Super Vising

Hello peoples of the internets! Obi here.

Sometimes I feel like The Boy sold me a bill of goods with Squeak. He still doesn’t Thunder with me like they said he would.

He doesn’t even know how to play with the cool toys The Girl bought for us.

But he looks to me for advice. And he is getting better.

And he’s good for snuggling… He doesn’t think he needs to hug or kiss me like The Girl does.

And at  I don’t have to do his laundry because Oliver volunteered. And The Boy finished it when my brother was done.

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Hero in the Night

Hello peoples of the internet. This is Obi. I want to tell you how awesome my brother is. He’s a hero!

As you know, our Boy and Girl brought home a people-kitten a few weeks ago. Oliver and I have adjusted to the added responsibility but managing three humans is a lot of work.

Usually Squeak is with either The Boy or The Girl, but sometimes they leave him to sleep in his cage in our room. Then they lock him in by shutting the door. In the daytime, Oliver and I take turns supervising from the box in the hallway. We also supervise from this position when The Girl feeds Squeak at night.

Side note: Oliver and I have had a lot of talks about this and could someone tell him he is NOT a people? He thinks he is because The Girl fed him from a bottle, just like they feed Squeak. But I say maybe Squeak is half cat, because he eats from his mom as well – just like I did with my mom when I was a kitten. Oli doesn’t remember having a mom, other than The Girl, so maybe he’s right. 

But I don’t think so.

Anywho.

When the people are in bed, I supervise on the main floor while Oliver snuggles with The Girl to get her settled in bed. Sometimes I take the whole first shift so he can get some sleep – he’s getting kind of old and he’s been sleeping more since all those doctor appointments last fall.

Sometimes he takes his shift supervising and naps on the steps so he can hear The Girl and Squeak at the same time. That, folks, is a master supervisor.

Last night, we both happened to be supervising. And Squeak started to talk about his middle of the night snack. Then he started to cry.

This is usually when The Girl arrives. She has a tiny box she carries around that lets Squeak talk to her when they aren’t in the same room. Her ears aren’t as good as ours (seriously, people are practically deaf. How do you get by?)

Squeak cried some more

No Girl.

Squeak’s cry went from a call to a panicked howl. 

No Girl.

I asked Oliver what we could do. The door was closed so we couldn’t help our baby. The Girl’s talky box obviously wasn’t working. The fans upstairs were covering up Squeak’s cry (again, people are deaf).

He nodded to me and said “a lifetime if training is about to pay off.” Then he led me upstairs.

He jumped into bed and head-butted The Girl. Then he did it again, hard. She scritched his head and pulled him close for a snuggle without opening her eyes. He didn’t give in for a second. He pushed out of her arms and went in again. First with another head-butt. Then he put his nose on her lips and shoved his face into her mouth like a wedge. 

This move is usually reserved as the final move after hours of trying to wake The Girl for breakfast because it always works but she’s not very happy when she wakes up. Like, really not happy. But this was for our baby and there was no time to lose.

The Girl spluttered awake and glared at Oliver. But we could tell she could almost hear Squeak over the fans. Like lightning her hand flew to the talky box, which was dark and quiet.

“Oh no!” she yelled and leapt, almost cat-like I want to say, out of bed. She barely touched the floor on her way to Squeak.

It took a couple minutes for us all to calm down. I got in my up high supervising spot and Oliver stood by the chair and performed a Cat Scan on the baby while he ate. Other than raised heart rates, he said, both of the peoples were fine.

After a while, Squeak went back to sleep. But I wasn’t going anywhere. Neither was Oli. Neither was The Girl.

She thanked Oliver for his heroic deed with breakfast, then treats, then a snuggle and hundreds of kisses. Which is fine if you like that sort of thing. And he does.

I was happy with breakfast. 

I asked Oliver how he knew to go directly for the face wedge. He looked at me incredulously. “We do the wake up drill every single morning.

“You thought that was about breakfast?”

Well yes, yes did.

Maybe Oliver isn’t such a pudding head after all.

Obi out.

Test Drive

The Boy and I continue to do interesting things to entertain Kitten Thunder.

Yesterday, I was sewing. With equal parts help and supervision, of course.

Then The Boy showed up in the living room and started messing with Obi’s tall box. This box has been in the living room for a couple weeks. Obi didn’t know it opened!

For a minute, Obi wasn’t sure he liked what was happening.

He thought maybe we should go back to sewing.

But his sense of duty won out and he returned to Boy supervision.

We were quickly done with putting the pieces of the box together. It was followed by a lot of “where is the button that does this” and “how does that go in” from both people.

Obi, however, figured it out right away.

And today, Oliver discovered it’s a double decker.

Just don’t try to take either of them for a stroll.

Fabric Inspection

After dinner, there were no kittens holding me down. This led to and unexpected burst of productivity.

The Boy and I went into the baby’s room so that, as pregnant women are supposed to do, I could have him move furniture from one perfectly good location to a new location across the room.

And of course Kitten Thunder showed up to help.

There are no pictures of the ridiculous amount of under footedness that was happening because I was shouting orders for kittens to get out of the way.

After the furniture was in the right place, for now, the room looked startlingly like a person could live there in two months.

