Double Dog Dare Ya

I had a blueberry muffin for breakfast.

When I was done there was a brown kitten on my lap so I folded the paper cup and set it on the coffee table. Oliver came along and started to chew on it so I opened it back up and set it on the floor for him to lick.

A few minutes later, brown kitten was gone and grey kitten was in my lap.

I had a 9 a.m. meeting so I was unable to find the muffin cup that I assumed was under the couch. I remembered, right before my 2 p.m. meeting, that I hadn’t found it and thrown it away. I didn’t see it in the minute I had to look for it.

On my way to the meeting, it hit me. Oliver was screaming his head off at lunch time. The paper wrapper was missing. It tasted like muffin.

Oh. No.

After my meeting, I raced home and found a flashlight to thoroughly check under the couch. I moved furniture. I poked Oliver’s belly (just like years of watching Grey’s Anatomy taught me) to see if it was tender. And I checked under the couch again.

Then I made the call to Dr. Tiffany.

“So…” I started.

“It’s not Friday so you can’t have an emergency,” she joked.

As I was putting forward the question about if a hypothetical grey kitten had swallowed a hypothetical muffin wrapper would it hypothetically pass with a tummy ache or would it gum up his hypothetical system, I paced the living room. And there it was. A whole muffin cup was peeking out at me from the entry way closet.

Whew.

Tiffany assured me that a cat would have to rip a muffin cup into small pieces to get the whole thing down, so there wouldn’t have been much to worry about. I think she’s never seen Oliver eat. He could totally swallow a wrapper whole.

I don’t think I’ll give him the chance to prove it.

***
Can you find the kitten in this picture?

Probably not. He’s hiding.

Reveille at Camp Couch

I caught a cold last week and have been staying at Camp Couch since Saturday. I have mostly been alone; Oliver has decided that sleeping in the empty spot in my bed is much more comfortable. He’s come down to check on me, of course. And I think Obi has been sleeping on the loveseat.

So it isn’t like I’ve been alone or unsupervised.

Especially in the morning. On Monday, I needed to get up at 4 a.m. for drugs. Me playing with a foil package in the kitchen inspired the pitter patter of eight little feet. If I was up and getting a treat for myself, I might as well give them a little something something, right?

At 6 a.m., when The Boy got up, I heard them earnestly telling him that they needed breakfast. I lacked the will to move the ten feet to the kitchen to contradict them. I lacked the will to raise my head and see if I had a voice to say otherwise.

Kitten Thunder got a second breakfast.

The Boy kind of knew that and confirmed with me when he brought my coffee. But, by then, Oliver was laying with me – dutifully applying purr therapy – and no one felt like scolding him. Purr therapy is hungry work.

This morning, I woke to the familiar feel of a kitten paw poking me in the nose. I opened my eyes to see a grey kitten sitting on the floor by the couch, nose to nose with me. I lifted the blanket to see if he wanted to snuggle. His ears when flat. No.

I lowered the blanket and closed my eyes. Poke. PokePoke. Mew. PokePokePokeMewPoke. I opened my eyes. Mew.

“It isn’t time yet,” I said.

But, just as a well-aimed poke went UP my nose, the breakfast bell went off. A satisfied grey kitten turned and walked expectantly out of the living room.

I guess it was time to muster in the kitchen after all.

***

I’m feeling much better after two days of barely leaving Camp Couch. I’m packing up and moving back upstairs tonight.

Brokefast

As I mentioned earlier this week, yesterday was the 50th anniversary of Doctor Who. Before I watched the special episode which, due to the world wide simulcast, aired in Wyoming at 12:50 p.m., I wanted to catch up on episode I’d missed last spring.

So I was up at 4:15 a.m.

That time is also known as the crack of Oliver-isn’t-even-hungry-yet. He was willing to get up and eat breakfast when I got up. And then he climbed into my pile of blankets on the couch and we watched the Doctor Who marathon. It was a good day for the kittens as I didn’t move from the couch, except for coffee and bathroom runs, for ten hours.

And the special episode was awesome.

Saturday night, The Boy decided that sleeping in the chair was silly so he went upstairs to bed before I did. I finished what I was doing and got ready to sleep as well. But here’s where I did something smart.

Realizing that Kitten Thunder had eaten at 4:20 a.m., I knew they would be hungry early. Really early. To give myself some uninterrupted hours of sleep, I fed them a bonus breakfast shortly after midnight.

Then I was stupid and left the bathroom door open. I blame this on the fact that someone knocked everything off the nightstand. This everything included my alarm clock and bite guard (in a case). I found the clock at arm’s length under the bed. I did not find my bite guard and gave up – one night of teeth grinding wouldn’t kill anyone. But I was distracted; hence the open door.

So Obi bump bump bumped in the night.

And since I was awake, Oliver would be okay with some breakfast. If I wanted. Did I want? How about now? Now? Aaaaaand now? No? Now?

