the water series, starring kai and wicket

paperweights

they're like paperweights, the way they anchor my blankets and keep me from rolling around at night. one, two, three. if i want to get up in the middle of the night, i ease myself out from under the blankets, scrunching myself slowly towards the headboard and then climbing over pillows to reach the floor. but it never works. as i come stumbling out of the bathroom they're unfailingly waiting for me outside the door.

bella ye

bella ye pusher-awayer ye clawed beastie ye lover of personal space:

little girl let me (1) pick her up, (2) drape her over my shoulder, (3) enfold her in my arms and scratch the base of her tail. she (1) lay still, (2) squeezed her eyes shut, (3) purrrrrrd;

i must be doing something right! maybe by this time next year she'll let me play with her toes without yanking them away or roly-polying over my wrist, claws&teeth at the ready.

between snooze 4 and snooze 5

this morning between snooze 4 and snooze 5, wicket rolled right off the bed. he landed between the wall and the bed and i heard thumps on the way down. i was way out of it so it took me a moment to drag myself to the edge and blear over. couldn't see him. fell off the bed myself, still half asleep, so that i could look beneath, and there he was, just looking around. sweet talk and a feel for broken bones or sore spots, and back to sleep for me. urg. poor baby.

snugs right up

damn this felt good: bella has taken to curling up next to me in the middle of the night. she snugs right up to my lower back as i lay on my side, and there's something about the pressure against my back that makes me feel soooo comfy. thanks lil bella.

for this my three-hundredth post

3rd anniversary: (traditional) leather, (modern) crystal, glass

13th anniversary: (traditional) lace, (modern) textile, furs

30th anniversary: (traditional) pearl, (modern) diamond

33rd anniversary: amethyst

300th? Can't find it online, so I'll make up my own: (traditional) fleece, (modern) herbs, perhaps catnip

loves my sleeps

Two-thirty this morning I was a raging incoherent thing. As incoherent as a person can be with no one to talk to. My thoughts were mad dashers, slamming trapped within frustration's walls.

Two-thirty and I'd been asleep for hours, but then the bass began. It vibrated my walls; I could hear every word of the song, I could hear Jackass's friends sing every word, the front door slammed again and again and rattled the frame of the house.

It was horrible. Especially considering the conversation Jackass and I had last week, and two weeks before that, and how sweet and considerate he was, how we worked out an acceptable loud-music & friends schedule.

He's a pushover, says Landlady, he's a go-alonger who can't say no to his friends. I don't care anymore, I just want it to stop. Their loud conversation and smoke filled my apartment. I called Jackass's cell phone but it was turned off, had to leave a message.

Talked to Landlady this morning and she understands. She'll either change the locks and ask that he move elsewhere (he's 18, his mom's been in the hospital) or forbid him to have friends over. I'm not happy with either solution, but this is a boy who hasn't learned to respect his co-habitors, and I loves my sleeps like little else.

What kept me hanging on, what kept me from going Bursar, was the fluff on my bed. One fluffer to my right, two to my left. I ran my hands over their faces, their paws, their backbones as the bass shook our walls, and promised them a better night's sleep tonight.

snarfle in the plushy burnt umber

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.

Tabbylishus

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?"

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:

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.

post-Lizzie's bday party at poe's...kitty hangover??

W: "TURN OUT THE LIGHTS."

Happy Birthday Lizzie!

...from me and the three.

wicket's hugs are a form of aggression

what's going on down there boyz?

are you being Good? are you being Sweet?

i'll just slip on my handy dandy photographic shoes...

oh no one of them's spotted me

oh NOES now they've both spotted me and i'll have to get better camouflaged photographic shoes

wicket wings and...topography?

i'm trying to decide what meera's and kai's fur patterns looks like. any suggestions? maybe like a central mountain range with baby hills expanding outwards?

wicket, my little cuddler

Slinky squished together

Slinky stretched out

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?

Got it!

A little to the right...

thanks Mom!

Loved, lost, liquidated

Thanks for the new toy, Kathryn!

It was an instant hit...there was something about the shape, size, and smell that attracted my three immediately. Kai rubbed his face all over it, Meera lost it under the blue chair for about an hour and half, Wicket rescued it and then drowned it in his water glass. Or, as he put it, "made catnip tea."

