Tag Archives: birthday


I’m a good cat owner. I don’t think anyone would debate that. One of the things I’ve done really well is provide napping spots in every room of the house. It puts a lot of pressure on the cats to use them all so I feel appreciated.

It’s been a while since I’ve seen anyone napping in the house on the condo. So long, in fact, that I wouldn’t have seen Oliver if Obi hadn’t been so desperate to play.





After about half an hour of thumping on every side of the condo, Obi gave up and went to watch OutTV.


Poor brown kitten.

Yesterday was Oliver’s 12th birthday!
Yesterday was Obi’s 6th birthday!

Happy birthday, Kitten Thunder!

Kittens in the Kitchen

The Boy and I have a pretty good arrangement for presents: I tell him exactly what I want and where to get it, and he goes and buys it. Since we both work downtown and I shop downtown, that’s where his purchases usually happen. On Friday, we met for beer and dinner – but he needed to put “something” in my trunk in the parking garage.

After dinner, we went home and Kitten Thunder opened my birthday present for me.

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A bag AND a box? Boy, you shouldn’t have.

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The Girl’s birthday is happy for everyone.


Sweet Dreams are Made of These

Today is my friend Harvey Deselms’ birthday. He and his dog, Dot, have a big birthday party every year at their art gallery so all of us artists can mooch food and hopefully sell stuff to the people with money.

This year there was a balloon artist. When I arrived, Dot – who is much cuter as a four-year-old than she was as a bitey jumpy puppy – was harassing the balloon guy. She wanted his marker, his scissors, his HEY IS THAT A BALLOON CAN I HAVE THE BALLOON!?!

Later, I got this.


Kitten Thunder was not impressed.


The weird thing is that, on Saturday at the 17th Street Arts Festival, a little boy gave me a balloon flower. So we went from no local balloonists to two. The lady at the arts festival made this.


That’s Salvador Dali, in case you were thinking Groucho Marx.

And what does any of this have to do with the cats?

Nothing. Here’s this week’s story:

Oliver, as you know, loves breakfast. He loves the word breakfast. Just whispering “breakfast” in his ear while we’re snuggling will make him purr. So it should come as no surprise that he dreams about breakfast.

Yesterday, Oli was napping on the loveseat. His toes curled up. Then his lips started smacking. Smack smack. Then, from all the way across the room, I heard the purr.

The breakfast of his dreams.

Obi was not so lucky. Today, the brown kitten was snuggling with me (don’t tell him I told you that) and he’d settled down on the couch with his head resting on my stomach.

He was settled, but my stomach was not.

My tummy gurgled and growled for an hour. Eventually the sound worked its way into Obi’s dream. At first he was merely snarling whenever my stomach gurbled. Then his ears twitched as his lip curled up. Finally, he’d had enough of whatever dream creature that was full of big talk in his dream.

He growled back.

I laughed.

Dream over.


Ten Four, Kitten Thunder

Ten Four, Kitten Thunder

Yesterday was Oliver and Obi’s birthday. The grey kitten is now ten. The brown kitten is four. Sniff – my babies are growing up.

They had a can of salmon last night for their birthday dinner.

Haters Gonna Hate

I’m done with my Christmas shopping. My final order went in about an hour ago.

Mwa ha!


On Saturday, Obi helped me wrap a birthday present for a little boy.

"There's a dog on this book. I thought it was a present. Who would want a dog?"

“There’s a dog on this book. I thought it was a present. Who would want a dog?”

I’ve told you this before. I also told you that we didn’t attend the birthday party full of happy five year olds because I had a headache. So the present has remained in our living room.

I set it up against the leg of the coffee table, sufficiently in the way that I will remember to take it with me on Wednesday when we see the little boy’s mother. Every morning the package is laying down in the middle of the floor. I set it back against the leg.

This evening, The Boy and I were eating dinner in the living room. Obi came in and knocked the present down. He stretched over the top of it. Then he kicked at the corner. “Obers,” The Boy said. “Stop. That’s not yours.”

Obi’s ears went flat. He stared pointedly at The Boy. He glanced at me.


Obi started to unwrap the present.

The Boy intervened. The present is now in his office on the bookshelf.

Where it will undoubtedly be forgotten on Wednesday.


We made a sale on our Zazzle store! We’re so excited. It inspired a whole bunch of new products, uploaded today. Check it out.

B is for Boy. And Birthday.

The Boy’s birthday was on Saturday and came none too soon. For one thing, I found out during our trip to California that he hates the toaster oven I got him last year for his birthday. So I needed his birthday to hurry and get here so I’d remember to get him a different toaster oven for his birthday this year.

Romance, we has it.

I found the perfect toaster oven and hatched a plan to have it waiting for him to make something toasty on Saturday morning. This meant opening the box, unwrapping everything and setting it up…then putting it back inside the box until Friday night when The Boy went to bed.

Let me help you guess where I’m going with this: I opened a box. I closed the box. I covered the box, in my office for ease of access, with Obi’s blanket.

Obi was going absolutely nuts over this. He spent all day Friday digging at the box. On the box on top of the blanket. By the box. On the box. Under the blanket on the box – and that time I swear he actually got IN the box.

Then, Friday night, I changed my mind about how to give it to him. So I didn’t put it out.

Saturday morning I decided that would have been a fine idea. Luckily, The Boy doesn’t toast things for breakfast so much as he toasts things for lunch, so I set up the toaster oven before he came back from the Saturday train meeting. I couldn’t find any bows so I put a classy yellow post-it on the front that said “a toast for your birthday.”

Then I gave Obi the box.

Oliver came to check it out for a while as well.


Then The Boy came home and made Obi into a box monster.

Box monsters do not like the flash. They attack the box in retribution.


The Boy likes his new toaster oven – complete with a higher ceiling and a timer. Also, it matches the microwave in both style and size so it has moved out to the breakfast nook. This frees up valuable counter space and we’re both excited about that.

Happy Boy’s birthday to the whole Thunder household, I guess.



The Oli-mpics

Friday was Kitten Thunder’s birthdays. Oliver, whose birthday we know for certain was July 27, turned nine. And Obi, whose records gave a best guess at July 27, turned three. This is further proof that Obi was put on this planet to be with Oliver – he was a birthday present that just took eight months to deliver.

Of course, the whole world celebrated their birthdays with a big ceremony. I have no explanation for why they held it in London. Weird. Oliver feels bad that they haven’t changed the name of the event to include Obi; it could be the O-lympics or the OliandObimpics. But we understand that they’ve been planning this party since before Obi was born, so maybe it was too late to change the letterhead.

In addition to Friday’s big show – where some jerk named Bob seemed set on insulting every country that showed up – there are games! Games for like ten days! Obi has enjoyed some of them. Tennis, swimming, soccer and volleyball are interactive if you are a brown kitten. But there are others where he lays down and takes a nap.

We humbly suggest some new games for the next Oli-mpics:

Triple floor jump
Marathon snuggle
Sprint snuggle
Synchronized snuggle
Speed bathing
The deCAThalon
Fuzzy board
Condo climbing
Fence watching

Also, The Girl has been working on a project that we think would work quite well for those medals they give out.

And, if we might suggest one more change…

The winners should get to nap on that top tier.