Kitten Thunder found letters on their bed to inspect.

And fabric.

They approve.

Test Drive

We might not know anything about tiny baby humans, but in this house we are well versed in large cats.

And they owe us.

So when my baby sling came in the mail, The Boy and I decided Oliver would help us try it out.

This is how he likes me to hold him, at arm’s length, so he actually really enjoyed it. Especially since I’d normally put him down when I needed to scratch my nose but I didn’t have to.

I may have gotten a size too small to hold a baby, but for a kitten… It’s purrfect.

On the Hook

What happens when The Girl spends time in the laundry room, hanging hooks on which to dry cloth diapers?

She gets help, of course.

Something Fishy

Those of you who have been with us a while, know that Oliver has allergies. This fall we discovered his liver is failing (hopefully very slowly) so we’re trying not to give him Prednisone anymore.

Benadryl, the alternative, is just icky. The betrayal, the hurt, wasn’t a long term option.

Dr. Tiffany from Cottonwood had one last suggestion: fish oil. It’s an anti inflammatory. And worth a shot.

The day it arrived, I pumped out a bit for both cats. And… It was delicious! They loved it! Hoorah!

But, because this made me happy, it couldn’t last. Oliver was not in love with breakfast fish oil.

Neither of them really wanted it that night until I tossed some treats in it.

The next morning, Oliver ate around the fish oil and left all the food that was touching it. He went and talked Obi into saving his HIS breakfast, from under the office door.

That night no one would eat the fish oil, even with treats.

Seriously.

So now what? Well, in the morning, Oliver will eventually lick the plate clean. Once all other food options are exhausted. So no worries there. Plus, we’ve decided to stop separating the cats for breakfast – Obi is more worried about missing something while he’s locked away than eating.

In the evening, we have baby food! I received several tips for medicating a cat on this blog and decided to combine two – I got some chicken baby food to surround the benadryl and froze it into pellets.

I mixed the rest with fish oil and used that to get the medicine down.

Did the pills work, you ask? I don’t know. Because the fish oil IS working. Like a miracle. All the sores on his sweet grey face after healed up.

No betrayal. No hurt.

Just a Boy shaking his head and muttering something about spoiled cats as I sit on the floor and spoon feed my cats.

Seriously.

Cart Blank

Every pregnant woman who has ever existed wants this cart from IKEA.

Or, last year when I was reading mommy blogs, that’s how it seemed. But many women said it was too expensive. And indeed it was when The Boy and I were in IKEA and could come up with no reason to buy it.

But! Since then we’ve realized we do need a place to store the diaper changing stuff reasonably near where diapers will be changed. Thanks to The Boy’s sister for sending a wipe dispenser and causing us to use our brains. The cart is the exact right height and color. And it costs half as much as it used to.

Short story long, The Boy had an assembly project because that’s how IKEA rolls. And we like it like that.

Kitten Thunder was on hand to help.

Oliver inspected the box.

He fitted. He sitted.

Obi swiftly counted the bolts and washers and various pieces. Then he realized I was trying to turn a great time with his Boy into a stupid blog post.

Nope. Not having it.

He supervised from a distance until I have up and left.

Quota

Oliver hasn’t had a tremor in almost two weeks. We’re hoping to say good bye to them permanently, much like the mystery fevers from a few years back. But while we were trying to figure out the cause of the tremors we discovered an issue with his liver levels.

So today, after several weeks without steroids for his allergies, we went in to give more of his blood to check levels.

And to get his annual vaccinations.

And an allergy shot, if levels allowed.

Levels did not allow. The bad news is that Oliver has to give more blood in a couple months. The good news, for him, is that he’s switching to benadryl for his allergies. That means The Boy can’t call him spoiled when he demands treats each night while I’m taking my pills. Because he’ll need a pill too.

So there.

Shortly after bringing Oliver home I got a phone call about a cat lover’s basket I won at a silent auction on Friday. I ran right over, thinking it would be full of cat toys. Bribes.

I was wrong. It was a basket for me. Cat books, cat pajamas, etc.

Luckily, Kitten Thunder can find a silver lining for any cloud.

And I am forgiven.

Kitten-Slaughter

The mess was everywhere. As I entered the living room, I could see the first indications that someone had suffered an ignoble end. Two steps in, it was clear.

Yarn Ball was dead.

His innards were strewn across the room. His tail was caught in the Velcro of my laptop charger. Poor Yarn Ball.

As we know from The Princess Bride, though, there is a difference between dead dead and just mostly dead. Would true love bring him back?

I went about fixing him. I rerolled him faster, stronger.

Obi seemed happy. Then, about an hour later, The Boy walked into the room. “Oh noes,” he said. “The yarn ball isn’t a ball anymore.”

It was true.

I looked at Obi. Suspicious. Suddenly, what is assumed was kitten-slaughter seemed more like murder.

The Boy started trying to fix Yarn Ball. After realizing he’d never rolled a ball of yarn in his life and that it’s not as easy as he thought, he handed Yarn Blob to me.

With a kiss to the ears, I set the brown suspect free and tossed Yarn Ball to the floor.

We’ll see how this story unravels in coming days.