Monthly Archives: November 2015

Snap Shots of Thanks

Or no thanks, as the case may be.

The grandpeople did manage to make it to Cheyenne for Thanksgiving. Along with Jigger.

Although they have a love/hate thing with squirrels in common, Obi and Jigger never found a middle ground.


Luckily there’s plenty of space between them when Obi is on the mantle.

Oliver, as Chief Executive Kitten, is protector of the house. He immediately checked out the white intruder and slapped him on the head a couple times to remind him who is in charge.

Jigger didn’t really need this lesson. He’s never been in charge. Not with his own cat siblings. Not at any house he’s visited.

After that first meeting, when we’d felt good about Oliver asserting himself, we started defending Jigger. Because whapping a dog feels good and Oli wanted to do it some more. Once he figured out that he would get scolded for punching the dog for no reason, the grey kitten was eager for excuses. Did he just lunge at Obi? Should I punch him? He’s barking at the squirrel. Should I punch him? He’s snoring in The Grandmaow’s lap, can I punch him?

It was a handy threat, the couple of times Jigger chased Obi. His brother was more than willing to step in – as long as he wouldn’t get in trouble.

But you know who really needed to be punched in the nose? The Grandpaw. We set up our dinner on the dining room table – a surface used as a cat hangout and sundry repository for 363 days of the year – and the cats watched from chairs. My dad put his plate, with a heaping pile of stuffing, mashed potatoes, and turkey on the table. Half an inch from Oliver’s nose. “Here you go buddy!” my dad said.

Oliver’s eyes grew wide. It was the best moment of his life.

And then he was scooped up of the chair and set on the floor. The floor. Not even onto the condo. Rude. Affrontage. SO not right.

Grandpaw is just lucky he has other redeeming value, like a good Claw and scritchy fingers.

All good things must come to an end, including visits from the grandpeople. They headed home on Saturday morning after predicting a nap with two exhausted kittens was in my future. It took about ten minutes for that prediction to come true (Obi is under the quilt).


And it stayed true all afternoon.



Family is coming for Thanksgiving, maybe, and there has been much cleaning of which Kitten Thunder does not approve. But on the bright side, I decided to put up the Christmas tree to be enjoyed by more than The Boy and me… And Obi.


It came in on Sunday and Obi got to work right away. Fluffing his tree.


I put on the new Christmas ornaments I bought this fall. Because they were handy. Obi seems to object deeply to the new giraffe.

The rest of the ornaments had to wait until last night.


Obi approves, though he reserves the right to fluff the tree as needed throughout the season.

And that giraffe may have to go.

My Milkshake

Brings all the cats to my lap…


Lap Shortage

We didn’t blog on Tuesday because it was The Boy’s birthday and I took him out to dinner.  When we got home we slept through a couple episodes of NCIS before giving up and going to bed to sleep.

Because we’re old.

I’ve been working on a big project for a couple of weeks now. I gave myself a huge buffer because I wanted to be done before all the holidays got here. Which was lucky because I blew through deadline after deadline – all self imposed. It started with the week we came back from vacation and my sinuses took their revenge. In addition to having trouble being upright, I couldn’t really read through my watery eyes.

Then it just took longer to do the project than I expected. Short story long, I finally finished it enough to bring in other team members today.

Which was good timing because Kitten Thunder has had enough of this working long hours crap.

I was sitting Indian style on the couch, typing away, when Obi came for loves. My legs made a mighty fine nest fit a nap. He purred with all his might for half an hour.

He was irritated by me working over him, but he dealt with it.

Then it happened. I needed something in my office. I’ll be honest with you: normally I would have just sat back and let Obi continue snuggling, getting the project done just a little later. But the end was finally in sight.

I disturbed the brown kitten.

I got the information I needed and returned to the couch. Knowing it was futile, I called to Obi and asked him to come back.

Instead, Oliver arrived to snuggle. He stepped on my keyboard and I yanked his foot away. He sat back, affronted.

And he left.

I called to him. Futile. But Oliver is quick to forgive when a lap is on the line. He returned after treating his injured feelings with some snackums. This time he walked around the computer and settled into the leg nest.

A few minutes later… Obi came back. He looked at his brother, napping soundly. He glared at me. I told him Oliver wouldn’t care if he just piled on.

I wondered if my knees would be able to handle 25 pounds in the leg nest. And how long I would put up with agony to not affront Obi again.

The brown kitten stretched out along one thigh instead. Doable.

I kept typing.

And the project was done. Other than the brief moment of stupidity when I tried to email a 24MB file, it was off to another team member. Off my desk.

Obi celebrated by going away, having reached his quota of snuggle time.

Oliver celebrated by doing his job the best way he knows how.


Face nap.

The Hard Sleep

The time change is hard on everyone. It’s hard on brown kittens who have to supervise in the office ALL MORNING.


A kitten can barely keep his eyes open.

Luckily, Obi can supervise by smell.

Oliver’s job is equally hard. It feels like I’m getting off the couch WAY too early lately.


Maximum surface contact is needed to hold me down.

And I’d better hold still.


Lest I disturb a fuzzy grey kitten.

Bread Box

When The Boy and I first started dating, he brought a take and bake pizza over and we were going to watch a movie. While I was doing something in the back of my house, he started the oven.

Without looking inside.

The problem was that I never used my oven. At least not for cooking. It’s where I stored Oreos and bread.


Consider this, the bread I left in a bag on the floor while I ate the cheeseburger I’d picked up on the way home from the grocery store, exhibit A.




I don’t think Oliver actually likes bread, but he does love plastic. Especially noisy plastic.

I once left Oreos in the table over night and woke up to a hole in the plastic – and the Oreos chewed on in a perfect circle, within a kitten nose radius.

And that’s why there’s not much bigger than MY bread box – it cooks two pizzas at a time.



We’re all sleeping upstairs again but that means I’m working at my desk again. Obi approves… As long as he can nap on my laptop.

Whatchu Doin’?

We’ve come to realize that Obi doesn’t get yelled at. Ever. His actions are, however, questioned.

As the curtains in my office billow and the lump behind them climbs higher. Onto the monitor shelf, causing the books there to wobble.

“Hey Obi, watcha doing?”

I hear a noise in the office closet and look over to see a brown kitten, halfway to the mountain of boxes. Reaching. Reeeeeaching for a precariously balanced box on top.

“Hey Obi, watcha doing?”

Usually he backs down with my question. But sometimes a kitten has to take a stand.

The brown kitten stands in his back feet, front paws resting on the coffee table. Searching. With two gentle nudges, the flashlight we use to find toys under the couch falls to the floor.

Then he nudged it some more.

And a little more.

“Hey Obi, whatcha doing?”

Making eye contact with me, Obi nudged the flashlight again. And it was under the couch.

Oooooh, bad kitty.

But maybe I could check for the yarn balls when I retrieve the flashlight?

If You Don’t Want to Share…

…Don’t leave your food on my desk.


Go With It

When your Girl wants to roll onto her side but you’re comfortable the way you are, you have two options. You can get up it you can get floppy.

Trust that she will take you to a different comfort zone.


And when The Boy says you’re laying in a silly way?


Ignore him.