Finally, The Boy got up. I heard him talking to Oliver. Oliver was maintaining that he was starving to death. The Boy was suggesting that, since there was a can on the top of the garbage in the can, perhaps starvation was a strong word. I wondered if I should get up long enough to tell The Boy that they did, in fact, need to be fed. But then I heard a can open.

A while later, Oliver was back in bed for his extended Sunday snuggle.

A while after than, when I got up, Oliver didn’t get up right away. He didn’t tell me he was starving. I assumed everything was right with the world.

But then I noticed there was not a second can of food in the garbage. I confirmed it with The Boy. Kitten Thunder did not get fed this morning. The Boy had seen the evidence and assumed that I’d gotten up without waking him to feed them. And I didn’t make it up to them by feeding them at any other point today.

Oh, the catmanity.

I’m sure they’ll be ready to eat at around 4 a.m. tomorrow.

Oh, the Girlmanity.

Promise

On the weekend, The Boy gets up much earlier than me. I am, by nature, more of a night owl. This means that The Boy falls asleep on the couch on Saturday night. Then he’ll decide that if he’s sleeping he might as well be in bed. I follow a couple hours later.

And, before we head to bed at 1 or 2 a.m., Kitten Thunder hits me up for breakfast. Last night, Oliver was insistent about breakfast. He was starving TO DEATH and could not wait until morning.

“If I feed you,” I said, “do you promise that you won’t wake me up at the crack of dawn?”

Yes, yes of course, he promised. So Obi and Oli got some breakfast.

This morning, Oliver wanted breakfast. He stomped. He cried. He headbutted me. I rolled over and gave him a look. “You promised me that you wouldn’t beg for breakfast this morning.”

The grey kitten looked at me. He looked out the window. He looked back at me. It was, in fact, well past dawn. Promise kept.

The Boy got up shortly after. I heard him open a can of breakfast for the kittehs. Soon after that, a full and happy grey kitten came back to bed. Night owls sleep in.

Cat Napping

We have had a long week.

We have had a long MONTH.

Two Sundays ago, I was in Rock Springs. Then last week I was camping. And for the last six evenings I have been out of the house. Last night, Outlook a.k.a the company that purchased Hotmail and immediately set out to make it unusable even when it isn’t crashing, wouldn’t let me send attachments. At 3:30 a.m. I gave up and sent it from a different email service.

Oliver and Obi, at 3:30 a.m., promised that they wouldn’t wake me up asking for breakfast at 6 a.m. if I fed them before I went to bed.

Surprisingly, this promise was kept.

The Boy tells me that Oliver attempted to get breakfast when they got up but several factors tipped him off. First, they hadn’t been pestering me and bothering him in the process. Second, Obi wanted his belly rubbed. Third, Oliver was only going through the motions and was actually perfectly happy not to be fed.

With this actually still-full belly, Oli returned to bed and worked his way into my arms. These are the things that Sunday should be made of.

Until at least noon.

 

Mama’s Home Cooking

This past weekend, The Boy and I were out of town at the same time since we returned from Europe in May. The Boy was at a train show in Evanston.

I was in Utah with my family riding this.

And this.

 

And then I went back to Rock Springs to the county fair where I saw this.

And saw Phil Vassar in concert with a beautiful desert sunset in the background.

 

While we were having a great time, I worried about the kittehs. So, whilst my nephew and niece exchanged tokens for tickets at Chuck E. Cheese on Saturday, I sent a text to Lori, bestest kitteh-sitter in all the land.

Where the kittehs okay? Were they not too freaked out?

Nope.

Freaked.

Lori’s entrance into the house each day was met with apocalypse-sized drama. There was moaning and crying. Glares and pouting. I was very worried until we got home.

Oliver says that Lori exaggerates and that – other than that they hadn’t eaten for like TWO WEEKS while we were gone for three days – they were fine. I opened a can of food for them, even though it was midnight and the breakfast bell would be ringing waaaaay before any of us would like. Sometimes, a little home cooking – or Mama’s come home cooking – is all you need to soothe a troubled soul.

 

 

The Tango is Better Than the ChaCha

I posted pictures once of the breakfast dance – the way Kitten Thunder eats each morning. Oliver will take a couple bites of his food, then go to Obi’s plate, then back to his…lather, rinse and repeat until the food is gone. Obi runs from plate to plate, trying to get some food for himself.

I’ve tried to fix this for the brown kitten by putting them in different rooms, but Obi doesn’t like to eat that far away from his brother. And, since there is generally food left after breakfast I figure he’s getting his fill.

Yesterday, the plates were in the kitchen so I kicked them into the breakfast nook. They ended up right next to each other. I didn’t think about that at all while I scooped food onto both plates, threw the can away and turned to put the spoon back on the cat food shelf.

But then I turned around.

Oliver was sitting in the middle of the two plates, taking one bite from the left plate and then a bit from the right plate. Left right left right left right. Obi was sitting on the other side of the plates, looking at me pitifully.

I patted the brown kitten on the head and picked up him and a plate. I moved them three steps away. And all was well with the world.

