Tag Archives: dinner

The Hungry Strikes Back

Another note from Oliver:

The other day, I told you about how I brought about continued breakfasts by using a negotiation tool – the hungry strike. You might not know this, but my Girl is smart. After seeing me use this tool just once, my Girl turned it around on me!

Afternoon nap time was over and my Girl, I found, was in the out, spraying water on the ground. I don’t know what the ground outside did to make my Girl angry, but it gets punished with water spritzing at least once a day. Especially the ground she put in pots. It was super naughty.

While Obi and I were supervising, The Boy came up the sidewalk. He goes away every morning, and he must not be as smart as my Girl because it takes him ALL DAY to find his way back. Obi says I’m wrong – The Boy is just as smart but he goes on bigger adventures. After all, The Boy is safe inside the house with far less supervision. I say that is because my Girl is more precious. Anyway…

My Girl and The Boy discussed the naughty dirt for a while. Then they came inside. Obi got a belly rub while I took off my Girl’s shoes. Then she went to the fridge, pulled out two bottles, and she and The Boy went BACK outside. The Boy sat outside on the porch, right by the window by our condo. My girl was out there somewhere as well; I couldn’t see her but I could hear her.

So Obi and I supervised through the screen. I waited patiently, figuring they must need to discuss something important. Surely she would return for our evening snuggle as quickly as she could. But the conversation seemed normal. And then The Boy came in and got two more bottles from the fridge.

Enough was enough.

“Girl!” I called. “Get in!”

“What?” The Boy said. I can tell when he does this that he thinks he’s imitating the authority in my voice, but from him it sounds kind of whiney.

“Girl! In!”

“Oliver,” she said, “will you go make our pizza?”

“In! Now!”

“Seriously, Oli. I think I’m going to go on a hungry strike. No snuggles until I’ve had my pizza.”

Hmm, sneaky Girl.

The Boy chimed in: “what would you put on our pizza, Oli?”

“Tuna,” I replied thoughtfully as my mind raced to put a paw on the right countermove. Obi had arrived next to me and chimed in, “cheese.” I rolled my eyes and toothed his ear. I would never put cheese on a pizza. I hate cheese. I only eat it because I’m alpha food cat so I have to eat the stupid things they put out for Obi. Cheese. Gross.

“Cheese would be good on a pizza, Baby,” my Girl said to Obi. “TUNA,” I repeated, louder so she’d hear me this time.

The Boy and my Girl changed the subject again. I waited patiently for them to get back to the subject at paw. Eventually, I had to repeat my demands. “In. In. In.”

“Is my pizza done?” my Girl asked. I heard her sigh. “My beer is gone. I guess we have to make our own dang pizza.”

And then The Boy and my Girl were inside. I watched hopefully while they cooked the pizza – pepperoni…olives…and…cheese. Oy.

I guess you can’t blame them for sour grapes – they put up a tough negotiation but Oliver will always win in the end. And seal the deal with a snuggle.

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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

 

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.

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Nothing!

While The Boy was cooking me pancakes tonight, I heard the kittehs crying at him. Possibly because he was looking for a recipe and they knew what he needed: tuna, milk, cheese. Possibly because I’d asked them to go bite him and they were tattling on me. You see, I’ve been asking for pancakes for over a week and he hasn’t felt like making them.

Much like Congress, he had no better plan for dinner. But he didn’t like my idea. We had a kitchen shut down. But eventually we settled on spaghetti. And the next night we had salmon. And then chicken. And, and, and. But no pancakes. See how that’s done, Congress? Neither of us got the perfect meal, but we didn’t stop eating. 

So this afternoon I marinated some chicken for tikka masala. I knew there was a chance it would wait until Thursday because sometimes we fend for ourselves on Tuesdays. And we have beer for dinner on Wednesday. So, when we decided to fend for ourselves tonight, I decided to be a big girl and make my own dang pancakes. And The Boy thought that pancakes sounded good.

“Obi, go bite The Boy for me.”

I was kidding, of course. I’m seriously not going to complain about anything The Boy cooks for me – considering I used to eat at Wendy’s four times a week to break up my meals at Taco Johns. 

ANYWHO, the kittehs were talking at The Boy in the kitchen. Until I walked into the kitchen. Then there were two streaks of furry leaving the kitchen. I found them in the dining room, casually sitting under the table as if they’d been there all night. What were they up to?

Nothing.

I decided to clean litter boxes while dinner was cooking. Kitten Thunder followed me downstairs. On my way back up, they were sitting casually in the train room as if they’d been there all night. Obi was washing a paw. What were they up to?

Nothing.

A few minutes later, I was standing in the kitchen with The Boy. Two streaks of fur came up the stairs from the basement. The streaks diverged in front of us; one streak went left, into the dining room. One went right, into the hallway. 

Dinner was ready. 

We took our pancakes into the living room and found two kittehs laying under the coffee table. Casual. Like they’d been waiting there all along. Oliver scratched his ear. Not up to anything.

Nothing.

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?

Thou Shalt Not Covet

The kittehs are not allowed to covet our food at dinner time. Usually it is the grey kitten who gets scolded for bad behavior, but The Boy painted stairwells this afternoon and Oliver can’t get down to the living room without passing the dread blue wall.

It is different, thus evil.

So Obi was left alone with his people for dinner.

Not coveting…

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Okay, coveting a little…

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No, not coveting…

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When my phone buzzed, Obi suggested that I ask the grandperson if he should be allowed to have more than the four little bites of pork I gave him. Especially since I was done – he isn’t allowed on the coffee table when we are eating.  The Boy pointed out that one of his grandpeople might say yes but the other would say he’d already had four bites too many. 

Hmm.

The Boy relieved Obi of the struggle against coveting by putting our leftovers away. And the brown kitten went back to Smell-o-vision.