Tag Archives: brothers

Blocking

As you know, Kitten Thunder is very helpful. They love to knit. But sometimes our squares don’t end up, well, square and we need to block them.

Obi was helping me by hiding under the foam board to make sure I didn’t stick any pins all the way through.

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Oliver came into the living room and discovered me working. He thought I was unsupervised and immediately rectified the situation.

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As he stomped up my foam board, though, it squeaked. It squeaked the squeak of a squashed brown kitten.

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Oliver high fived Obi in the face for a job well done.

Brotherly Love

While I got up at my normal time this morning, I had to be at a conference at 7 a.m. This means that I only got a short snuggle with Oliver.

When I got home, I plopped down on the couch with my lunch and was joined quickly by a brown kitten. Obi claimed my lap and settled in for a long nap. I worked this same conference last night so the kittehs got a two hour lunch yesterday. He was angling for a repeat.

A few minutes later, Oliver arrived. He looked at Obi. He looked at me. Brother. Me. Obi. Me.

I thought for sure he would jump up and chase Obi away. But I underestimated brotherly love.

Oliver climbed gingerly onto my chest. He thought hard and tried to build a strategy. He looked at me with an uncertain plan.

“Do it,” I said.

The grey kitten plunked. As he fell, I caught him with one arm and swept him in close to my chest above his brother. Oliver and Obi both got their nap.

I got a killer bicep workout in one arm.

And all wax right with the world.

Fort Folly

Not fooled by the nice weather that allowed me to drink a beer, barefooted, on the porch yesterday, I’ve been worrying about removing Obi’s cave from the end of the couch. You see, in the winter we think the cave is a blanket that should keep us warm.

Since he has started having his belly rubs on the quilt, rather than the rug, it is in serious need of a trip through the washing machine.

To ease the transition, I removed the cave at lunch time. Kitten Thunder and I then built a new fort.

Fort

This went over very well. It took a minute for Oliver to realize that he can’t walk ON the fort. We’ll see how long he remembers that. But once I put him inside, he was good.

Obi was a little reluctant to share the fort. The cave was a one cat deal. Oliver didn’t even like to be in the cave. But the fort is bigger and they learned to adapt – it has two boxes and at least a dozen toys in it, after all.

Then The Boy came home. Two kittehs met him at the door and then ran to the fort. “See what we built!”

But then there was a problem: where was the quilt for Obi’s belly rub?

Obi ran inside the fort and we heard him plunk to the floor. But The Boy is too big for the fort. At least that’s what he says…it’s not like he tried to get in or anything. The Boy is funny like that. Especially when he’s wearing work clothes.

So we’ll see what happens tonight. Will Obi go back to the rug? Will he collapse the fort so he can have his belly rubbed in the preferred location, two feet closer to the window? Stay tuned for updates.

***

In other news, Friskies has a genius business plan that involves schmucks like me liking and sharing their videos for free. Kitten Thunder loves Friskies! In fact, it’s the only brand Oliver will eat – he refused from kittendom to eat the expensive brand that shall go unnamed. They should totally be the next spokescats.

Meanwhile, these are hilarious.

Box-a-Palooza!

The Boy is very picky about his work shoes – they have to look nice with slacks but stand up to walking through construction sites. He found a pair that he liked last week, but not in the color he needed, so he had to have them shipped to him.

They came in a box. That was in a box.

And the kittens rejoiced.

Then, today, I came home and finally noticed Obi sitting on a NEW box.

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I made him get off the box so I could cut it open. I took two steps away to put the scissors on the coffee table. When I turned back around, Oliver was already looking at me – disappointed – because there was stuff in the box.

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So I emptied it for him.

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Oliver told Obi, “it fits just right.”

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Poor Obi, he got my attention…his brother got the box.

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But! Inside the box, was a box.

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I emptied it quickly and urged Obi to claim it.

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Poor Obi…his brother wanted that box, too.

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Wait…maybe NOT “poor Obi.”

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Seems like he got what he wanted all along.

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So what was in the box inside the box? It is the new blending system that my parents gave me for my upcoming birthday (Saturday). Oliver closely inspected all the contents. Then he must have seen the directions.

He washed thoroughly before using.

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And Obi got the second box as well.

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Battle: Fortress

I was cleaning the house today and ruthlessly tossing out parts of kitty playland; I removed several shopping bags, some tissue paper, and flattened boxes. Then I rebuilt the fortress in our entry way that consists of one large piece of paper and two boxes. I crumpled some tissue paper and tossed it in the box.

Oliver promptly climbed into the box and shoved the tissue out.

