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.

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La-Z Boys…or…The Boycliner

I was going to write a post mocking Kitten Thunder’s pain. They are so tortured, having to put up with pictures when they sleep in the box on the desk. Seriously, it is bad enough that I’ve taken to working at my desk instead of on the the couch.

But then I walked out into the living room to ask The Boy if he was hungry. Because I was full of the empty. And there, on the recliner, I saw Oliver laying on the armrest next to his Boy. He looked bored. And put down upon.

After a while, The Boy said he was in fact hungry. We discussed plans for dinner. “Food,” I suggested. Then The Boy asked for specifics. I reminded him that the plan, when we made a plan on Saturday, was spaghetti. Spaghetti, he said, still seemed like a goo plan.

But he didn’t get up.

And he didn’t get up.

Finally, The Boy pointed out that he would disturb Kitten Thunder if he got up to cook.

Since all my boys were on the recliner, I got up and mumbled something about boiling water and using the white box. I went into the kitchen.

That did the trick.

Obi and The Boy were suddenly inspired to help me. Oliver was more than happy to take over the warm spot in the recliner.

 

BrokEN or BrokIN?

I would love to be delivering the CEK’s State of the Household Address to you tonight, but Oliver was SO tired. Being the Chief Executive Kitten is hard work. After dinner, The Boy stood up to put his dishes in the sink and Oliver immediately left my lap to take over the warm spot in the recliner. The Boy returned, made a comment, and tucked the TARDIS blanket around the grey kitten. And that is where he is, still.

Luckily, a big controversy is brewing in the hall. The pundits have been talking about it all night – in between mentions of how Cathy McMorris Rodgers is relevant to me as an American woman because she is a MOTHER of THREE CHILDREN. That, by the way, is not picking on the Republican party but on the news folk who only feel the need to list family as a qualification IF the politician has/has had ovaries. I’M LOOKING AT YOU NBC.

But I digress. Back to the real controversy.

 

This box came home with us from our holiday travels. Kitten Thunder loves it. Someone is laying in it almost constantly.

The Boy says it is broken.

Obi? He says it is broken in.

 

***

In other news, we made chicken masala last night. I prepared a lot so we would have leftovers. And today I made spaghetti squash to go with it instead of rice. The Boy saw me working on pulling the “noodles” into a huge pile and mentioned he wasn’t super hungry. I told him that was fine but that I was making it anyway for two reasons:

1. You can’t really control how MUCH spaghetti squash you make. That is controlled by the squash.

2. It takes two hours to make spaghetti squash so I can’t really wait until he comes home to find out if he is super hungry because then we wouldn’t eat until 9 p.m.

I told him he could eat just noodles, just masala, or noodles and masala. I also told him he could have a sandwich if he wanted and my feelings wouldn’t be hurt. More noodles and masala for me tomorrow!

But none of this is as important as the fact that I was cooking. And windows had to be opened. The brown kitten approved.

 

I swear to you, the pan started smoking before there was food anywhere near it. I think that may be why it was shoved way into the back.

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.

 

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?

This 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.

 

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

 

Fleet-o-vision

For dinner tonight, we had dark cherry pork loin that I made in the crock pot. We also made the last of our Japanese yams. I sliced them thin so I could saute them quickly. And, as happens when I am near the white cooking box, there was smoke.

Obi did not approve.

The Boy proactively pulled the smoke alarm off the wall.

Yeah.

So, as The Boy was finishing up the salad, I opened a window in the breakfast nook and the window in the powder room to clear out some of the smoke. Then we went to the living room to eat.

Obi and Oli were very consciously NOT coveting The Boy’s meal. Obi was on the back of the chair. Oli was on the arm of the chair.

I ate in peace.

When dinner was over, I closed the windows. “No!” Obi cried. He was watching that! But, while it is warmer in Wyoming than the rest of the country for some reason, it was still only 40 degrees and smell-o-vision was indeed turned off.

There was nothing for Kitten Thunder to do but retire to the condo and glare at girl-o-vision.

Hand Off

The Boy and I went to the book store this afternoon. On our way back, we picked up some food from the grocery store. And when we got home, of course, Obi needed a belly rub.

As I was finishing the unloading of groceries, The Boy came into the kitchen with a gotten kitten. Obi likes when he is gotten – it makes him tall and he tries to get The Boy to go see interesting things while he is tall.

This time, though, The Boy wanted to cook dinner. He asked the brown kitten if he would get down. As I put some items on the stairs to the bedroom I said, “or you could wait for just a sec and we’ll do a hand off.”

Obi said he was not interested in a hand off. No no no no.

But he was, in fact, handed over to me and The Boy started cooking. Once Obi knew what a hand off was, he was actually okay with it. Only slightly less tall, he had a good vantage for dinner making.

After dinner, Obi jumped into The Boy’s lap. He sat there for an entire hour, looking very happy. Even Tail was happy…ish. Unfortunately for the comfortable brown kitten, The Boy doesn’t sit still for very long. Watching one program from start to finish without any side activity was as much as he could take.

He attempted a hand off.

Obi was not interested.

No no no no no.

Pecking Order

I had one of those days where a lot of people were lucky I wasn’t packing my spork. Because so many foreheads needed sporking. Spork spork spork (this is awesome if read with Psycho sound effects).

So when I got home tonight, it was fairly easy for Obi to convince me to put off my more work to do in favor of a kitten snuggle. The brown kitten kneaded and purred and offered a head for scritching. When The Boy got home, I lost my snuggle buddy.

Soon to be replaced by a grey kitten. Oliver, too, had a hard day. My eight hour absence was the least of his problems. But that’s another post. What is important, now, is that we had each other. And it was snuggle time.