It's drying out on my counter top right now. They've been sniffing the floors wondering where it went...

Play with it

Rub it

Make it comfortable

Kill it!

Snuggle buddies

More Kai, for Kay

Doh!

I fergot to close the bathroom door...again...

This first pic is Bella and Kai, inspecting the damage. They didn't do it.

And here's Kai, thinking he's invisible:

the AXTP

(Aborted Xmas Tree Project) The tree lasted about four and a half days. I took it down before xmas due to excessive shedding and suspicious kitty-upchuck. Good riddance. I'll be taking it (finally...it's been on my porch for too long) to an xmas tree recycling center tonight. Damn wobbly tree. Do not attempt this at home unless you are cohabitating with at least one other non-feline. You WILL need help balancing the tree while impaling its trunk with heavy screws.

We loves christmas, so so much

Adventures with peacock feathers (thanks Aunt Lizzie!)

(and for my next trick...)

The tree is. STILL. standing!!

Oh yes, folks, after two days of sniffing and slobbering and staring and (very slightly) swatting my brand new baby xmas tree, the thing is still upright and whole.

I think tonight I might even try to place a few ornaments.

Up high.

eyeballs still intact, thank you very much

around 7 a.m. this morning, Wicket's soft nose made contact with mine. i opened my eyes to find his big beautiful face staring right back.

i smiled at him sleepily, and drank him in--the plushy fur around his neck, the intricate black patterns along his cheek, the complex gold of his eyes...

then a month-old memory sidled into my brain. 'remember the vicious slice this beast gave your eyelid?' it whispered cruelly. 'he came within a millimeter of your retina. he almost made you a greebo.'

my smile froze...

...and i swung into survival mode without moving a muscle.

crooned, "hey there little wickers, who's such a gooood boy, whatalittlecyootie he is. yes he is. bye bye bloody thoughts. bye bye."

he cocked his head, listened intently. touched noses again, snuffled along my hairline, and trotted off. compliments accepted. disaster averted.

Podkai

Wickers, nee Wicket, restin'

Tomorrow I shall wash dishes and fear not

Looks too cute for words, doesn't he?

Well this morning he took a chunk out of my thigh. He goes crazy at the sound of running water, so each time I turn the kitchen faucet on to wash dishes, Wickers comes trotting in from wherever, and stands by my feet, mewing piteously.

Sometimes, out of desperation, I refill his recently-filled water bowl, and this satisfies him...for about five minutes, or until the next time I run the faucet, and then he's back at my feet again, crying.

This morning crying just wasn't enough. He lifted his front paws in the air, and streeeeetched way up high til his front claws had embedded themselves in the back of my thighs. It was my turn to cry, but I didn't really cry. I groaned something unprintable, and strongly encouraged him to remove his paws.

Him being my wobbly cat, that is to say, my falls-when-I-nudge-him-with-my-foot cat, he got one paw undone but couldn't get the other, and in his attempt he fell sideways, still tangled in my pajamas. I tried to help him by crouching on the floor. I didn't want his poor little arm getting pulled out of its socket. It took us another two minutes of uncoordinated maneuvering before he was free.

Disgusted, I rinsed my soapy hands and went to find a huge towel and the claw-clippers. I took complete advantage of his disability to wrap him up, pin him down and trim his nails. I feel no shame.

M'bella, As seen from above

What a little cuddlebug

Long suffering or just too damn lazy?

Wicket crouches with a wiggle, aims, then launches himself off the back of the couch. He lands heavily and unsteadily on the cushions, inches from Bella's sleeping face. He pauses a moment to regain his balance, then walks away onto the coffee table. She had been sleeping peacefully in the shape of a yin or maybe the yang, but lifts her head as Wicket lands. He almost crushed the tip of her paw. As he walks away, her wide eyes take on an unfocused, distant look as she takes personal inventory and decides whether this is a matter she needs to pursue. Luckily, he keeps moving, so once his dense, sack-of-potatoes body has moved out of sight, she sighs and puts her head back down.

blinds askew

trace the path of his eye glitter

wickers!

Bella for Prez!

(thanks, Auntie Jen!)

First is normal-size, second is normal-size...

...third is BEAST.

Playing keep-away at the dinner table

Her version of 'two-fistin' it

No yogas unless...

...we can has cheezburger

Bella and the Gourds

Coming soon to a city near you