Sunday, March 26, 2006
FYI
Well hey sweetpea! How are you? You're more than welcome to sit with me, and I'm so glad you came by. But may I direct your attention to the lord of the house, sitting here on my feet and keeping them warm. I know you didn't see him when you first jumped up, so I thought you should know... Stay if you like, and I hope you do, but please no nasty words.
Friday, March 24, 2006
Flooded!
It happened again. I left a lusciously full glass of water on the paper-cluttered dining table, and now must suffer the consequences...
At peace x 4
Thin afternoon light, the dishwater kind, filters through these thin lace curtains. There is a thickness of silence, the sleep-inducing kind, hanging heavy over our heads. Only now and again we hear the distant shooshing of a truck out on Fort; it's a comfortable reminder--oh, the luxury!--that today we have no need of the car. We may sleep; we may eat; we may or may not go back to sleep.
If it were summertime, I'd be sitting barefoot on someone's front porch. I'd have a glass of lemonade in one hand, and I'd be shuffling through radio stations with the other. I'd scooch my rocking chair across the wooden boards in endless pursuit of the sun-patch, and the only thing I'd see for miles around would be trees, and sun-baked fields, and maybe a friend's car, far off yet down the road, but quickly approaching. It's that kind of day.
Squinching her eyes shut, and twirling her ears to those trucks beyond the great glass window, Meera curls into a corner of the giant green armchair. (But she'd prefer an outdoor rocker, too, if she could get her paws on one.) With her owl eyes open, they're all I see. With them shut, I notice the milk patch of her mouth, the black outline of her tiny pink nose. It looks like someone used maybe a gel ink, rolling-ball, .07 fine-point Pilot G-2 pen, to draw that line.
Brat lies somnolescent on the couch beside me. At ten-minute intervals he lifts his chin and turns to look at me: a clear and gentle request for a brief chin-stroke. My boy, my thick black carpet of a cat; there could be whole worlds hidden within this mass of fur; I should really brush him out this afternoon.
And Kai, Kai of the turbulent thoughts and upset routines. Little guy is capable of grace; he's deigned to come within two feet of Brat. Though he began at the far end of the couch, balanced on its back, slowly he inched his way forward til he lay elongated stretched & relaxed just behind my head. His back paws to my left, his front paws to my right, his tiny pink nose mere inches from my ear; we are four; we are content.
If it were summertime, I'd be sitting barefoot on someone's front porch. I'd have a glass of lemonade in one hand, and I'd be shuffling through radio stations with the other. I'd scooch my rocking chair across the wooden boards in endless pursuit of the sun-patch, and the only thing I'd see for miles around would be trees, and sun-baked fields, and maybe a friend's car, far off yet down the road, but quickly approaching. It's that kind of day.
Squinching her eyes shut, and twirling her ears to those trucks beyond the great glass window, Meera curls into a corner of the giant green armchair. (But she'd prefer an outdoor rocker, too, if she could get her paws on one.) With her owl eyes open, they're all I see. With them shut, I notice the milk patch of her mouth, the black outline of her tiny pink nose. It looks like someone used maybe a gel ink, rolling-ball, .07 fine-point Pilot G-2 pen, to draw that line.
Brat lies somnolescent on the couch beside me. At ten-minute intervals he lifts his chin and turns to look at me: a clear and gentle request for a brief chin-stroke. My boy, my thick black carpet of a cat; there could be whole worlds hidden within this mass of fur; I should really brush him out this afternoon.
And Kai, Kai of the turbulent thoughts and upset routines. Little guy is capable of grace; he's deigned to come within two feet of Brat. Though he began at the far end of the couch, balanced on its back, slowly he inched his way forward til he lay elongated stretched & relaxed just behind my head. His back paws to my left, his front paws to my right, his tiny pink nose mere inches from my ear; we are four; we are content.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Tell me, have you seen her?
Kai doesn't know what to do with himself. He attacks my feet, the carpet, the fuzzy mouse thing, but his heart's not in it. He runs around the apartment, mewing forlornly and checking out all their favorite places; she's nowhere to be found. I tell him, again and again, "She'll be back tomorrow little Kai little guy. She'll be back." I may have to let him in my bedroom tonight.
