Tag Archives: cat toys

Funky Chicken

Yesterday, I bought Kitten Thunder some funky chicken toys. I picked them up at a store with some Christmas presents and brought that back home, stumbling through the door with my arms full of shopping, the coat I hadn’t put on, my coffee travel mug and a take n bake pizza. The bag was dropped in the dining room and forgotten while I preheated the oven and performed some rubbing of the bellies.

Later, while I was eating, I noticed Oliver in the bag. He WANTS someone’s present. He really loves it. Which reminds me…I should probably put that somewhere kitten proof…

Anywho, it reminded me about the funky chickens. There were two in a package; perfect, right? So I toss one to Oli and he looks at it, confused. I toss the other to Obi who immediately leaps and tackles and bunny kicks the chicken in delight. Deciding his is broken, Oliver went over and took Obi’s.

I tossed the first chicken to Obi and he immediately leaps and tackles and bunny kicks it. Oliver drops his stolen chicken, clearly broken, and takes the first chicken from Obi.

Lather, rinse, repeat until I picked the grey kitten up and took him to the couch for a snuggle. Poor Oliver, he’s never going to figure out this toy thing.

The funky chicken and his cousin Clyde.

When I went to take a picture of the funky chickens I could only find one. Obi refused to answer me when I asked where it was. “Gee,” his look told me. “I guess you’ll have to check under the couch.”

I got out the magic toy making stick to find the missing chicken. No chicken. What was there? Two flat leopard skin mousies, the teddy bear mousie, one small bamboo rose, one large bamboo rose, one large catnip ball, enough hair to knit a kitten, two little square things I can’t identify and…a very wilted cherry tomato. Very wilted. Eew.

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Video snapshots: Abuse and neglect

I got Oliver and Obi a new toy yesterday. It has light up eyes and makes “life like squeaky noises” which, in all honesty, sound more like laser fire. Why does it light up and make noise? Because, according to the box, cats hunt at night. For giant mousies with laser beam eyes.

Oli and Obi in a pre-Thunder. Cuteness like lightning.

At the end of a long day, sometimes the kittens need some quality time with The Girl. And if The Girl tries to show The Boy a video of Kitten Thunder on the camera, sometimes The Boy decides to make a film instead.

This is, by the way, exactly how Obi chooses to be snuggled – near The Girl, but not being touched in any way. Once in a while he kicks me in the back of the head to let me know he cares.

Forts and trees and a Mean Kitty

So, how did everyone enjoy their forts this weekend? Holly, of The Aluminum Foiled My Plans fame, pointed out a video from The Mean Kitty to me this week. I’ve been a big fan of The Mean Kitty for a long time but had stopped following Mr. Safety‘s work after he got married and stopped doing it for a while. Turns out, though, he’s been doing a lot of work I’ve missed. Including, wouldn’t you know it…a fort. This week.

To this I say…maybe our breakfast nook needs boxes again. Oh, and petcentric.com? Sponsor us! We have hundred of fans! And that’s no typo.

The Boy and I figured out what Oliver is allergic to this week. I was thinking it was weird that he’s turning eight years old this month and this is the first time he has had any issues at all. We were bending our brains trying to figure out what is different in this house. And then it hit us. Cottonwoods.

If you are unfamiliar with the Cottonwood Tree, they are a big deciduous tree that sends out seeds this time of year. In the form of a cotton that floats down from the tree and drifts and gathers. It’s like snow in the summer.

When Cheyenne was founded the whole town had 12 trees. The ladies who came with their rancher husbands were not pleased. So they did something about it. They went around the region and found trees that grew well in the area – including Cottonwoods from Nebraska – and they planted them here. Then they took care of them. The women would send their husbands back to work after lunch with the pail of washwater they’d used that morning and the men would water the trees along the way. Then the kids would bring back the empty pail on the way home from school. Now, Cheyenne is a Tree City USA.

Now, Cheyenne gets drifts of “cotton” in July.

But not in my old neighborhood – I had spruce trees. Even though this house and my house are the same age, this house was built in a historic district where the tradition of Cottonwoods has been going since the 1800’s. My house was built in a new neighborhood in 1940, and by then there were so many more options for trees that no one wanted the same ol’ Cottonwoods.

So the mystery is solved.

Oliver is doing better. His eyes are watery and he has sneezing fits and he looks as miserable as all my human friends who have allergies. But he doesn’t sound like he’s on the brink of death. I’ll take that.

No, please, stay a while.

Three snack packs of Whoppers, two flat leopard print mousies, one teddy bear mouse, one cloth mousie, one fur mousie, one drinking straw, a pen, a milk ring, a ball and a rose from the palm tree wall thing I bought in Savannah when I just knew we were going to buy this house when I got back. That’s what came out from under the couch last night from just one swipe of the magic toy making stick. And, of course, there was also enough cat hair to knit another kitten.

We really ought to hurry up and open that kitten knitting factory. Every time we throw away a wad of hair we lose money. Oliver says we can charge double for grey ones – they’re softer and so much more handsome.

"So many toys, so little attention span...hey, that actually works out okay!"

For Thunder Thursday, I present my parents’ other cat, Gracie. Gracie made sure we knew exactly how happy she was to welcome us into her home this week.

"Why haven't you caught on fire yet? I really need to get my laser eyes checked out."

This is Gracie’s crabby look. I didn’t get a picture of her wide-eyed glare of death. There is not a doubt in my mind that she’s thinking flammable thoughts at us.

I feel obligated to tell you my mother says Gracie gets a bad rap. She supposedly snuggles and is nice to people as long as “people” is my parents. Possibly my niece and nephew.

And now, why Gracie hates me more than any of the others: Poco.

My parents built their house when I was in Junior High. Poco was always and adventurous cat and she loved car rides so she went to the house several times while it was under construction. When we moved in she already knew the layout and wasn’t afraid at all. By the time Stasha and Stoney ventured out of the bed they hid under for two weeks, Poco was the queen. And when we got our malamute, Heidi, Poco was the queen of her too.

Then Po and I went away to college.

While we were away, Gracie was adopted. Gracie is a dilute tortie but she is all attitude. She and our huge dog became best buddies. And Gracie took her place as queen of the house.

Then I graduated. And moved home while I looked for a job.

So here’s Queen Gracie: seven pounds, tiny, BIG attitude. Also, her voice box has been permanently damaged since birth so her meow is a wispy puff of air. And then there’s Queen Poco: 18 pounds, huge, BIGGER attitude. While we lived in Idaho, Poco had beaten up the cats of every landlord I had. And two dogs. Her thug-iness is part of why I have strictly indoor cats now.

The thing is this. I think Poco would have been fine just dividing the kingdom and staying upstairs in our room for the most part. But the upstairs belongs to Gracie. And every night when the people went to bed, she’d come sneaking up to spy on Poco and try to take back some of her territory.

One night, as I was laying in bed, I heard the cry of a cat downstairs. Not Stoney. Not Poco. I raced to the stairwell and threw the lights on so I could see over the rail into the living room below. My parents came from their side of the house. There in the living room was Poco. She was pressing so hard on Gracie’s throat that an actual meow was coming out. And her first cry was most definitely a cry for help.

Of course we broke up the fight. Of course Gracie came back for more the next night. And the night after that. Luckily, Poco and I move out and Gracie is back to being the queen.

All hail, Queen Gracie. Long may she rage, er, reign.