to go with it instead of rice. The Boy saw me working on pulling the “noodles” into a huge pile and mentioned he wasn’t super hungry. I told him that was fine but that I was making it anyway for two reasons:

1. You can’t really control how MUCH spaghetti squash you make. That is controlled by the squash.

2. It takes two hours to make spaghetti squash so I can’t really wait until he comes home to find out if he is super hungry because then we wouldn’t eat until 9 p.m.

I told him he could eat just noodles, just masala, or noodles and masala. I also told him he could have a sandwich if he wanted and my feelings wouldn’t be hurt. More noodles and masala for me tomorrow!

But none of this is as important as the fact that I was cooking. And windows had to be opened. The brown kitten approved.

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I swear to you, the pan started smoking before there was food anywhere near it. I think that may be why it was shoved way into the back.

Drawing the Line

A couple months ago, I bought some organizers for our kitchen cabinet to help with the leaning towers of pots. The organizers went, promptly, into my office. There they sat until last week…when I put the bag in front of the cabinet to inspire action. The Boy was inspired to sweep the kitchen and moved the bag into the breakfast nook. Where it stayed.

But, for some reason, I am inspired to get more done on a Sunday afternoon than the rest of the week combined. I work out. I go to the grocery store. I do dishes. And today I put the organizers in the cupboard. Honestly, I don’t think it helped at all.

But I did learn some things:

1. The Boy will keep anything that is well made, even if we never use it or we’re missing a piece. Turns out, we have a pressure cooker. That doesn’t work.

2. I don’t care enough to throw things away just because I think it is silly that The Boy keeps them*. We still have a nonfunctional pressure cooker.

3. I also noticed that we have the toaster oven, for which I have bought two replacements, stored in a cabinet. It is true that I replaced it mostly because it was ugly. But that one, and the little red one that proved to be more style than function, could really go. Unless someone wants to come over for a toast party. TOAST FOR 15!

3. We also have a strainer that nests into the big pot we make spaghetti with so that all you have to do is lift it out and voila! Strained pasta.

4. Obi will help organize a cupboard.

5. Obi is not particularly helpful when he helps organize a cupboard.

6. The fastest way to get Obi out of the cupboard he is helping to organize is to ask The Boy to hand you your camera.

Kitten gone. Cabinet organized…ish.

Nothing toasted, pressurized or strained in the process.

 

* It is worth noting that I also don’t throw things away. I am working on paring my wardrobe down to one closet (plus the sweater closet, of course). Much of my wardrobe doesn’t fit or is no longer appropriate for my age. Those items conceal items that DO fit and that I SHOULD be wearing. Such as, for example, the jeans I am wearing right now. I found them on Thursday and a) am amazed by how perfectly they fit and b) have no recollection of buying them or owning them in the past.

Meanwhile, on the farm…

 

We had steak last night. Obviously, we didn’t give Oliver any because of his tendency to explode. But after The Boy left for train club, Oli went upstairs. Obi and I were in the living room alone. So I set my plate down for him to lick up the delicious cow juice.

I underestimated Oliver’s super sonic food receptors. Before I knew what was happening, he was downstairs and licking the plate.

Then he was exploding. Immediately. Violently. Abundantly.

Meanwhile, downstairs on the farm. The farmer’s life is continuing to get more and more peculiar. One of the soldiers that is hanging around the farm – no one is quite sure whether they are there to protect the farm from the world or the world from the farm – is about to have a bad day.

And the polar bear with soon have his own bad day. I think that giraffe is carnivorous.

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The cows are surprisingly healthy this week.

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A train car has been left in the middle of the field. The giant pig is happy for some his-sized shade for once. Did you know that pigs get sunburned?

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The farmer is so busy with his critters, he’s completely forgotten to keep an eye on his daughter. She’s been sneaking off with the local giant; they hide behind the barn and talk about their future. And Vonnegut.

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Box of the Month

Oliver and Obi were signed up for the box of the month club for Christmas. Another box came today. They would like it better if the boxes didn’t come filled with beer, but something is needed to hold the box down if UPS comes when The Girl isn’t home.