Saturday, March 18, 2006
Illusions of power
I was running late. That's how I knew the task ahead of me would require superhuman ability, like arms that can stretch to five feet in length, or the magic word that slows all kitty activity to a fourth of its normal rate. If I'd been on time, Meera would have obligingly trotted back to her room with barely a suggestion from me.
As it was, I sat on the floor and sloooowly reached around the base of the dining room table. Meera fled behind the couch. I used an umbrella to sweep her out; she returned to the table. I spent two minutes playing with her toy, while she cleaned her left paw and eyed me. I turned on the loving voice, and gave Kai the petting of a lifetime, hoping to make Meera jealous enough to walk over to my lap. Dreams, pathetic dreams. I made another grab. Meera ran behind the couch. I used the umbrella. She ran to the table. Oh Lord, I thought. May Larry, Curly & Moe be watching this from above. May someone please be getting a kick out of this.
Thoroughly disgusted and now unacceptably late, I went to brush my teeth. Kai trotted in front of me down the hall, looking up and over his shoulder to anticipate my next step. He sat down beside my feet as I scrubbed and politely ignored my foamy mutters. I'm not ashamed to admit it: I tried to use him as my go-between.
"Kai. Go tell your sister she needs to get into that back bedroom before I leave." He looked toward the door, then up at me. I spat, and rinsed.
"Kai. Go on. Go tell your sister she has thirty seconds to hightail it back there." He left, and was back again before I'd finished flossing.
"Did you tell her? Is she coming?"
We walked to the bedroom, and I pulled some socks out of the drawer. Maybe there was a way out of this. "Kai. Fine. Go tell your sister just this once, she can stay behind the couch." He went running down the hall.
I shut Brat in my bedroom and left the kitties free to roam. With an "I'm so sorry, my sweet," to my long-suffering black fuzzy friend, I closed the bedroom door on him, grabbed my keys, and headed out to my car, mentally composing this, my revenge.
As it was, I sat on the floor and sloooowly reached around the base of the dining room table. Meera fled behind the couch. I used an umbrella to sweep her out; she returned to the table. I spent two minutes playing with her toy, while she cleaned her left paw and eyed me. I turned on the loving voice, and gave Kai the petting of a lifetime, hoping to make Meera jealous enough to walk over to my lap. Dreams, pathetic dreams. I made another grab. Meera ran behind the couch. I used the umbrella. She ran to the table. Oh Lord, I thought. May Larry, Curly & Moe be watching this from above. May someone please be getting a kick out of this.
Thoroughly disgusted and now unacceptably late, I went to brush my teeth. Kai trotted in front of me down the hall, looking up and over his shoulder to anticipate my next step. He sat down beside my feet as I scrubbed and politely ignored my foamy mutters. I'm not ashamed to admit it: I tried to use him as my go-between.
"Kai. Go tell your sister she needs to get into that back bedroom before I leave." He looked toward the door, then up at me. I spat, and rinsed.
"Kai. Go on. Go tell your sister she has thirty seconds to hightail it back there." He left, and was back again before I'd finished flossing.
"Did you tell her? Is she coming?"
We walked to the bedroom, and I pulled some socks out of the drawer. Maybe there was a way out of this. "Kai. Fine. Go tell your sister just this once, she can stay behind the couch." He went running down the hall.
I shut Brat in my bedroom and left the kitties free to roam. With an "I'm so sorry, my sweet," to my long-suffering black fuzzy friend, I closed the bedroom door on him, grabbed my keys, and headed out to my car, mentally composing this, my revenge.
Monday, March 13, 2006
If Bluebeard had a cat
Usually the munchkins are interested in one thing, and one thing only, come seven o'clock in the evening. But last night as I came in, cautiously as I do, with a dish of food in each hand, crouched over, using hands and one foot as barricade between them and the Greater Beyond, Kai took advantage of the basic powerlessness of my situation: if he were to run, what could I do, really, with one more kitten to keep an eye on, and hands full of dinner? Ask him to come back nicely?
I put the food down, shut the door on placid munching Meera, and set out to find the troublesome renegade. Of course he'd shot, head low and tail streaming, for the only room he's not allowed in, my bedroom (it's not kitten-proof yet). And of course he went directly under the bed, the only spot I don't vaccuum regularly. And of course Brat had to shuffle in at precisely that moment.
