Category Archives: woe is me.

La-Z Boys…or…The Boycliner

I was going to write a post mocking Kitten Thunder’s pain. They are so tortured, having to put up with pictures when they sleep in the box on the desk. Seriously, it is bad enough that I’ve taken to working at my desk instead of on the the couch.IMG_20140203_100902_804

But then I walked out into the living room to ask The Boy if he was hungry. Because I was full of the empty. And there, on the recliner, I saw Oliver laying on the armrest next to his Boy. He looked bored. And put down upon.IMG_20140204_185804_127

After a while, The Boy said he was in fact hungry. We discussed plans for dinner. “Food,” I suggested. Then The Boy asked for specifics. I reminded him that the plan, when we made a plan on Saturday, was spaghetti. Spaghetti, he said, still seemed like a goo plan.

But he didn’t get up.

And he didn’t get up.

Finally, The Boy pointed out that he would disturb Kitten Thunder if he got up to cook.

IMG_20140204_191316_762Since all my boys were on the recliner, I got up and mumbled something about boiling water and using the white box. I went into the kitchen.

That did the trick.

Obi and The Boy were suddenly inspired to help me. Oliver was more than happy to take over the warm spot in the recliner.

 

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Super Bowl

You may have heard…there was a big game today. And, since Denver is just 90 minutes downhill from Cheyenne, we have a larger than average number of Broncos fans here. So, this year, I actually watched the game AND the commercials. We did stay home to watch it because the commercials and the conversations about those commercials on Twitter are important to me.

Plus. Sad Broncos fans.

But there were important things learned today.

First, Oliver loves the Kitten Bowl. We watched it while we were waiting for the pregame commentary to finish up. Oli, personally, could have watched it all night. By the end of the game, The Boy was thinking HE would rather watch the Kitten Bowl. Okay, not really.

KittenBowlSecond, The Boy has never heard of the Puppy Bowl. I switched over at half time to try to watch feline half time. It wasn’t on. But there was a big puppy picking on a chihuahua and I started yelling “unnecessary roughness! Where’s the ref?” The Boy had just enough time to give me a weird look before the ref stepped in and made the call, telling the big puppy to play with dogs his own size.

Third, If Tail is giving you attitude and you grab him to keep him from slapping the grey kitten in the face? You can wag a brown kitten. Obi joined Oliver on my lap. When I held his tail down, he wagged himself right off the couch. This, evidently, was my fault.

Fourth, Twitter is the best thing ever for nights like this. Not only did I get to enjoy snarky comments – about Chrysler’s ad agency not realizing they’re owned by Italians, and Jaguar forgetting they are owned by an Indian company, plus thousands of Americans losing their minds over Coca-Cola recognizing that our country is multicultural (some clever tweets, some just really sad) – I also got to follow the Puppy Bowl, the Kitten Bowl, AND the Super Bowl at the same time. Plus, did you know there was also a FISH BOWL!?! I didn’t find out about that until the end.

Fifth, The Boy and I can spend five minutes trying to combine the words Twitter and snarky. It is not possible to say “twnarky.”

Sixth, did you just try to say “twnarky?” You did. I know you did.

Seventh, Oliver snuggles for approximately 22 minutes at a time. Then he has to get up to eat something. Then he comes back. Then he gets up to grab a sip of water. Then he comes back to snort the water he inhaled onto me. Then he gets up for a snack. Then he comes back. Then he needs to pee…

Eighth, if you laugh at commercials you will disturb the kittens.

It’s rude to disturb the kittens.

So, in summary. Twitter? Good. Commercials? Good. Game? We weren’t bowled over.

 

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.

Contrary

A short update on the black cat situation: Oliver and Obi were locked in the spare room all day on Thursday. On Friday, while I was in Rock Springs, The Boy was unable to con Oliver into going to the basement so Obi was locked in the basement and Oli had the rest of the house. On the four hour drive home, I thought and thought and thought about what else we could do to not ruin their lives until this is resolved. Hours later, at 2 a.m., it came to me.

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The cats really only need to be blocked from a window where they’ll see the black cat at the same time. So I closed the drapes in my office and put a sheet up across the bottom of the cat shelf windows. And this only has to be like this when the boys are home alone and The Boy or I won’t be able to intervene.

Kitten Thunder says their lives are ruined.

***

It’s Sunday, salmon day. Oliver and Obi have a new strategy that they rolled out today. It’s called over-the-shoulder coveting. Er, NOT coveting. After all, if they aren’t LOOKING at the food, how could they be coveting, right?

IMG_20140112_191123_931This was supposed to be a picture of Obi not looking at The Boy. And it is. But it was better when Obi was also not looking at me. He was feeling contrary tonight. So contrary, in fact, that he photobombed his brother’s picture.

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As you can see, Oliver was also working the over-the-should technique.

Eventually, Kitten Thunder got their salmon juice and Obi settled in for a post dinner nap. But not before penning a new Kittaiku:

I’m not coveting
I am not looking at you
Reward with fish juice

 

Escalation

This week has been full of drama. As I’ve mentioned before, the little black cat in the neighborhood has caused some hate and discontent with Kitten Thunder by coming into our driveway. When the condo was in the office, the boys would be sleeping together and one of them would see the black cat and growl. The other sleeping brother would wake up thinking he was being attacked and a fight would happen between my cats.