The breakfast dance is a tango, not a cha cha.

A photo essay: The Breakfast Dance

Summer! At last!

Summer got here on Tuesday and we’re all enjoying it very much. There’s smell-o-vison and windows staying open all night. For Zensai there is the extra special treat of pansies. Pansies are one of my favorite flowers. They are one of Zen’s favorite foods. One of the best things about visiting my parents, in his mind at least, is that my mother would let me take him outside to eat pansies in “the wild.”

Yesterday we went to a barbecue at a friend’s house. It was most excellent. The problem is that this is also the week that a local publication, for which I do the layout on weekends, doubled in size.  Rather than miss the party, I decided to work into the wee hours when I got back. So I did.

The Boy gave up on me around midnight and headed upstairs. Kitten Thunder napped in the office with me until we were finally able to go to bed around 2:30 a.m.

This morning I opened my eyes to find that I was completely alone. I went downstairs and asked The Boy if there hadn’t been any of the normal “it could be time for breakfast” poking and silliness from Oliver. Because I don’t remember it.

“Oh, there was poking,” says The Boy.

“So they decided that maybe The Girl was dead and moved on to you?”

“Yep.”

I have a good Boy.

Oliver was very happy when it turned out that I, in fact, was not dead – just dead to the world. We had some serious snuggle time on the couch this morning. And a nap…because I got up way too early.

Obi’s Morning Routine

Alarm. Oli encouraging The Girl to get up.

Oli running to the stairs. Oli running back to the bed. Oli running to the stairs. Oli running back to the bed. Oli running to the stairs. Oli running back to the bed. Oli running to the stairs. Oli running back to the bed. Oli running to the stairs. Oli running back to the bed. Oli running to the stairs. Oli running back to the bed.

Stretch. Jump off loveseat. Mosey over to the bed. Pass between clock’s projector and wall so The Girl knows of presence and says, “hello Tail.” Say nothing.

Oli running to the stairs. Oli running back to the bed. Oli running to the stairs. Oli running back to the bed. Oli running to the stairs. Oli running back to the bed. Oli running to the stairs. Oli running back to the bed. Oli running to the stairs. Oli running back to the bed. Oli running to the stairs. Oli running back to the bed.

Go downstairs. Check to see what is on OutTV in The Boy’s office.

Oli running to the stairs. Oli running back to the bed. Oli running to the stairs. Oli running back to the bed. Oli running to the stairs. Oli running back to the bed. Oli running to the stairs. Oli running back to the bed. Oli running to the stairs. Oli running back to the bed. Oli running to the stairs. Oli running back to the bed.

The Girl walking down the stairs. Oliver thundering down stairs. Run to breakfast nook.

Tuna? Cat food? Put it on the plate. Some for me, too? Not just Oli?

Food on two plates. Scritch from The Girl.

Oliver eating off my plate. Move to other plate. Oliver eating off my plate. Move to other plate. Oliver eating off my plate. Move to other plate. Oliver eating off my plate. Move to other plate. Oliver eating off my plate. Move to other plate. Oliver eating off my plate. Move to other plate. Oliver eating off my plate. Move to other plate. Oliver eating off my plate. Move to other plate. Oliver is done.

The Boy comes into the kitchen. Ignore him while licking plates spotlessly clean.

Watch OutTV from dining room.

Watch OutTV from front living room window.

Watch OutTV from couch window. Scritch from The Girl. Ignore The Girl when she tries to point out squirrels out front window OutTV. Pretend to be very interested in empty branches out couch window.

Robot that makes smelly life-giving juice cries. The Boy goes into the kitchen.

Race to the kitchen. “Belly rub. Belly rub. BELLY RUB! GIVE ME A BELLY RUB!” Lead boy to living room rug.

Belly rub. The Boy and The Girl make commentary on the neglect to which they subject their cats. Despite conversation, seem unrepentant. The Boy walks away without satisfactorily completing belly rub. Returns to hand life-giving juice to The Girl. Get underfoot.

Return to office with The Boy. Scratch rug. Jump in box. Jump out of box. Jump in box. Jump out of box.

The Girl walks in. Picked up. The Girl and The Boy make commentary on the abuse to which they subject their cats. Again, seem unrepentant. Set down.

Follow The Girl upstairs to watch her poke herself in the eye with clear disks. Jump on bed – become Bed Monster. Belly rub. Follow The Girl to the stairs and jump up on half wall over staircase.

"I walk the line between black and white, light and dark, up...and a long way down."

“Obi, you’re going to give your mother a heart attack.” Go down stairs touching only six steps. Follow Girl to other stairs, slowly, to play peeking around the corner game. The Girl yells, “Boo!” Pretend to be startled. Run.

Downstairs to watch The Girl. Upstairs to supervise The Boy’s teeth brushing. Belly rub. Downstairs to watch The Girl. Upstairs to supervise The Boy’s de-hairification. Belly rub.

Kill the bath mat.

“Goodbye, boys!” People gone.

Time for a nap.