Brat smelled intruder. He froze...('Waaaait a minute,' I could hear the slow wheels turning. 'Isn't this room my safe haven? My sweet den of comfort? My port in the storm? Mine and mine alone?') But Old Man chooses his battles wisely. He turned, shuffled back to the living room, and presto! Cat-conflict avoided.
Return to the adventurer. Knowing what I know, I gave him ten more seconds max to get impatient and come sniffing back out. I meeean, this room is chock-full of exciting space. And there's a huge hidey hole of a closet! (If it had been Meera, I'd still be waiting, cooing, with dusty knees, an open can of tuna, and three of her favorite toys.) So I started to count. Out loud. 1...2...3... On 7, there was movement under the lace bed skirt, and Kai came trotting out, trailing dust bunnies and cobwebs and shaking string off his paws.
Simple as that, I scooped him up, gave him a chin rub, and popped him back in with his sister.
Scamp.
I put the food down, shut the door on placid munching Meera, and set out to find the troublesome renegade. Of course he'd shot, head low and tail streaming, for the only room he's not allowed in, my bedroom (it's not kitten-proof yet). And of course he went directly under the bed, the only spot I don't vaccuum regularly. And of course Brat had to shuffle in at precisely that moment.
Brat smelled intruder. He froze...('Waaaait a minute,' I could hear the slow wheels turning. 'Isn't this room my safe haven? My sweet den of comfort? My port in the storm? Mine and mine alone?') But Old Man chooses his battles wisely. He turned, shuffled back to the living room, and presto! Cat-conflict avoided.
Return to the adventurer. Knowing what I know, I gave him ten more seconds max to get impatient and come sniffing back out. I meeean, this room is chock-full of exciting space. And there's a huge hidey hole of a closet! (If it had been Meera, I'd still be waiting, cooing, with dusty knees, an open can of tuna, and three of her favorite toys.) So I started to count. Out loud. 1...2...3... On 7, there was movement under the lace bed skirt, and Kai came trotting out, trailing dust bunnies and cobwebs and shaking string off his paws.
Simple as that, I scooped him up, gave him a chin rub, and popped him back in with his sister.
Scamp.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Innocent bystander
Meera asks: "You choose Eleanor Roosevelt over me?"
I say: "Hey. I'm the mistress of multi-tasking. I can turn pages and pet the kitty at the same time."
Meera sniffs. "Some things deserve one's full attention." She high-steps it toward the door; smacks her brother's face on the way out.
I say: "Hey. I'm the mistress of multi-tasking. I can turn pages and pet the kitty at the same time."
Meera sniffs. "Some things deserve one's full attention." She high-steps it toward the door; smacks her brother's face on the way out.
Monday, March 06, 2006
Next stop: Mount Everest
So I'm sitting curled in the armchair, in their room. Quietly reading. Calmly sipping a Woodchuck. When suddenly I hear a horrible ripping sound, and out of the corner of my left eye, over the back of the chair, I see a paw come grasping & clawing from below. Sharp nails sink into lovelily textured corduroy chair. The second paw appears. The nails from the first paw detract, the paw is thrown farther upward, and now a tiny face appears. Reverse-rappeller Meera. Hauling herself up inch by inch.
Normal kitties would take the normal route, from floor to arm to back of chair (but this is no ordinary kitten).
I tried to hold it in, but couldn't--my laughter erupted, and it was loud, and ringing. A startled scuffling, an explosion of tail fur, a speedy exodus to the Land-Under-the-Bed.
Get used to the sound, my pretties.
Normal kitties would take the normal route, from floor to arm to back of chair (but this is no ordinary kitten).
I tried to hold it in, but couldn't--my laughter erupted, and it was loud, and ringing. A startled scuffling, an explosion of tail fur, a speedy exodus to the Land-Under-the-Bed.
Get used to the sound, my pretties.
Morning recess
They roam the apartment; they have found my fake tree. No, munchkins, those xmas lights are not toe holds.
Brat chooses to stay curled up in his open carrier on the couch, but keeps one eye open as they sniff closer to his perch. Meera's tiny face appears from behind the bookcase, and the living room furniture swells to gargantuan proportion.
