Kitten Balls

If you wash a sheet that has been used as a cave for five months, your washer will be filled with little balls of kitten. Like, thirty of them.

And that’s all I have to say about that.

***

When we first moved into this house, we discovered that Obi can climb ladders. By this, I mean the shelf supports that go up the wall in one of my closets. For a whole year I have been careful not to leave that closet unattended so I wouldn’t end up with a kitten in the ceiling.

You’d think a cat would forget. They forget where they are going as they are walking across the living room. They forget what toy they are playing with if it goes past a different toy. They forget where they leave their people if they leave the room.

Obi did not forget.

In the time it took me to make a space for some clothes, walk across the basement to get said clothes, and return to the closet, Oliver had settled himself on my sweaters and Obi was in the ceiling.

Just like that.

This side of the house seems to be as boring as the other. Obi walked the width of the house, trapped between two joists. Then he came back. Then he did it again. Then he came back. He wanted to explore another line, but to get between different joists he had to hop down to the top shelf and he was immediately gotten.

Poor kitten.

***

An aside about clothing: I have too much. My closets are full and the basement and garage still have full Rubbermaids. I need advice on how to weed out my wardrobe. Obviously, things that don’t fit are going to charity. Plus, short skirts because my knees are too old to be seen in public. I know there’s some rule about things you haven’t worn for a certain amount of time, but I have a problem with that. For the last three years I worked in a basement where no one saw me. So I wore the same ten outfits – it was handy because they never got put away. So, any other ideas?

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The closet case

"It's good to stay on top of things."

I went upstairs to brush my teeth today, followed closely by Kitten Thunder. Oliver insisted he needed in The Boy’s closet. It was life or death. His whole happiness depended on it.

I didn’t open the door.

Plan B, for Oli, was the linen closet. He HAD to get in the linen closet. Life or death. Yadda yadda yadda. This time it worked. I opened the closet.

While Oliver was contemplating his strategy for jumping into the closet, Obi strolled up and leapt to the bottom shelf. He plunked down on the kitteh blanket. Oliver looked to me – from the floor – for his next move.

I lifted Oli to the second shelf. As I placed him there he tried to get on the top shelf. “You’re going to have to get down eventually; it will hurt if you jump from the top shelf,” I said to the grey kitten. He was not dissuaded. I put him on the top shelf.

With Oliver’s promotion came discontent from the bottom shelf. I moved Obi to the middle shelf where he discovered there is no kitteh blanket. I moved him back to the bottom shelf. Oliver watched from on high.

Oli looked around from his high up perspective. He contemplated the book shelves. He examined our winter blanket (which I’d forgotten and we’ll need it soon so this was five minutes well spent). He watched as Obi lost interest in the closet and left for a sunny spot on the cat shelf.

He was ready to get down.

He looked down to the floor. All the way down. Then he looked to The Girl. I held out my arms and he hopped into them, giving me a head-hug as I lowered him to the floor.

Future happiness, provided by yours truly.

"But it's also good to get to the bottom of things."

Cats, like shoes, are better air-dried.

I take you back to a day in my childhood. My mother and I are sitting in the living room watching TV.

“What’s that thunking sound?”

“Sounds like shoes in the dryer.”

“Oh.” After a couple minutes, “you’re not drying my shoes, are you? I hate dryer dried shoes.”

“You didn’t put shoes in the dryer?”

“No.”

We looked at each other. We blinked. We ran to the laundry room.

Our kitten, Stasha, had climbed in the dryer when we weren’t looking. Of course cats like dryers – they’re warm and full of soft clothing that needs to be rehaired. Stasha was in the dryer for about five minutes. She panted for another fifteen minutes as her temperature slowly came down. Honestly, I think we cooked her brain a little bit. But that didn’t stop her from trying to get back in the dryer every time it was open.

Poco and Stoney have also managed to get dried – though not for nearly as long. See, we learn.

My Aunt Barb sent me this message: “Benjy says to tell you that since you did a blog on cats in boxes, you should also do one on cats in dryers – one of his favorite places.  It’s warm, it’s cozy, it’s soft and fluffy!”

I couldn’t agree more, Barb, but with my history with cats, yours is going to have to model this idea on this the Thunder Thursday.

"The laundry police called. They say you're being cited for not separating your colors from your kittens."

 

"What? YOU sing in the shower."

 

“Don’t forget the dryer sheet; I hate static cling.”

 While we’re talking about laundering cats, Lori – of Thundersitting fame – got a new car with a fascinating feature that I simple MUST have in my next car.

Let your cat dry completely before folding or it will crease and no amount of ironing will fix it.