Tag Archives: cat

Meet Flynn

Hello, peoples of the internet, Obi here. It’s been over a year since we’ve reached out. Sorry about that – The Girl and I are really busy with the small people. A lot has changed, so let’s dive right in with a new introduction.

Who are you and what do you do?

Um, hi, people…I guess. This is weird. Anyway, I’m Flynn. I’m three years old and I’ve been a Kitten Specialist here since July.

You’re an adult. Where did you spend your formative years?

Well, I was at another house. They had a dog. I don’t like dogs. So I thought about my options and decided to lodge a complaint. I did everything exactly as we’re supposed to, to the letter.

Yeah? What form of protest did you choose?

I pooped on the floor. Blatantly and often.

Classic. What happened?

They picked the dog. I did NOT see that coming.

Rough.

It’s okay. I like it here. The small people are really fun. I’d like it if The Girl would stop picking me up but at least she’s stopped walking with me. She’s a good scritcher. I like The Boy too.

He’s got enough on his plate. All his spare time belongs to me.

Got it.

So we should tell the peoples of the internet that we do have some bad news. Jack chewed the silicone straw off of one of Okay’s water bottles this spring. They were able to remove it surgically, but he evidently had a pre-existing condition with his lungs and he took a bad turn. The Girl took him back to the hospital and came back alone.

Is that why The Girl claps her hands at me and says “please don’t be stupid” when she catches me chewing on plastic bags?

Yeah, don’t do that.

I’m only chewing. I don’t eat them. I just like the crunchy feel.

Yeah, don’t do that.

So we were missing Jack and all of a sudden the people weren’t EVER leaving the house and here I was running the entire house by myself. It was getting to me. I needed a break once in a while. And then things got SO MUCH WORSE.

The whole family went out one day and brought back a tiny little monster that LOOKED like a cat but she was actually a tornado of claws and teeth and fury. I tried to be nice to her but I couldn’t even be in her line of sight without her attacking me. And she just got meaner and meaner no matter how hard I tried to be friendly.

The Girl tells me she was actually really sweet and everyone really loved her from the very start. It was just me. So I don’t know. She must have had a hard life before she got here.

After about a week, Calli – that’s what Buddy had named her – was just getting MORE crazy and violent. One day The Girl was carrying me to the bedroom to lock me in so Calli could do her shift as Kitten Specialist. But Calli was already out of her room and when she saw me she attacked. She tried to claw off The Girl’s leg to beat me with it. There was a lot of fur and blood and it’s all kind of a blur but The Girl eventually got Calli into one room and me into another.

I’ve seen The Girl’s scars from that. That was some pretty fine knifework.

Yeah. Well, The Girl realized that it wasn’t safe to keep Calli in the house when Okay or Buddy could open a door and wind up between her and me. The only reason we were even a little safe is because The Girl is tall. She cried a lot about taking Calli back to the rescue. She says she found a good home.

That explains the tension when I got here. I was glad when she stopped coming into our interviews. I mean, I’m trying to get a job and she was just hovering there, emitting…dread. NOT reassuring, lady. I think we hit it off pretty well.

We are. I mean, you’re not my brother, Oliver. I know The Girl wants me to be close to someone like that again but I just can’t. And Jack was a good guy. But he really was dumber than a box of rocks. Sweet, but man was he a lot. He always wanted to wrestle and he’d forget he was twice my size.

And he always took my good napping spots.

There are other napping spots?

You’ve got the shelf in the bedroom, the wall upstairs and The Boy’s chair – do you really need more?

Nope.

And that’s why I like you. We’ve got a good working relationship, a regular exercise routine, and you’re a quality roommate. I think things are working out fine.

Me too. Can I have more of the cat treats before dinner?

No.

So, that’s our update for now. Hopefully we’ll get into a groove and check in more often. I’m cute. Flynn’s cute. The small people are cute. Stories are bound to ensure.

Obi and Flynn, Me-out!

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?

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Probably not. He’s hiding.

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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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Missed Fortune Kitty

When The Boy and I went the California last fall, I bought three tiny fortune kitties in China Town. When I say tiny I mean all three had plenty of elbow room sitting on a quarter together.

Once I got home I set them up on the shelf on my desk in my office. One day, while Obi was showing me how well he doesn’t fit between the monitors and the wall, one of the kitties fell of the shelf. Before I had a chance to react, Obi pounced and scooted the kitty off my desk and onto the floor.

And he’s gone.

The kitty, not my brown kitten.

I can not find that fortune kitty anywhere. I’ve moved the rug. I’ve gotten a flashlight and checked under all the furniture. I’ve swiped the magic toy making stick under everything. And, wherever he is, he got lost in the seconds it took me to save the other two fortune kitties, scold Obi, and crawl under the desk.

So the questions:
Is it bad luck to lose a fortune kitty or do you just lose the luck you would have gotten? And if it is bad luck…whose luck is it?

Plunk

I work out in the basement by the train layout. I was laying on the floor for sit ups when something hit my forehead. I’d been paying attention to the TV so I didn’t know what it was.

Then a AA battery fell from the sky and barely missed me.

Then another.

“Hey!”

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What?

Nothing But, Lizard Butt

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Hey, Zensai, what are you doing in there?

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Nothing. Leave me alone.