Just now they're stalking each other. Kai gets a running start, leaps high at Meera with front paws stiffened and extended. Both of them make a questing, ripply noise as they play. Kai hears it come from behind the big bookcase, and crouches low. His head stills, his pupils widen, his rear waggles--the tension is just too much!...and then he walks away to sniff at a spot on the floor.
Brat has emerged to sit on my lap. He watches for a moment as the rambunctious young'uns leap over bags, crash land into chair legs, and scuff against the slidey slippy floor. Then he turns around and shambles back to the quiet, warm, safe, small carrier. He hasn't been eating much lately, not even fish & shrimp FF; is it the stress of the newbies?
This morning in the back bedroom: puddles of wet, an overturned pitcher, soggy rolls of beloved old posters, and a box made damp through-and-through. Giant water-baby prints everywhere. Now who in her right mind would leave a pitcherful of wet in a roomful of kittens?
Brat chooses to stay curled up in his open carrier on the couch, but keeps one eye open as they sniff closer to his perch. Meera's tiny face appears from behind the bookcase, and the living room furniture swells to gargantuan proportion.
Just now they're stalking each other. Kai gets a running start, leaps high at Meera with front paws stiffened and extended. Both of them make a questing, ripply noise as they play. Kai hears it come from behind the big bookcase, and crouches low. His head stills, his pupils widen, his rear waggles--the tension is just too much!...and then he walks away to sniff at a spot on the floor.
Brat has emerged to sit on my lap. He watches for a moment as the rambunctious young'uns leap over bags, crash land into chair legs, and scuff against the slidey slippy floor. Then he turns around and shambles back to the quiet, warm, safe, small carrier. He hasn't been eating much lately, not even fish & shrimp FF; is it the stress of the newbies?
This morning in the back bedroom: puddles of wet, an overturned pitcher, soggy rolls of beloved old posters, and a box made damp through-and-through. Giant water-baby prints everywhere. Now who in her right mind would leave a pitcherful of wet in a roomful of kittens?
Saturday, March 04, 2006
Mortal enemies, or just good friends?
Sometimes Meera and Kai go for each others' throats. Is this normal kitten-play, or is this cause for separation? It will start innocently enough, a swat here, a swipe there. Then it escalates until their arms are around each others' necks, teeth sunk into throat fur. Meera mews piteously when she's the attackee; it's a horrible sound. I don't know if I should be worried!
Thursday, March 02, 2006
Guess WHAT??
I unwittingly picked a water name for my water baby after all! It turns out that “Kai” is Hawaiian for “the sea.”
How poetic; how perfect…
She's got game
Meera attacks the balled-up scrap of brown paper bag. She darts right, she darts left. She smacks it into left-field. Before it lands, she's in left-field. She scoops it up in her paw, bites it hard, tosses it high in the air. In a dazzling display of skill and agility she uses her right paw to slide the ball under her left arm, shifts her weight, and uses the left paw to slide the ball under the right arm. She's a WNBA champion dribbling down the court, a feline Mia Hamm toeing the ball across the field, a young skater punk with three years' experience shoe-scuffing a hacky-sack.
The gastronomical life of B
Brat was scarily listless all day on Tuesday. He stayed hunched up in the dark bathroom, and didn't respond to my voice. I moved him to my bed and lay with him for awhile. He didn't even squinch his eyes or start purring when I scratched his ears, and he's a sucker for that. He just tolerated my petting. In the evening I came back from running errands, and he hadn't moved from the bed. I was very worried. He's getting old, but I can't face the thought of him leaving yet, my sweet gentle friend.
Luckily, yesterday and today he perked up. He's back to following me around, and crawling into my lap, and meeting me at the front door, and eating & drinking. Relief!
But. He has completely stopped eating the tuna flavor of Fancy Feast. It used to be his favorite; now it sits in its bowl til it congeals. I think the trouble began when I used one of the kittens' cans of fish & shrimp FF to feed Brat one night. Now that he's tasted fois gras, why should he go back to meatloaf?
Luckily I have a whole tray of fish & shrimp in my car...tonight I'll set to work tempting his palate.
Luckily, yesterday and today he perked up. He's back to following me around, and crawling into my lap, and meeting me at the front door, and eating & drinking. Relief!