And so the condo was moved out of the office.

This irritated me, that my cats were punished because some jerks think their cat wants to live outside. Yes, people who leave their cats outside are jerks – there, I said it. Outdoor cats live in fear. Their lives, on average, are cut in half. And their deaths are terrifying and painful if they run into a coyote, a car, a fox, a disease or a neighbor with a gun. If you don’t want a cat in your house, DON’T GET A CAT. I know some of my friends disagree, but this week? I don’t care. And this is why:

On Wednesday, the black cat climbed onto my roof and picked a fight with my cats through the window as they were napping on the cat shelf. I was working downstairs and ran up to find out what the screaming was about. When I saw the black cat outside, I slapped the glass. He LUNGED at the glass and stood, claws in the screen, screaming at me.

When I realized he wasn’t going to leave, I went outside and threw a stick at him. I yelled and threw things at him until he climbed down the neighbor’s tree and crossed out of their yard. Then I returned to Kitten Thunder.

Obi and Oliver were not calmed by the black cat leaving. Oli’s anger fed Obi’s, one growl met with a hiss an the hiss met with an arched back. I turned to one, then the other, trying to talk them down. It got worse and worse and worse.

Finally, I picked up Obi to move him away from Oliver to see if that would help. The stressed out brown kitten hissed as a reflex. And Oli LOST IT. “DON’T SAY THAT TO MY GIRL!” he screamed and launched off the cat shelf toward Obi, still in my arms. I backed up quickly and Oli missed us, landing on my foot and tearing flesh. Then he backed up to jump again.

Quickly, I sat down. I tried to get them to see that they were fighting each other, not the threatening black cat. Obi screamed, punched Oli in the face and ran for the stairs. They got downstairs much faster than me, obviously, and I found them in battle under the dining room table. This, of course, meant I had to reach into the fray blindly and grab whatever I could. More flesh tore. I got Oliver and locked him in my office.

Separated, my sweet kittens had a chance to catch their breath and regain their senses. I got Obi calmed down. My heart was still pounding. Oh yeah, and I was bleeding. A lot.

Foot

 

If you’re a Whovian, you can hear the voices of Gallifrey calling a certain question from the rip in my foot…and time.

Anyway, I needed to leave my house shortly after this incident. So what to do? I locked Obi in the basement with food, water and a litter box and let Oliver out of the office. Immediately, they were upset to be separated. I’m certain they sat together, on either side of the kitchen door, the entire time I was gone.

And while I was gone, I called animal control. I was surprised when they said they’d go try to find the black cat. Possibly, I think, because he lunged at me and people aggression is worse than pet aggression. I told the gentleman that, should he not be able to catch the cat (because seriously, he’s a cat) that I would borrow a humane trap and set it out. And if I have to I’ll catch that cat and turn it in daily until his owners get tired of paying $40 in bail.

I haven’t heard back from him about whether he had any luck. In the meantime, Kitten Thunder has to be locked in the Thunder Sanctuary (a.k.a the spare room) in the basement whenever we aren’t home during the day. I can’t even imagine if they’d had this big confrontation when I wasn’t home to intervene. I can imagine the huge vet bill, though.

It really isn’t fair to my cats that they can’t live in peace in their own home.

I have nothing funny to say about this. It’s horrible. Horrible for Oli and Obi. Horrible for the black cat who will be caught and evaluated and may not have a happy outcome if his owners’ bad decision has made his dangerous. And horrible for the owners who think they were doing a nice thing for their cat by letting it roam free.

But at least I’ll have the ultimate Whovian scar.

How to Wrap Presents

Step 1. Open The Boy’s closet and encourage the kittens to take a nap inside.

Step 2. Casually walk downstairs like you’re not going to do anything interesting.

Step 3. Go ahead and turn on the camera – you know steps 1 and 2 are fruitless, right?

Step 4. Consult the brown kitten as you choose a paper.

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Step 5. Ask the grey kitten about the paper when he runs the brown kitten off.

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Step 6. Lay out paper to judge size according to the package being wrapped.

Step 7. Move the grey kitten off the paper, onto the shelf under the window.

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 Step 8. Watch, helplessly, as the grey kitten tries to step back on the table but puts his foot on paper that does not have table underneath it. Watch him fall, slamming his chin on the table edge on his way down.

Step 9. Drop everything and scoop the grey kitten into your arms. Check for injury. Walk around the house with him in your arms for 20 minutes while his world stops spinning.

Step 10. Decide to blow of wrapping for a while.

Step 11. Return, after dinner, to wrapping.

Step 12. Allow the brown kitten to “curl” some ribbon.

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***

Oliver is fine. We finished wrapping presents and snuggled up on the couch. Purr therapy works both ways.

 

Purr Therapy Sunday

I have the plague. Or a cold. I had to work all day yesterday, followed by The Boy’s work Christmas party, so I had already declared that I’d be sleeping until noon.

That didn’t quite work out since Kitten Thunder saw the dread black cat in the driveway at 10 a.m. I got up to help The Boy talk them down.

Then I moved the condo into the dining room.

Oliver has spent much of the day administering purr therapy.

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After dinner, which The Boy went a got when he went to the grocery store for me – above and beyond the call of duty, I say – Obi decided to administer some preventative therapy on The Boy.

 

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