After an hour or so, The Boy decided to cook spaghetti for dinner. He cooked it all by himself because a) it doesn’t take two people to make spaghetti and b) hello, snuggling. So all was fine. But then dinner was ready.

The Boy came out to inform us that it was time to eat. Oliver fixed him with as steady gaze. Serve me, Boy, by serving The Girl.

The Boy set up TV trays and told Oliver I needed to get up. Serve me, Boy, by serving The Girl.

The Boy scooped his own spaghetti and sat down to eat. He got a hard glare from the grey kitten. Then a sigh. Oliver got up, stretched, and jumped to the floor. I went to get my dinner.

Oliver. Obi. Girl. Boy. Is this pecking order really that hard to understand?

Blindsided

So I just realized something…

I built this cool “alter” to my bearded dragon in June…over the three bearded irises that I planted with Zensai when I buried him. I wonder if they’ll still grow if I move the pots. This irritates me because irises are my favorite flower and I have never been able to grow them. Ever. Now I’m just standing in my own way.

Zensai would be amused.

***

Since we’re doing updates from other posts, the missing fortune kitty is not missing any longer. When I was sweeping the other day I really dug under a shelf and pulled out a kitten-sized minion. The fortune kitty was in the middle. Apparently Obi thought his minions needed a little bit of luck to get that life-giving lightning bolt.

 

***

In other news, I found out – after knowing him for 11 years – that The Boy doesn’t like avocados. That means I have four to eat myself this week. Oh, the hardship. Since I couldn’t find the recipe I saw on Pinterest that inspired the purchase of avocados, I decided to make tuna salad tonight. The Boy was leaving so I had to boil my own eggs.

 

Obi walked through the kitchen once and saw me at the big white box. He put his head down and moved on.

***

And now, today’s actual story:

Oliver wanted to get up this morning. More importantly, he wanted me to get up. And Obi agreed. They were doing a full scale push of annoying things – bouncing the bathroom door, crying from the toothbrush stand, playing with the blinds, poking me in the nose. At one point I heard my glasses slide of my side table.

Here is where I tell you that I really can’t see without my glasses or contacts. And my glasses are just pink stems and the lenses with no frame. I depend on my fantastic memory to find my glasses in the morning.

So this morning I had to crawl around on my knees to find my missing eyesight. It went a little like this:

Me: Obi, where did you put my glasses?

Oli: FEED ME!

Me: I have to find my glasses.

Oli: FEED ME! I’M DYING!

Me: Oh, come on, where could they have gone?

Oli: FEED ME! SOOOOOOOO HUNGRY!

Me: [Censored because I have a personal policy about cussing online]

The Boy: Are they under the bed?

Me: How should I know? I CAN’T SEE.

The Boy: Right.

Oli: FEED ME!

Obi: I thought we were having breakfast.

Oli: FEEEEED ME!

I did finally find my glasses, an arm length (way further than I can see) under the bed, in a shadow, behind a shoe.

Seriously.

Cheesy Propositions

I made a grilled cheese sandwich for dinner.

First, an aside: it is really hard to make a grilled cheese sandwich with wheat bread because it doesn’t turn a golden, delicious looking color when it is ready. It just stays brown.

Anywho, Obi was all about helping make a grilled cheese sandwich. I started out with some Muenster cheese, which is what I put on a cold sandwich. I broke off a piece for Obers.

He sniffed it.

He glared at me. This is not cheese.

I grabbed the Gorgonzola cheese crumbles and sprinkled some on my sandwich. Then I gave one to the brown kitten.

Sniff.

Glare. This is not cheese.

To encase the crumbles, I added a piece of Swiss cheese to my sandwich. Then I set down a piece for Obi the Wan.

Sniff. Glare. Not cheese.

Because I didn’t want him to be disappointed, I added a little of our grated cheese – a mix of orange and white – to my sandwich and set some down for Obi. 

At last, some cheese.

The Boy came home from work and also decided to make a sandwich. He discovered that Bleu cheese and feta are also not acceptable.

To summarize: expensive crumbled cheese? Not cheese. Expensive cheese slices? Not cheese. Generic shredded mystery cheese? Yes, please.

B is for Boy. And Birthday.

The Boy’s birthday was on Saturday and came none too soon. For one thing, I found out during our trip to California that he hates the toaster oven I got him last year for his birthday. So I needed his birthday to hurry and get here so I’d remember to get him a different toaster oven for his birthday this year.

Romance, we has it.

I found the perfect toaster oven and hatched a plan to have it waiting for him to make something toasty on Saturday morning. This meant opening the box, unwrapping everything and setting it up…then putting it back inside the box until Friday night when The Boy went to bed.

Let me help you guess where I’m going with this: I opened a box. I closed the box. I covered the box, in my office for ease of access, with Obi’s blanket.

Obi was going absolutely nuts over this. He spent all day Friday digging at the box. On the box on top of the blanket. By the box. On the box. Under the blanket on the box – and that time I swear he actually got IN the box.

Then, Friday night, I changed my mind about how to give it to him. So I didn’t put it out.

Saturday morning I decided that would have been a fine idea. Luckily, The Boy doesn’t toast things for breakfast so much as he toasts things for lunch, so I set up the toaster oven before he came back from the Saturday train meeting. I couldn’t find any bows so I put a classy yellow post-it on the front that said “a toast for your birthday.”

Then I gave Obi the box.

Oliver came to check it out for a while as well.

 

Then The Boy came home and made Obi into a box monster.

Box monsters do not like the flash. They attack the box in retribution.

 

The Boy likes his new toaster oven – complete with a higher ceiling and a timer. Also, it matches the microwave in both style and size so it has moved out to the breakfast nook. This frees up valuable counter space and we’re both excited about that.

Happy Boy’s birthday to the whole Thunder household, I guess.