But. He has completely stopped eating the tuna flavor of Fancy Feast. It used to be his favorite; now it sits in its bowl til it congeals. I think the trouble began when I used one of the kittens' cans of fish & shrimp FF to feed Brat one night. Now that he's tasted fois gras, why should he go back to meatloaf?
Luckily I have a whole tray of fish & shrimp in my car...tonight I'll set to work tempting his palate.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Bloodlust
Every morning Meera & Kai crowd the door as I come in to say hi before breakfast. They circle my legs until I find a spot on the floor to sit--among the crumpled pieces of paper bag, the bits of string, the catnip toys, the footstool, and whatever else they've pulled onto the floor. I've been keeping a sheet draped over the armchair, but the other day it had been pulled completely off, and lay crumpled on the bed, three feet away.
As I settle in, mewing Meera is first to circle close. She doesn't like it when I reach for her head; she ducks and takes a step away. But if I start by stroking her back, and then scratch up her neck to that lovely flat spot between her ears, she'll tilt her head to the side and squinch her eyes shut. She has such a beautiful face when she does that, so incredibly tiny, black eyeliner and cheek stripes so precise. If I pause for a moment in the stroking, she'll crawl into my lap and rub her cheeks against my hands; she'll walk down one leg and up the other, and rub some more.
Something new: she (and Kai) will spend a long moment looking me in the face when I'm down on the floor. It's a thrill, that contact; one animal acknowledging another. They see me! Brat will look me in the eye for a long while, and lazily blink at me if I lazily blink at him. His face seems broader and sturdier since I brought the kittens home, his personality much steadier and calmer. I know it's just by comparison. He was always this sweet.
In the mornings, Kai won't crawl in my lap for attention the way Meera will. He'll watch her getting her head rubbed. He'll circle around behind me. Then he'll stand just behind my elbow and wait. When I notice him there, I'll stroke his back softly til he starts to purr. He'll step forward, keeping his back to me, and hold perfectly still as I rub him down. He watches the door or the corner of the room, as if at any moment he'll walk off and leave the loving to Meera. But he doesn't walk off. He soaks it up. He's a statue when I pet him; Meera is a pushy beggar.
Yesterday I stopped by the store on my way home from work, and picked up one of those fishing rod cat toys, with the long-feathered badminton-birdie at the end of the string. I couldn't wait to show it to the kitties. I unwrapped it in my living room and whirled it around a few times. It made a great whizzing sound, and the birdie really fluttered like a bird as it shuttled back and forth through the air.
I carried it into the back bedroom, all naive and sweet and unsuspecting. As soon as Kai saw it, he got this crazed look in his eye, leapt from the bed and snatched the birdie in his mouth. It shocked me how fast he moved. I hadn't even shut the door behind me, and Meera hadn't even stood from her nap before Kai was backing under the bed with feathers poking out from his face.
I tugged on the string so I could show him, "Look! It flies like a bird!" Kai felt the tension, tensed his little body, and began rumbling. I gently tugged some more, and the rumble changed to a growl. Meera wanted to see what was going on, so she jumped off the bed and slowly approached him. He growled louder and tried to back further under the bed.
This is no game, I thought to myself. A growling cat? I didn't even get to make the toy fly! I wanted to leave immediately, but with the toy. That meant putting my my hand near Kai's mouth. Seriously, I feared for my safety. From a 2 pound pile of fur.
Nothing to do but wait him out. I pulled harder on the string. After a long moment, Kai unclenched his teeth to get a better grip, and the bird flew out of his mouth, high into the air. Biiiiig mistake. As I struggled to get the bird out of the air and hidden in my hand, Kai started to leap up my legs to get at it. And the boy's got claws! To tell you the truth, I was scared. What happened to my innocent little explorer? My affectionate little water baby?
I backed toward the door, praying no blood would be shed. Kai frantically scrabbled around my feet, birdlust in his eyes, and then leapt to the counter by the door. So he was eye-level with me, within paw's reach; I did the only thing I could think of. I tucked the bird into my shirt and turned my back, thinking: I don't *really* mind if he shreds my back to pieces, but I 'll try to save my face and stomach. Psycho Cat looked wildly all around the room; he leapt from bed to counter to desk to armchair, searching the airspace below the ceiling and checking my hands again and again, mewing mournfully the whole time.
