Somebody’s Coming

A letter from Oliver:

Hello, peoples of the bloggy world. I am writing this, or having My Girl transcribe it, because it is very important that we stay on the couch.

Earlier today, The Boy was doing things in his office. Since My Girl was sleeping in the couch, Obi and I were free to help him.

This condo for kittehs used to have books all over it and it wasn’t very useful. We like it better this way.

Obi also checked out some drawers and a cabinet The Boy was emptying. The Boy telling my brother he wasn’t actually being super helpful (which is a ridiculous assertion) woke up My Girl.

And that’s when the troubling part of the day started.

My Girl, after I showed her the newly emptied kitteh condo, went into her office and started moving things around. Garbage bags were filled. Recycling bins were taken out, filled, and taken out again.

It was a flurry of activity that means one thing: somebody is coming.

But who!?! The Boy’s office doesn’t need to be cleaned for company. Certainly not the kitteh condo.

Obi looked at me, nervous. I looked back at him.

And I panicked.

I went to My Girl and demanded answers. I got none. I went to The Boy and demanded answers. He told me to get out from underfoot.

I was so upset by what was going on, I somehow ended up in the basement and couldn’t find my people. I had to yell for help.

My Girl called and called and eventually I found her waiting for me at the top of the stairs. She suggested that we go sit for a minute on the couch and calm down.

So here we are, on the couch. If I try, maybe I can keep her here for forever.

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Mooch and Manners

Simon’s Cat has a new video out and the timing couldn’t be more perfect.

I was kitteh sitting Sir Gabe and Princess Jenni this week. When I go over in the morning I like to treat myself to a McDonald’s breakfast. Gabe thinks I should treat him as well.

He doesn’t believe me that the sausage I try to give him is what smells so good. Maybe he wants my McGriddle bun, but I don’t share that. A Girl has to have limits.

Sometimes people are like that. Kitten Thunder generally have good manners. Yes, they covet our meals from the floor or arm rest. But they don’t reach out and put a paw in our food.

Even when we do something really mean like NOT eat all our dinner and leave it sitting there, taunting them.

Step Away

This is as close as I’m allowed to get to Obi right now. Any attempt to be closer results in a warning glare. Then he prepares to run.

As you may know, I’m on the Cheyenne Animal Shelter board. We, on occasion, have our picture taken with our pets. Since Obi is my little mellow boy – and a graduate of the shelter – he gets the job.

This is what happened last time.

This time, we were a little smarter with our set up and each board member was scheduled for ten minutes rather than all of us showing up at once. We managed to get scheduled between little dogs.

Other than that “by the gazebo” means something different to every board member, it worked out well. Did you know there are a dozen gazebos in Lions Park?

Val didn’t run screaming when Obi and I got to the photography station. She remembered us, but didn’t seem terribly, permanently scarred by the experience. So we sat on the chair and got the instructions. My job was to sit still and look at the camera with a smile on my face. Val and Niki would get the cat to look at the camera.

Cats, or at least Obi, can not be enticed to look at a camera with squeaky toys, whistling, or kissy noises. But we did manage to get a picture where his face is turned toward the camera. He looked crabby. But he was crabby. We called it good.

Then, as I was standing there talking to them, Obi turned his face to look at Val. And she was ready. The camera snapped. And, miracle upon miracle, my eyes were open.

Obi and I came home.

Obi was mad but willing to be given treats if I set them on the floor and backed away. Oliver wanted to sniff him but Obi didn’t want HIM near him either. Oliver decided to be mad at me as a show of solidarity. I mentioned that if they were dogs they’d be excited to go to the part.

Glare. Do I just NEVER want to be forgiven?

Boxes

The world of a cat is full of boxes.

There are the boxes you sit on when you’re watching your Girl clean and organize her workshop. She fills that box with little boxes. She does not appreciate when you chase runaway beads and herd them under The Boy’s bench. The Boy has not cleaned and organized HIS bench. Ever.

There are the boxes that contain your catnip ball because The Girl got tired of getting it when it rolled under the couch. This box also keeps you from rolling away when the nip takes hold and smooths all your edges.

And there’s the box you look out when your people decide to drink a beer on the porch. So rude. You tell them to come back in the house.

That’s the biggest box of all.

That’s a Wrap

Why we still have a “roll” of wrapping paper on the floor in the basement hallway, which we walk on every time we go into the workshop:

If you scroll through this really quickly, it’s almost animated!

Fun Sucker

Yesterday afternoon I needed something in the closet downstairs. Kitten Thunder was there to help. They were a little surprised when I was okay with this.

And a little more surprised when I let Obi do this.

And a little more surprised that I let him do this.

Since I didn’t object to his being in the ceiling or walking the tight rope, Obi settled in for a nap a couple shelves above his brother.

I went upstairs.

Kitten Thunder joined me a few minutes later.

The Girl’s approval sucks all the fun it off death defying feats.

J’accuse!

Alas, Kitten Thunder’s lives are ruined.

The fortress has been culled. Only two boxes, two pieces of packing paper and a packing tie remain.

