Tag Archives: Whoppers

No, please, stay a while.

Three snack packs of Whoppers, two flat leopard print mousies, one teddy bear mouse, one cloth mousie, one fur mousie, one drinking straw, a pen, a milk ring, a ball and a rose from the palm tree wall thing I bought in Savannah when I just knew we were going to buy this house when I got back. That’s what came out from under the couch last night from just one swipe of the magic toy making stick. And, of course, there was also enough cat hair to knit another kitten.

We really ought to hurry up and open that kitten knitting factory. Every time we throw away a wad of hair we lose money. Oliver says we can charge double for grey ones – they’re softer and so much more handsome.

"So many toys, so little attention span...hey, that actually works out okay!"

For Thunder Thursday, I present my parents’ other cat, Gracie. Gracie made sure we knew exactly how happy she was to welcome us into her home this week.

"Why haven't you caught on fire yet? I really need to get my laser eyes checked out."

This is Gracie’s crabby look. I didn’t get a picture of her wide-eyed glare of death. There is not a doubt in my mind that she’s thinking flammable thoughts at us.

I feel obligated to tell you my mother says Gracie gets a bad rap. She supposedly snuggles and is nice to people as long as “people” is my parents. Possibly my niece and nephew.

And now, why Gracie hates me more than any of the others: Poco.

My parents built their house when I was in Junior High. Poco was always and adventurous cat and she loved car rides so she went to the house several times while it was under construction. When we moved in she already knew the layout and wasn’t afraid at all. By the time Stasha and Stoney ventured out of the bed they hid under for two weeks, Poco was the queen. And when we got our malamute, Heidi, Poco was the queen of her too.

Then Po and I went away to college.

While we were away, Gracie was adopted. Gracie is a dilute tortie but she is all attitude. She and our huge dog became best buddies. And Gracie took her place as queen of the house.

Then I graduated. And moved home while I looked for a job.

So here’s Queen Gracie: seven pounds, tiny, BIG attitude. Also, her voice box has been permanently damaged since birth so her meow is a wispy puff of air. And then there’s Queen Poco: 18 pounds, huge, BIGGER attitude. While we lived in Idaho, Poco had beaten up the cats of every landlord I had. And two dogs. Her thug-iness is part of why I have strictly indoor cats now.

The thing is this. I think Poco would have been fine just dividing the kingdom and staying upstairs in our room for the most part. But the upstairs belongs to Gracie. And every night when the people went to bed, she’d come sneaking up to spy on Poco and try to take back some of her territory.

One night, as I was laying in bed, I heard the cry of a cat downstairs. Not Stoney. Not Poco. I raced to the stairwell and threw the lights on so I could see over the rail into the living room below. My parents came from their side of the house. There in the living room was Poco. She was pressing so hard on Gracie’s throat that an actual meow was coming out. And her first cry was most definitely a cry for help.

Of course we broke up the fight. Of course Gracie came back for more the next night. And the night after that. Luckily, Poco and I move out and Gracie is back to being the queen.

All hail, Queen Gracie. Long may she rage, er, reign.

Stockpiling for the Apocalypse

I heard someone say there are billboards around the country declaring that today would be the end of the world. Obi isn’t going to take any chances.

I was standing in the doorway between the dining room and kitchen watching The Boy cook our dinner when a snack pack of Whoppers hit me in the back of the calf. There’s a bowl of Whoppers, left over from Halloween which I bought candy for and then we didn’t hand out because The Boy hid in the basement and I wasn’t home, on the dining room table. Obi had singled out a pack and thrown it at me. He then proceeded to play with it, which was cute. Then, even cuter, he picked it up and ran into the living room. I watched the cuteness of him playing with it for a minute then turned back to the kitchen.

A few minutes later, I heard the crinkle of candy wrapper on the table and turned to see Obi with another package of Whoppers. This time I watched him sneak away with it and put it in the cave – the blue blanket on the couch was draped very well tonight.

A few minutes later…the same thing. This time, Oliver went into the cave and some kind of weird cave Thunder happened. I watched until dinner was ready and shrimp pasta brought both cats to my feet when I sat on the couch.

Later, I noticed Obi carrying a toy into the cave. Then another. The third toy didn’t make it to the cave – it tried to escape and was beaten and pounced into submission. At last, it was time to get up to blog so I took a peek into the cave. Okay, first I looked all over for the camera but I can’t find it – it is probably in The Boy’s car from when he played hookey yesterday and went to take pictures of trains. Sheesh. He acts like it’s HIS camera or something.

Five packages of Whoppers, two mousies, and a crumpled up piece of paper. I don’t know what, exactly, Obi thinks he’s prepared for. But he is prepared. I hope he’ll share his supplies with the people if we need to shelter in the cave.

It’s Thunder Thursday! Here’s my friend Don’s cat, Aspen. If she ever tells Oliver where to buy laser sights for his eyes I think I’ll be getting up about 19 minutes earlier…

"Put the food in my bowl or you shall be zappified!"