Tag Archives: injuries

Black and Blue Snapshots

“Supervising The Girl is a full time job. It is exhausting.”

The ironing board used to be in the basement, but it moved upstairs when we had company come in July. It stayed up there because The Boy irons every day and sometimes, if I don’t have meetings, I am just wearing jeans and a t-shirt. It made sense to leave it where he gets ready in the morning.

The other day, I had to iron. I was upstairs and properly supervised the entire time. When I was done, I told Obi it was time to get to work. He ran down to the main floor to claim his chair before I got there. I turned toward the stairs and rammed right into one of the big wooden support poles in the reading nook. I hit my left arm. Hard. I stumbled toward the stairs and then stopped to bend over, holding my numb/throbbing arm and cussing.

Obi came back upstairs. I can’t be left unsupervised for even a minute.

Yesterday, Oliver and I got into a fight at lunch time. He thought he should be allowed to sit on my keyboard and swipe at food as it went toward my mouth. I disagreed. We’d made up by dinner time but he made a show of not coveting the chicken noodle soup that we’d crock potted all day long.

He was by my TV tray, marking the legs of it with chin rubs. Obi was upset. It’s HIS TV tray. Whenever Oliver leaves a room, Obi walks around re-claiming things. The walls, the coffee table, The Boy…

Anyway, Oliver was sitting on the floor, looking at me, when Obi walked by and accidentally stepped on the grey kitten’s tail. Oliver cried. I was chiding him for being so dramatic because it probably didn’t hurt at all when Obi looked over his shoulder, stepped back, and stomped on Oliver’s tail.

I laughed.

I called Obi a brat.

I picked up my poor put down upon grey kitten and kissed him on the ears.

I gave them both chicken.

“How can I be coveting your chicken when I have no legs?”

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The Truth About Fight Club and the Curse of the Mama

Oliver has HUGE gashes over each eye this week. One is actually kind of deep and I’m keeping an eye on it to make sure we don’t have a doctor visit in our future. He also has a cut on his eyelid. That one I saw happen.

Oliver was scratching the bald spot over his eye with his back foot. In case you’re new to this blog, Oliver’s back claws don’t retract. Some times he forgets this. Like…often. So he’s scratching away at that itchy cut over his eye and misses; he kicks himself in the eye.

There was blood. There was tears. There was a grey kitten who didn’t really want me to pry open his eye to look at his cornea.

It was fine.

So…that answers the question about Fight Club. Which, if you’ve seen the movie, you’ve suspected all along.

***

Not only was I cruel to Oliver, forcing him to take my medical care, I also cursed Obi this weekend. As if I’m not mean enough to him already.

The Boy and I were in the kitchen and Obi was laying on the floor showing us how cute he is. The cloth bag we get our co-op veggies from had fallen off its hook and was on the floor. Obi leapt at it and missed the opening so he was hiding behind it. I helped for two seconds by propping the opening of the bag so it was more open.

As I left the kitchen to go take a shower I mentioned that we should probably not encourage him to play with our cloth bag. After all, he could accidentally turn it  into a Super Man cape and strangle himself. The Boy agreed, but they were playing when I left.

I can’t find the blog about the time Obi accidentally made a cape out of a plastic grocery bag and made four laps around the house in a panic before hiding under the bed in my office where I was able to liberate him – from a bag that was, by that time, full of kitten pee. He’s still terrified of plastic bags.

Well, as if I’d cursed him, it took Obi about half a minute after I left the room to get caught up in the fabric bag. This one he wore under his body so he wasn’t able to get up much speed and actually liberated himself before The Boy caught up to him.

Obi still wanted me to hold him and kiss his ears while The Boy told me of his harrowing experience. The brown kitten looked up at me, a little unsure about whether I could be responsible. It is hard to decide what to do when you don’t know if you can trust the mama. After all, I make it all better.

Well, I at least hang up the bag.

***

Happy birthday to my dad! Kitten Thunder performed a super nap in your honor this afternoon.

You STILL do not talk about Fight Club

About a year ago I posted the rules to Thunder Fight Club. It must be a summer thing because it seems to be on again. At least we assume that’s what is going on – the kittehs are sticklers for rules 1 and 2.

Oliver’s bald spots both have cuts. One of them had healed and was quickly replaced with another. When I kiss them and ask how he got the cuts he walks away. You do not talk about Fight Club.

I asked Obi if he knew what had happened to his brother’s sweet face. Obi walked away.

You DO NOT talk about Fight Club.

***

My computer is back! More importantly, the box is back. There are now two boxes in the living room. Whichever one Oliver is in? That’s the one Obi wants.

***

Sleeping in the basement continues to be awesome. Yesterday the alarm clock went off and…

Wait for it…

Woke. Oliver. Up.

Awesome.

You do NOT talk about Fight Club

1st Rule: You do not talk about Fight Club.

2nd Rule: You DO NOT talk about Fight Club.

3rd Rule: If someone hisses or hides in a box the fight is over.

4th Rule: Only two kittens to a fight.

5th Rule: One fight at a time.

6th Rule: No shirts, no shoes. We’re nudists.

7th Rule: Fights will go on as long as they have to. Or until The Girl or The Boy thinks we’re getting too rough.

8th Rule: Since there are only two kittens in Fight Club, you have to fight.

"In answer to your question about what happened, please refer to rules number one and two."

Oliver has a black eye. And two scratches. He doesn’t want to talk about it. I can only guess this is because Kitten Thunder has founded a fight club and he’s following the rules about not talking about it.

That…or he kicked himself in the eye with his back claws, which don’t retract.

Yeah, one of those.

“I just don’t want to die without a few scars.”  ~Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club