Wicket is an intense little guy. (Big guy. Whatever.)
When he hones in on something, he gives it his all. Even the sound for "kiss-kiss-treat's-coming" is completely ineffective when he's flushing Meera from underneath the rocking chair.
And when I'm obliviously, selfishly, greedily glugging water from a glass, he interrupts me mid-gulp with cries of "Filtered water! Filtered water! WANT!!"
Or when he's deep asleep, and I can't help but snarfle in the plushy burnt umber of his belly, he rolls over and tucks that belly away.
I, as distinct from the treat-giver and the water-giver, so rarely figure into his agenda for the day. But there are moments when he does finally lock eyes and ask for the kind of pettage that only a human with an opposable thumb can give.
He was sweetly needy like this this morning. I was trying to journal on my bed. He jumped up and began to clumsily circle, circle, circle, leaning against me the whole time, tripping over his own paws. Then he flopped, and I pulled his ears, rubbed his face, scratched his neck, got him purring like a motor.
Kai joined us and topped Wicket off with a good face-cleaning.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
plant a butterfly
This morning I had such a hard time getting out of bed. I use my cell phone as my alarm clock, and the snooze button on that thing gives me only five minutes. Gurgle.
At 8 a.m., 20 snoozes past the time I wanted to get up, my sister texted me to tell me she's sick, and could I take my nephew to swim lesson. Of course.
He and I had a wonderful morning, as usual. We played inside his Thomas the Tank Engine tent; he helped me clean up the kitchen and vacuum for his mom; we counted down the last minute til our oven-baked pizza was ready; and we played three games of Trouble.
Before I left he proved that it is not impossible to plant a butterfly kiss on my nose AND my cheek at the same time, and then he gave me a message to give to Wicket:
"When you see Wicket when you go home, tell him that I miss him and can't wait to see him. And tell Kai I'll play with him too. What color are Kai's eyes?" [Green, I told him.] "What color are Wicket's eyes?" [Goldenny-yellow.] "Ok, so that's how I'll tell them apart. And tell Meera that she needs to come out from under the bed so we can play, and tell her that I'll give her a treat if she does and that she shouldn't be so shy, I'll play with the feather with her and be quiet so she doesn't get scared. And tell Wicket that, um, that, tell Wicket that I'll see him soon. Okay?"
At 8 a.m., 20 snoozes past the time I wanted to get up, my sister texted me to tell me she's sick, and could I take my nephew to swim lesson. Of course.
He and I had a wonderful morning, as usual. We played inside his Thomas the Tank Engine tent; he helped me clean up the kitchen and vacuum for his mom; we counted down the last minute til our oven-baked pizza was ready; and we played three games of Trouble.
Before I left he proved that it is not impossible to plant a butterfly kiss on my nose AND my cheek at the same time, and then he gave me a message to give to Wicket:
"When you see Wicket when you go home, tell him that I miss him and can't wait to see him. And tell Kai I'll play with him too. What color are Kai's eyes?" [Green, I told him.] "What color are Wicket's eyes?" [Goldenny-yellow.] "Ok, so that's how I'll tell them apart. And tell Meera that she needs to come out from under the bed so we can play, and tell her that I'll give her a treat if she does and that she shouldn't be so shy, I'll play with the feather with her and be quiet so she doesn't get scared. And tell Wicket that, um, that, tell Wicket that I'll see him soon. Okay?"
Monday, February 25, 2008
Kai et le raisin
Last night, after getting off the phone with my sister and then my dad, I peered into my fridge to see what was for dinner. Lentil soup, leftover from La Shish on Friday, and a few grapes from the amazing shrinking bunch I bought last week. Every time I check in on these grapes they're a little smaller and a little sourer, but grapez iz grapez, as the wise woman once said.
I washed a cluster in the sink and pulled off the ones that freaked me out. I swear I meant to run the disposal immediately, and I would have, right after I placed my grapes on a paper towel to drain. In the 20 seconds it took me to pull a towel off the roll, fold it, and tuck the grapes away on a cat-free counter, Kai had jumped into the sink and retrieved a baby g from inside the disposal.
Here's a clip of what he did next:
I washed a cluster in the sink and pulled off the ones that freaked me out. I swear I meant to run the disposal immediately, and I would have, right after I placed my grapes on a paper towel to drain. In the 20 seconds it took me to pull a towel off the roll, fold it, and tuck the grapes away on a cat-free counter, Kai had jumped into the sink and retrieved a baby g from inside the disposal.
Here's a clip of what he did next:
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Walk gingerly
Kai has so perfected teh art of interference that to walk through my kitchen is to pick my way through a field of live, twisty, furry bodies. Bodies -- plural -- because Kai can be wrapped around my left calf, centimeters from my right toe, and flat on his back belly up ready for the rub -- all at the same time.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Friday, February 15, 2008
Monday, February 11, 2008
wicket wings and...topography?
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
it's about time, yo
i know, i know: i broke the cardinal rule of blogging: post something every day! I pick myself up and try again, try again, and hope that the two people who watch my blog won't get too upset.
Meera says, how am i supposed to gain cred among the indie film scene when you won't post new pics and vids of me looking intelligent and svelte?
I say, Meera, first of all, i don't take "vids." And second, the last time the indie film scene visited the apartment, you hid under the bed the whole time.
She says, but the best film stars protect their own privacy with tigerish ferocity; who am i to mess with a good thing?
Meera says, how am i supposed to gain cred among the indie film scene when you won't post new pics and vids of me looking intelligent and svelte?
I say, Meera, first of all, i don't take "vids." And second, the last time the indie film scene visited the apartment, you hid under the bed the whole time.
She says, but the best film stars protect their own privacy with tigerish ferocity; who am i to mess with a good thing?
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