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Monthly Archives: July 2015
Cheyenne Frontier Days was this week which means The Boy has been getting up in the dark all week. He’s been getting up, most days, before Oliver even knows he’s hungry. Today, though, was my turn to make breakfast for the kittehs and we returned to our new old routine.
I put down for for Oli, then locked Obi in The Boy’s office. Then I went to the couch to wait.
Oliver went to the door to cry about being locked in the rest of the house.
Obi hadn’t called me yet so I assumed he wasn’t ready. Then I saw a black paw darting out. But Oliver was too preoccupied with the prospect of more food to play.
I opened the door and returned to the couch to await my post-breakfast snuggle.
But here’s the thing. I don’t get post breakfast snuggles on Sunday anymore. Oliver finished his brother’s breakfast and goes straight to his chair in my office for a nap.
Obi went upstairs and told The Boy, still sleeping, that he was bored and needed a belly rub. The brown kitten was ignored and returned to the living room in a huff. But he didn’t come snuggle.
After hours of being awake, eating my own breakfast and drinking half a pot of coffee, The Boy and I got ready to go to the gym. And suddenly Oliver was everywhere. And he desperately needed me to return to the couch for a snuggle.
Sorry, kitten. He had to wait until we went to the gym, came back, showered, went to the grocery store and baked a cake before I sat down again.
It is a beautiful day in Cheyenne and Frontier Days is just up the road. I can hear the flutes from the Indian Village wafting down the street on the breeze.
I really want to work on the porch today.
I went out to my chair with my phone, coffee and laptop. I posted a photo on Twitter. Then…my wireless connection pooped out. Then it came back. Then it went away again.
Drastic action was needed. I went into The Boy’s office and set about moving the router from the floor to someplace…higher.
KnowSocial’s IT department was on it.
Obi got up on the desk and dropped down behind it. He looked at Oliver and me from the hole where cables run through to the equipment.
I asked him to lift the power strip up and put something under it. He didn’t. Then I asked him if he knew how to get out from behind the desk. He walked out from the side. Hmph, easier than I expected.
Then he went back behind the desk by getting up on the desktop and dropping down again.
When The Boy was home for lunch he said yes, that’s Obi’s favorite thing to do. The first time, The Boy thinks, was an accident.
Anyway, with only two hands and eight paws we were able to get the router up to the desktop. Operation: Work On The Porch continues this afternoon.
We’ve got a new program on OutTV. We’ve all placed bets on which the squirrels will like better: rye or wheat bread? Or graham crackers?
Place your bets.
In other news, Obi is mad at me for letting his pet wasp it off the house. He played with it all morning and it was still alive. This is a special trait for one of his pets.
Unfortunately, his Girl doesn’t have the thick fur that surely was protecting him from stings – because this wall was NOT happy.
And now the kitten is NOT happy.
Can’t talk right now, we’re busy.
The Boy says Frosty is chocolate and cats shouldn’t have it. Dr. Tiffany probable would agree.
Lucky The Girl doesn’t listen.
This afternoon, I hit a wall. Suddenly I was just so tired that sitting at my computer for another moment was out of the question.
I tapped my grey kitten, sleeping in the desk box, on the shoulder and suggested a nap.
Once I was lying down, of course, I was less tired. Not refreshed by a long shot. But too tired to fall asleep.
Oliver decided I was getting too much oxygen. He adjusted to fix the problem.
A kitten’s got to do what a kitten’s got to do.
Why we still have a “roll” of wrapping paper on the floor in the basement hallway, which we walk on every time we go into the workshop:
If you scroll through this really quickly, it’s almost animated!
A letter from Oliver:
Hello, peoples of the world. I have a story for you. A confession, of sorts.
This afternoon, My Girl went into the Out and pulled a bunch of plants out of the ground. I watched her from the window and meet her at the door when she came back in. She held out her hands for me to sniff.
And they smelled amaaazing.
My Girl was covered in the smell of the catnip she grows for me in the Out. She didn’t bring in anything but the smell and the taste, which I licked and licked and licked off her. It went to my head.
Then it really went to my head because My Girl wiped her hands all over my face and ears. As I was rolling on the floor, riding the nip wave, Obi came in to see what I was doing. He washed some nip off my head.
Some cats get mellow on the nip. I get a little slobbery. And a little bitey. And, I admit, my language gets a little less appropriate. My Girl says Obi and I get “nipper’s rage.” I guess that’s because we fight over the nip.
So around the time Obi started licking my head hair the wrong way,I called him a dirty name. I didn’t mean anything by it. But Obi and I aren’t allowed to cuss at each other anymore – you spend one week trying to murder your brother and you never live it down. My Girl and The Boy get all tense whenever we take our thunders a little too far.
Anyway, the second time I cussed at Obi, he sank his teeth into my shoulder and kicked me really hard. It didn’t really hurt but I yowled because that’s part of the game.
The Boy picked Obi up and carried him into the living room. My Girl put water all over her hands and scrubbed my head until it didn’t smell like nip anymore. Obi came back and licked me until the gross water smell was gone.
Even though there wasn’t a problem, My Girl decided that our nip harvest was going to have to go elsewhere. We still have some from the store we’re allowed to have, but the stuff we grow is really good sh…um…stuff. Prime. Grade A.
Luckily, my people have been watching a show called Weeds. They knew just what to do. Some people came to do a deal in the back yard, taking some nip from the harvested pile. My Girl gave tips on how we kittens like to receive it. I don’t think anyone actually took anything from the pile of weeds that was next to the nip. I don’t really understand the programs on the box of light – none of them are named right. Like the show How I Met Your Mother where he only meets their mother once after years and years of talking. Weird. OutTV has better names for programs – Wrens in Bushes? No surprise there.
Anyway, My Girl is also packing some up to mail to the lady who crocheted the blue square I nap on on the dining room table. She’s going to make toys.
So goodbye, my nip. I hope the other kittens of the world appreciate the great gift they’ve been given. And I hope their girls have treats ready when they come down.
Young lady, we have to talk. You and The Boy were gone for years. Or at least several days. Sure, you had The Lori come and rub Obi’s belly. But it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t acceptable.
So why you thought it was okay to leave the house… It baffles the mind.
And before you go on about how you just went to the garage to clean out The Boy’s car, I have one thing to say: No! Sit! Stay.