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Obi arrived and pushed the paper ceiling down. Oliver ran from the fortress and there was a flurry of furry. A furry flurry.

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Obi returned to stomp the paper down some more.

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He tried out the inside of the fortress as Oliver returned.

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But if it wasn’t going to cause a thunder, Obi didn’t really want to be in the box.

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Oli reclaimed the box as Obi came to see what I was doing, laying flat on the floor in the living room.

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Oliver made himself comfortable on the inside of the fortress. Obi found his spot on the outside.

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I was inspired, after seeing the floor at this angle, to sweep.

And all was right with the world.

Oh Brudder

I’ve mentioned that we have a new morning routine. That includes Oliver leaving our post-breakfast snuggle to take a bath in the recliner. Then The Boy comes by and covers him with the blanket. At first he was tucking the grey kitten in. Lately, though, he’s been carefully draping the blanket over both arms of the recliner, making a nice big cave.

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Oliver can stay in this cave for hours. Unless his brother wants to thunder.

This morning, Obi came tearing across the living room and jumped onto the “flat surface” of the blanket. He didn’t know Oli was under there, he swears. The blanket started to move and Oliver’s head popped up between the blanket and the back of the recliner. He climbed out of his cave.

Obi jumped down and ran a couple feet. He looked back.

Oliver resettled himself on top of the blanket and went back to sleep. Somehow, the blanket remained held up, slightly, by the arms so the grey kitten enjoyed a hammock. For a while. Then the brown kitten returned. Obi climbed into the cave and poked his brother from below.

Then he jumped down and ran a couple feet. He looked back.

Oliver was not chasing him.

Obi came and sat with me, sighing. After he’d maxed out mom time – about five minutes later – he went back to the recliner and tried again. Climb. Poke. Jump. Run. Look. It didn’t work so he went to get a snack. And tried again. Climb. Poke. Jump. Run. Look.

Nope.

The brown kitten tried all day to get his brother to thunder. As far as I know, it never happened. Eventually all the effort wore him out. He stretched out on the loveseat for a nap and I draped the big quilt over the whole seat, kitten and all, to make a nice big cave.

And Oliver has hopped up on top for a nap.

 

Winner Winner

I made chicken noodle soup for dinner tonight. This involves Kitten Thunder and I torturing ourselves all day as the chicken cooks in the crock pot, filling the house with the scent of yum. Then, an hour before dinner, I pull the chicken off the bones and stir it back in with the noodles.

Oliver and Obi are always available to help.

Oliver sat at my feet as I worked on the chicken. He told me his woes. He told me about how long it had been since he’d eaten. I mean, yes, he had just finished eating kitty crunchies four feet from where I was standing, but that’s not really food. It is merely subsistence. So much woe for one grey kitten.

I finished the chicken and started working on the noodles.

Obi came into the kitchen and collapsed at my feet. So hungry.  He had NOT just finished eating kitty crunchies so he was really very famished. And too weak, he was, to walk to the breakfast nook for subsistence crunchies. So much woe for the brown kitten.

Once everything was back in the crock pot – because I was hungry and no way was I eating subsistence kitty crunchies – I started to pick a pile of chicken for the kittens off the bones that were on the cutting board. It was a healthy pile.

I split the pile in two and placed the piles onto Kitten Thunder’s plates. Oliver, of course, inhaled his and the speed of smell. He then went after his brother’s share.

I stepped in.

“You had yours,” I said with my hand on the grey kitten’s chest. “Your brother should get to eat his, don’t you think?”

No. No he did not think. But Oliver relented and stomped off to the living room to tell The Boy how I had ruined his life. After that, he plunked down in the dining room condo to glare at me while I did dishes.

After a while, I looked down and saw that Obi had some chicken left on his plate. Oliver was in the kitchen again and I told him he could have the extra. He perked up, life un-ruined. For now.

But then a brown kitten came tearing into the kitchen to reclaim his chicken. He hadn’t realized that my defense of his share wasn’t permanent! He wolfed down his portion and gave a pointed stare. First to Oliver. Then to me.

It’s a sad, sad world where you can’t leave freshly cooked chicken unattended on a plate on the floor and not worry about it disappearing.

Sheesh.

Bath Brothers

Oliver and Obi love each other. Several times a day, Oliver – he who loves to bathe – will allow Obi to help him. Obi likes to wash Oli’s ears for him.

This morning, both kittens were on my chest. Oliver leaned forward and started washing Obi’s head. Obi leaned back and started trying to lick Oliver’s chin. The grey kitten put out a paw in a kind of “no, it is your turn,” manner. And the cuteness ensued.

Really close to my face.

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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.