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***

Yesterday was a holiday. I didn’t realize this until dinner time on Sunday night, in spite of the fact that I mentioned it on numerous client Facebook pages. But it was a nice surprise.

On three day weekends, I kind of split the difference between working and not working because there’s really not a day that I don’t work a little bit. I did a little bit of client work. Then I started to clean my office.

I haven’t worked in my office for about two months. At least. Part of the problem is that it is colder in that room than any other in the house. Another part of the problem is that there were shelves that kept my chair from rolling around freely, making it hard to back up far enough to access the power strip for plugging things in – things like my laptop and a space heater. So, yesterday, I fixed it.

I moved the shelves from behind my chair to under the window. I thought they would be slightly too tall, but they fit perfectly. And they are just right for Obi to stalk vicious leaves that blow up onto the outside sill.

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Oliver walked into the office, sniffed the sewing machine, scratched his chin on a box, and left. Obi had to bring him back in to show him the new shelves.

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After I moved the condo out, I put this box on my desk. It is the perfect size for a kitten.

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Or two.

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Russian Foodlette

Oliver hates pate.

Obi hates pate.

Don’t get me wrong; they’ll eat it. But they won’t be happy about it. And, because I love to make my kittehs happy, I don’t buy it. It is also a benefit to me because the chunky stuff comes out of the can easier. This is important because I feed the cats before I’m fully awake.

So imagine my surprise on Saturday when I opened a can and the food didn’t slide easily onto the plates. Pate. The dread pate.

I struggled to get the food on the plate and headed back upstairs to bed.

Then I realized…

There would be more.

The last time I went shopping for cat food, I bought a lot. Like, at least five cans of each flavor. So…there could be four more cans of the dread pate. Or there could have been one stray can of pate mixed into the good stuff.

So each morning we’ll pick a can…

We’ll pull the tab…

And time will tell…

***

A kittaiku from Obi:

The Girl serves breakfast
The food plops down, texture free
Eat it anyway

It is ON!

This morning, the trap was set. And, about an hour ago, Oliver started crying. Just that easy, the little black kitty was caught and I took him off to jail. The nice folks are, right now, evaluating him and getting some food and water.

 

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Of course, immediately after I caught him, I started feeling guilty. He was sweet and scared inside the cage. And he didn’t even get to eat the tuna that lured him into the cage because the plate goes underneath.

As soon as I dropped him off, I went to my car and cried. I cried for the poor black kitty who is a victim of his circumstances. I cried for his owners who, maybe tonight, will notice he is missing and will have to search…or wonder. And I cried in relief that this is over, at least for now. I won’t get to know the rest of the black kitty’s story but I hope he finds a home where he is loved and kept safe. Inside.

A train crossing the road gave me plenty of time to recover, so by the time I got home I was ready to give Kitten Thunder some good news. OutTV is ON.

It is on in my office.

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It is on on the cat shelf.

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And they’ll watch it. As soon as they are done eating the celebratory tuna that I didn’t need for the trap.

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Surfaces

A short update on the black cat situation: the jerk came back and looked in OVER the sheet, and yelled until he got Oliver’s attention. Luckily, Obi was downstairs so I locked him in the office and went to deal with the intruder. Oliver and I kept him busy on the roof until I could call animal control and see if they could come get him if we managed to keep him interested for ten minutes. But no. So I went outside and followed the black cat to see if I could figure out where he lived.

While I did this, I called the people I was supposed to be meeting and left a lunatic message about tracking a cat through the alley. I felt a little like the agents in That Darn Cat.

Anyhow, I think I know where he lives. And I bought a trap – and then it snowed. So tomorrow, my pretty…

***

I’ve mentioned, in the past, that Obi does not approve of things on his flat surfaces. The rug under the coffee table is hardly visible, some days, because he’s knocked so many things off the table.

Much like these cats.

Obi has taken this to a master level. He doesn’t even use his paws. Tail can knock things off the table when Obi isn’t even looking. For instance, The Boy set his bottle of beer on the coffee table while he played his turn at WordFeud. Obi walked by. Tail wrapped itself around the bottle, flicked, and the beer went down to the floor.

No one was more surprised than Obi.