Tag Archives: cat

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.

What was found is lost again…

We arrived home from our trip to Yellowstone on Sunday evening. Monday morning, The Boy was off to work. I stayed at home for some quality time with Kitten Thunder.

If you’ve been reading for a while, you know that Oliver is a mama’s boy. Perhaps – and you wouldn’t be alone in this – you’d think that he’d spend the morning with me on the couch. You’d be wrong. I’d assumed that as well. I was wrong.

Instead, my brown kitten spent the morning with me. We rubbed the belly. We snuggled. We actually, really, physically snuggled. No aura snuggling on Monday. He laid in my arms. He climbed under the blanket. He stretched over my leg. And, oh, how Obi put the purr on.

Oliver was nowhere to be found.

When I had to get up to do some errands, Obi followed me around as I got ready. He looked very concerned when I left. I rushed home as soon as I could and we snuggled some more.

Oliver was nowhere to be found.

When I went downstairs to work out, Obi went with me. When I put some funky red stripes in my hair, Obi helped. When I packed my bag for my trip to Sheridan, Obi furrowed his brow. I could tell that he recognized that my small bag was bad news.

In the evening, Oliver was found. He snuggled with me all night.

This morning, Kitten Thunder followed me to the basement where I get ready. Obi looked forlorn on his supervision chair. Oliver was sitting under his throne. When I walked around the corner with my bag – the first time he’d seen it – his eyes got wide. If he was a cartoon, his jaw would have dropped and bounced on the floor.

I just texted The Boy. No answer. I’m hoping he is pinned down by grey and brown fuzzies, getting the snuggling they all deserve.

***

Since I am five hours away from Kitten Thunder, I don’t have pictures of them to post today. So instead, I will show you a steamy photo of The Boy. Sorry, friends on the Book of Face, I know you’ve seen this already.

Who nose?

Who knows the answer to the question they pose?
Who knows why this post’s volume is low?
The noses…know.

***

It’s Thunder Thursday! My grandma sent me this picture. I know the first time I saw it on Facebook it got a HA! out of me, so I thought I’d do my part for popular culture and blog it on.

In-bread cat.

 

 

My stick

Lately, Obi has been bringing his feather stick up onto the couch at snuggle time. It’s his favorite toy this month. After snuggle time he’s up for a game of “I’m throwing the feather stick on the floor – well I’m bringing it back onto the couch.”

What he does NOT want, The Boy found out, is to have someone play with the feather stick. Obi wants to play with the feather stick. Not with The Boy and the feather stick. Attempting to play with Obi won The Boy a big fat dirty look this evening.

Luckily, The Boy made a new cave for Obi over the arm of the couch. This cave has blanket bunched up on the floor so it is comfy for laying in wait. And, should a brown kitten need to run at break-neck speed across the house and into the cave, the opening of the cave is pretty easy to access.

Good save, Boy.

"Stay away from my cave. And my feather stick."

Cookie Monster

Obi takes his job of being a little brother very seriously. Sometimes, he extends his bratty tricks to more than just Oliver. Today, he tried them on me.

"Tuna chip cookies are my favorite."

I had some tea and peanut butter cookies on the coffee table in the living room. Obi came up to give me a quick hug and use me as a stool to look out the window. And then he spotted them. Cookies!

From my lap he stretched over to the table to sniff my cookies. I told him no. He jumped down to the floor and put his feet on the table to sniff the cookies. I told him no. And here’s where little brother training kicked in: he reached up and put a paw on my stack of cookies.

You don’t want them now that I’ve touched them, right?” He met my eyes with a look of victory.

I reached over and wrapped my cookies in their paper towel. Yes, I did.

Time to pull out the stops on this: he BIT my cookies.

You don’t want them with my spit on them, right?

Luckily, no cat spit penetrated the paper towel. Later, Obi did have his chance at a cookie when a good sized chunk fell off my cookie and rolled under the couch. Now I’ll put up with a cat paw or a little kitten spit, but I’ve seen what’s under that couch. Deal. Breaker.

I fished it out for Obi. He sniffed. He licked. He walked away.

I hate cookies.

Post Traumatic Party Syndrome

Yesterday we had a small gathering of friends over to the house. Normally, one might call this a housewarming party but, since we’ve lived here for 53 weeks, the house is already pretty warm. Instead, we chose to celebrate only having one house.

Cleaning the house was enough to make Kitten Thunder nervous. I decided they would be safer and saner if I created Thunder Sanctuary in my office. I got a refill for the pheromone ball. I put in the food and water. I put up a cute sign asking people to ask me if they wanted to meet our fuzzy little celebrities. Then, with 15 minutes to go before guests were supposed to arrive, we locked them in.

I should mention that they both love my office and would normally spend all evening in there anyway.

But not THIS evening. First Oliver cried. Then Obi cried. Then Oliver cried. Then Obi cried. Then someone threw someone against the door. Then Oliver cried.

“Hey guys? After you set me on the bed someone accidentally shut the door on their way out. We’re locked in!”

Oliver yowled at the door for three hours. Except when we were out in the driveway and he yowled at us from the window. And once when he yowled so loudly through the heat vent that I thought he’d somehow gotten upstairs where I was giving a tour.

Obi, I think, would have taken a nap after the first three times we ignored his request to come out.

I was sitting on the front porch with a couple people and I glanced through the window and saw the hook of a grey tail go by. The Boy had decided to try and calm Oliver down. He was not anticipating that Kitten Thunder would rush the door.

Since things were slowing down, we just let them stay out. Oliver pounced on me the second I sat down and purred on my lap – eyeing anyone that came near to make sure they knew that I was HIS girl. Obi plunked down in the middle of the room so he could be seen – but not touched. No touching.

So…would they have been like that all evening? Or would Oliver have panicked and managed to race out the front door and down the street, not stopping until he was too far to find his way back? We’ll never know. But next time, I’m locking them in the room in the basement.

***

Why the reference to post traumatic party syndrome, you ask? I have two very clingy kittens today. And I’ve sacrificed a lot of paper towel to the upchuck gods. Oliver can’t figure out why I refused to feed him again.

Right now, Kitten Thunder is snuggled together on the cat shelf. Together they’ll get through this.