I got the heck out of there. Back in the living room, I put the toy high up on a bookcase, and made a mental note to buy another soon. Next time I'll go into their room; I'll throw one fishing rod/birdie across the room for Kai to eviscerate, and keep the other close for Meera to play with, in a relatively safe zone. We'll see how that works out.
As I settle in, mewing Meera is first to circle close. She doesn't like it when I reach for her head; she ducks and takes a step away. But if I start by stroking her back, and then scratch up her neck to that lovely flat spot between her ears, she'll tilt her head to the side and squinch her eyes shut. She has such a beautiful face when she does that, so incredibly tiny, black eyeliner and cheek stripes so precise. If I pause for a moment in the stroking, she'll crawl into my lap and rub her cheeks against my hands; she'll walk down one leg and up the other, and rub some more.
Something new: she (and Kai) will spend a long moment looking me in the face when I'm down on the floor. It's a thrill, that contact; one animal acknowledging another. They see me! Brat will look me in the eye for a long while, and lazily blink at me if I lazily blink at him. His face seems broader and sturdier since I brought the kittens home, his personality much steadier and calmer. I know it's just by comparison. He was always this sweet.
In the mornings, Kai won't crawl in my lap for attention the way Meera will. He'll watch her getting her head rubbed. He'll circle around behind me. Then he'll stand just behind my elbow and wait. When I notice him there, I'll stroke his back softly til he starts to purr. He'll step forward, keeping his back to me, and hold perfectly still as I rub him down. He watches the door or the corner of the room, as if at any moment he'll walk off and leave the loving to Meera. But he doesn't walk off. He soaks it up. He's a statue when I pet him; Meera is a pushy beggar.
Yesterday I stopped by the store on my way home from work, and picked up one of those fishing rod cat toys, with the long-feathered badminton-birdie at the end of the string. I couldn't wait to show it to the kitties. I unwrapped it in my living room and whirled it around a few times. It made a great whizzing sound, and the birdie really fluttered like a bird as it shuttled back and forth through the air.
I carried it into the back bedroom, all naive and sweet and unsuspecting. As soon as Kai saw it, he got this crazed look in his eye, leapt from the bed and snatched the birdie in his mouth. It shocked me how fast he moved. I hadn't even shut the door behind me, and Meera hadn't even stood from her nap before Kai was backing under the bed with feathers poking out from his face.
I tugged on the string so I could show him, "Look! It flies like a bird!" Kai felt the tension, tensed his little body, and began rumbling. I gently tugged some more, and the rumble changed to a growl. Meera wanted to see what was going on, so she jumped off the bed and slowly approached him. He growled louder and tried to back further under the bed.
This is no game, I thought to myself. A growling cat? I didn't even get to make the toy fly! I wanted to leave immediately, but with the toy. That meant putting my my hand near Kai's mouth. Seriously, I feared for my safety. From a 2 pound pile of fur.
Nothing to do but wait him out. I pulled harder on the string. After a long moment, Kai unclenched his teeth to get a better grip, and the bird flew out of his mouth, high into the air. Biiiiig mistake. As I struggled to get the bird out of the air and hidden in my hand, Kai started to leap up my legs to get at it. And the boy's got claws! To tell you the truth, I was scared. What happened to my innocent little explorer? My affectionate little water baby?
I backed toward the door, praying no blood would be shed. Kai frantically scrabbled around my feet, birdlust in his eyes, and then leapt to the counter by the door. So he was eye-level with me, within paw's reach; I did the only thing I could think of. I tucked the bird into my shirt and turned my back, thinking: I don't *really* mind if he shreds my back to pieces, but I 'll try to save my face and stomach. Psycho Cat looked wildly all around the room; he leapt from bed to counter to desk to armchair, searching the airspace below the ceiling and checking my hands again and again, mewing mournfully the whole time.
I got the heck out of there. Back in the living room, I put the toy high up on a bookcase, and made a mental note to buy another soon. Next time I'll go into their room; I'll throw one fishing rod/birdie across the room for Kai to eviscerate, and keep the other close for Meera to play with, in a relatively safe zone. We'll see how that works out.
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