Reflections on violence

This week I have been out of the house for quite a bit to attend the Wyoming Governor’s Conference on Tourism and Hospitality. It was great fun renewing contacts and seeing my friends from the tourism industry. Kitten Thunder did not approve. You see, I work at home now. My place is at the desk. And I’m needed to turn on the space heater.

Despite their objections, I attended all day today and only returned to the house in the afternoon to change for this evenings banquet. Kitten Thunder put aside their feelings about the issue and accompanied me downstairs to supervise.

A thunder happened.

The closet doors in the room where I get dressed are full length mirrors. Obi ran into the closet through a slim opening. He lost Oliver, who had been pursuing him. You see, this handsome grey kitten confronted Oliver as he neared the door. He was SO handsome. So handsome that Oliver had to sit down and appreciate the beauty of this kitten. Oli was flattered, because this stunning grey cat seemed to think Oliver was handsome as well.

The grey kittens sat there.

Staring.

Adoring.

Until a brown paw shot out of the closet and punched both of them in the nose.

Reverie over. Thunder on.

Paper Playland

I thought  the blog tonight would be about wrapping presents. I had a “how to” planned with the joys of kitten interference.  Clever observations about hairy tape were planned. But, as always, Kitten Thunder refuses to perform according to MY script. Oliver and Obi dutifully accompanied me to the basement for wrapping. But after sniffing the tape and finding out I wouldn’t let them run the scissors, they decided Paper Playland was way more fun.

Sorry, I know it is Thunder Thursday but it is also very late because I’ve been fighting with my new computer and I want to go to bed. And it’s my blog, so I’m gonna.

Oliver Goes to the Vet

In the house:

I was running late. Of course. I found the carrier, pushed Oli inside, and we were off.

In the car:

OHMYGOSH WE ARE GOING TO DIE! I AM NOT GOING TO SURVIVE THIS AND I AM IN A TINY PURPLE BOX ITS LIKE A GIRLY COFFIN AND OHMYGOSHWEAREGOINGTODIE! FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY KEEP YOUR HANDS AT TEN AND TWO. TEN AND TWOOOOOO! WATCH OUT FOR THAT CAR! AND THAT ONE! AND THAT ONE! AND THAT ONE!

Lest you think I exaggerate:

Repeat for ten minutes.

In the lobby:

Silence.

In the exam room:

Oliver refused to come out of the carrier. He had his picture taken from inside – looking quite handsome for the ordeal. Then I set to work extracting him. This involved pulling his towel out, then holding the carrier in the air, opening down, and shaking it. Like trying to get that last bit of Spaghetti-O out of the can.

If your Spaghetti-O weighs 13 pounds and willfully pushes against gravity.

He came loose just as the doctor came in.

In the back:

Our vet takes pets to the back for the weighing and sticking now. Dr. G says he was very sweet and even promised not to hate her forever when she set him on a piece of cardboard and it shot up to slap him in the face. The girl who checked us out confirmed that he was very charming.

Oliver weighs 13 pounds. He’s a little fluffy in the middle, Dr. G says while patting his belly and earning herself a sideways glance from the grey kitten, but that is okay.

Unable to stall any more, we load up and tell everyone about how loud he is when I am driving.

In the car:

Silence.

More silence. Then, some more silence.

When we were nearly home I couldn’t stand it any longer. “Oli, do you hate The Mama now?”

One tiny meow: “No.”

I choose to believe he said no.

***

It’s Thunder Thursday! Today we have Tika, my first cat that I remember. I know we had a Shadow, but Tika is the poor kitty that had to wear doll dresses and such. And, evidently, have little plastic horses ride her while she tried to nap in a drawer.

And yes, that pudge of a girl is me. I was full of adorable.

"Girl! Rub my belly."

"She's cuter when she's rubbing my belly."

When Tika was older her belly became huge. She wasn’t a fat cat; if she was walking down the hall she looked quite thin, actually. But if she ran, this giant hanging belly would swing back and forth – my brother and I always wanted to mount some of those big drums over her back to see if her belly would play them.

Tika was a good and patient girl.

The Blind Side

"I'm tired of thinking outside the box. Tell Obi it's my turn to get in."

This evening we were downstairs. I was working on some earrings for a coworker. Kitten Thunder was, well, thundering. They zoomed around the basement at full speed. As they rounded a corner, Oliver ducked under The Boy’s workbench and Obi whizzed by. He didn’t get far before he realized he’d lost his prey.

Obi was trying to coax Oliver back out and into a run, but Oli settled under the chair. Then he raised his head and knocked a towel off the chair and over his face.

“What are you doing?” Obi wanted to know, excited.

“Who turned out the lights?” Oliver wanted to know, confused. It was Obi who saved his brother from a lifetime in the dark. He pulled the towel off his brother. Then bit him.

And they thundered on.

***

As I type, Kitten Thunder is on the bed behind me doing a small-space thunder. Move. Hold. Move. Hold. Obi will get Oli in a headlock, and lick his face. Oliver flips Obi over his head and off the bed. Oli retreats to the condo and Obi attacks imaginary bed monsters. Oliver leaps to the bed and Obi tears out of the room. Obi zooms back in and Oli flies back to the condo. I find this to be very cute. And maybe a little dangerous for me.

***

As I typed that, Oliver and Obi were wrestling, standing on their back legs. Obi went off the bed backward and hit the extra TV we have on the floor as he went down. It got and “OH! Are you okay?” out of me. He’s fine. But both boys have gone to their corners – a.k.a. they’re hiding under the bed because they think they’re in trouble.