Oliver and Obi think I’m a jerk.

To add to the madness, I took the mat from under their litter box and hosed it off. It’s drying in the driveway. And their litter box is in the middle of the floor. TWO FEET from where it belongs. Where’s a kitten supposed to go?

Obi and Oliver think I’m a jerk.

Also, I mopped where their litter box belongs and cleaned the walls. They’ve been carefully building the aromas in that corner. All that work, gone. Do I know how hard it is to get poop two feet above the litter box? Seriously.

Oliver and Obi think I’m a jerk.

Oliver has drifted off to sleep in a sunbeam they forgot was behind the fortress. Hmm, not so bad.

Obi just came bad from the powder room and didn’t have to pick litter out from between his toes. Hmm, not so bad.

Well, maybe I’m okay. But Obi is going to rest behind me on the couch and let Tail slap me around a little.

Tail is kind of a jerk.

Four Alarm Furor

Oliver is like a fun house mirror; he reflects what he sees only bigger or distorted. If I love him, he loves me more. If I cry, he MOURNS. If I yell at him for being bad, he hates me for ruining his life. If I take a nap, he becomes comatose. And if you yell at his Girl, he will END you.

Thus, day three of Operation: Calm the %$&# Down.

Soon after I wrote my early morning post on Sunday, Oliver and Obi fought again. They got a time out. They fought again. They got a time out. They fought again. They got a time out.

It was confusing because they cried at the door for each other the moment they were separated. When they were reunited, they’d bathe each other. They even thundered once. Then, in an instant, the anger and hatred returned.

Watching closely, I figured out the pattern. Obi flinched and hissed if Oliver approached him head on. One hiss is all it takes for Oliver to go full on fighty.

And so began a 48 hour brother detox program. Why? The particular movement that makes Obi hiss is a stress trigger. I read that most stress triggers can be forgotten, or recovered from, in 48 hours. Easy enough.

But the one big problem with Operation: Calm the $%&# Down is… We had to close a door.

Kitten Thunder can not handle a closed door.

I’ve got a pheromone ball plugged in and gave them calming treats, but the trauma of a closed door is real. By Monday at noon is gotten prescription happy pills (we’re not to Prozac, yet). They still sit at the door and yowl for an hour at a time, but they are stopping for a nap. The first day, they probably only got four hours of sleep in ten minute stretches. Not healthy for cats. By the time Oliver and I went to bed, in the basement, on Sunday night, he barely staggered into my arms before passing out. He still got up several times in the night to lament the closed door and lost brother.

They cry about the door. They cry for each other.

So today, the 48 very long hours was up and I was hopeful.

They met. They licked. They ate treats together. They wrestled. They ate more treats when The Girl thought they might be getting a little too rough. But there was no fighting. Once in a while Obi would cower, but he kept his hiss to himself.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

Then Oliver walked up to Obi in just a way. The brown kitten hit the floor and hissed. Oliver turned his ears back. I shook the treat bag in his face and happily chirped “who wants more snackums?”

Nope. I caught up to the brawl in The Boy’s office, where he was eating lunch. He grabbed a grey kitten and went to the living room. I held a nasty tempered brown kitten in my lap (his reflection is more measured, but he’ll give what he gets as well). The Boy let Oliver go and the grey kitten came right back in for another round.

Operation: Calm the $%&# Down continues with another day of separation. Maybe some short visits. I saw progress today.

In the meantime, our spare room bed is REALLY comfortable.

Reenfortress

I’m a big believer in shopping locally, but that doesn’t always translate into buying locally. Like when I can save $120 for a nonprofit client by avoiding Office Depot’s crazy markup.

Or when the regional metalworking store estimates the equipment I need to TRY a new technique will cost me $70 and I can find it online for less than half that – this, I suspect, was a communications/inventory issue and I will continue to check with them first.

Or when I can’t find a pair of high waisted, tight exercise pants in town at all. Until I found one ugly pair, finally, for about a mortgage payment ON CLEARANCE.

Anyway, The Boy and I have gotten some packages lately. And Kitteh Thunder has added on to the fortress.

And, since the weather is nicer today, I added to the cave.

But when The Girl giveth, she must also taketh away. While refreshing the tissue paper and packing paper I discovered some peed on paper.

No, Obi doesn’t know why his brother confused the watch tower with the water closet.

Compromise

An update on the kneeling chair: Kitten Thunder does not approve.

The reason a kneeling chair is good for your back is that your legs slant downward, pulling your back into a more natural position. But that means no lap.

Or at least a greatly reduced lap.

This morning, Obi wanted some lap time. I’d just gotten back from the gym and was going to check my email real quick before showering. Obi climbed onto my slanty lap and slid down my slick exercise pants.

I rescued him. And adapted my lap.

By resting my feet on the knee pads, I gave the brown kitten a place to nap.

Sure, I have to hold onto the desk to keep my balance. And I have to stretch to reach the keyboard. And, after a killer workout, my back was really sore.

But a Girl has to do what a Girl has to do.