the kitten chronicles - part 127

What the hell is that!!!!!! It's a tree right in the living room!!! The boys are extremely excited and are swarming like sharks around the Christmas tree. They've never even seen a tree except out the window so no wonder they're all worked up. First they laid on the blanket thinking it was a new nesting area I'd put out for them. "Thank you, Big Cat, this is very nice." Then, I had to kick them off when I brought the tree in the house. They then spent half an hour just playing with the plastic string that tied it up.
Simple pleasures. That's what counts. The true spirit of Christmas. The decorations won't be put on until Friday so greater amusement is yet to come. Blinking lights, tinsel and every thing hung at just the right height for batting at - they're going to think this is some kind of kitten amusement park. Oh, the carnage that will ensue! Peace on earth my butt. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 127

When trouble is headed your way at high speed - duck. It's a simple life lesson provided by the boys. Rooney comes flying at Rufus and he merely crouches down and neatly avoids the collision. It's quite graceful actually this feline ballet. And it's a good thing Rufus can avoid his flying, heavier brother. Otherwise they'd both tumble in a heap down the stairs, into a wall, or off the counter. There's a surprising amount of leaping at one another going on at Casa Big Cat these days. All part of the holiday season excitement, I guess. Cats can sense it, too. Something's up. Wait until the Christmas tree comes into the house. Great for climbing! Hey, what's this sticky stuff on my fur? Watch me knock this ornament into the next room! All is calm? Not so much when you have two hyper-energetic boy cats. But it's all good. There are many decorations that should have been chucked a long time ago and the fur-faces will simply accelerate the process. What's this? It's obviously a new cat toy! Ooops, it broke. Oh well, next. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 126

Do they know it's Christmas after all? Who can tell with the fur-brains? All I know is the energy level at Casa Big Cat is now cranked up to high. Maybe the boys read the kindly cat doctor's reco to cut their food back and now are determined to show that they have energy to burn. The lads no longer follow me around. They have much more important things to do on their agenda - namely chase each other. Plus there's some serious biting going on. Last night as I struggled to watch Glee I was rudely awakened by a huge thump! Rufus had just fallen from the 2nd floor balcony to the floor of the living room. He was shaken, but OK. I guess it's true about cats that they can handle falls from enormous heights, but still it was scary for us both. The big question is did he slip or was he pushed? Rooney when confronted with this charge merely blinks innocently and flips his tail in a noncommittal who me? kind of way. No witnesses. And the security camera jammed. "Too, bad", purrs Rooney,"too bad".

the kitten chronicles - part 125

Would losing their nuppins cause the boys to become lethargic layabouts prone to massive weight gain? Well, according to the instructions from the kindly cat doctor this is often the case. The instructions strongly urge you to cut back on your cat's food by 30%. And just in case you didn't understand they tell you again in no uncertain terms - cut your cat's food by 30%, idiot cat owner! With 2 cats that would be 60%, right? Boy, the fur-faces are going to think they've been sentenced to Siberia. "Please Big Cat, can we have some more?" I can hear them pathetically mewing at me. But all this food restriction is based on the supposition that they've lost their mojo - and I'm here to emphatically state this is not the case. In fact, they seem to have introduced a new winter fitness program. It consists of violent high speed chases up and down the stairs right when I get up. I suppose this is just to get the kinks out of their furry bodies since they've been sleeping. Another theory is one thinks the other has his nuppins and has hidden them somewhere in the house. So he chases his brother around trying to force him to disclose the location of the missing nuppins. Whatever the cause there is so much activity that I'm not cutting back their food one tasty morsel of kibble. Rooney needs fuel to catch Rufus because only Rufus knows where those precious nuppins are tucked away. And of course vice versa. Run on boys, run on! xxxdad

the kitten chronicles - part 124

Presenting the amazing Roodini Escape Artist extraordinaire. Opened my bedroom door this morning and the boys rushed in. With one pretty funny difference Rooney was now wearing quite a fetching blue skirt (maybe he'd rather it be considered a kilt) He had managed during the night to get both his front paws through the collar of shame the kindly cat doctor had put on him and was very close to making a complete escape. So what the heck - I took it off. Rooney was back to his old self leaping around with pride. I took the offending cape/collar/ skirt and put in on the kitchen counter. Then I sat down with my OJ and started to read about the Leaf's nightly humiliation (see Rooney humiliation is a Toronto tradition - feel better?) I looked up from the paper to see 2 cats charge by me. Good they're back to the old high-spirited, testosterone-filled days before the cruel nuppin-lopping took place. Then I noticed something hliarious - Rufus had climbed up on the kitchen counter and slipped his head through the collar/cape (clearly to mock his brother) and was now wearing it while being chased by Rooney! Rooney caught him and dispensed some fitting cat justice, the collar fell off and all was back to normal again at Casa Big Cat. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 123

The caped crusader is miserable. You would be too if you had to walk around all day with a bright blue dental bib on. Rooney pretends it's not there but clearly it is affecting his morale. Plus the bib/cape is turning him into a contortionist in his attempts to reach his nether regions. He's twisting into a pretzel on the living room floor every night. And his brother just glares at him "Idiot, that thing is meant to prevent you from licking back there!" Rufus is not without some sympathy though. Sometimes he will walk over and lick Rooney head in a comforting "there, there" manner to show feline solidarity. But mainly it's a whole lot of Rooney doing the worm dance on the hardwood. The blue does coordinate very nicely with his black and white fur, though. And when he does drool he's covered. 5 more days - you can do it Rooney!!!! xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 122

"Raise a little hell, raise a little hell, raise a little hell." Rooney's theme song has landed him in the cone of shame. But let's back up. Yesterday was Nuppin Day. The boys were delivered to the kindly cat doctor early in the A.M. I got the call later that morning that everything had gone well - no stitches! - and that I could pick them up after the drugs wore off at 6:30. When I arrived that evening the nurse told me, "one of them is a trouble-maker". "Would that be the black and white one?", I guessed. Yes. As soon as Rooney came out of his drug induced stupor he began to gnaw at where his nuppins once were. So now he is encased in a blue plastic cape that makes him look like a kind of weird cat clown. This is very disheartening for him. The plastic cape makes a crinkling sound when he lies down. And is a dead giveaway when he tries to sneak up on anybody. It also makes him look so strange that Rufus hissed at him when they were put back into their carrier. Still, it's only for a week I tell him. It makes you look like a super hero. Rufus just laughs, "Ya, Doofus Man." xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 121

Today is the day before "Nuppin" day. A very big day for the boys. I have to hide their food and water after midnight tonight. And have them delivered to the operating theatre by 8 tomorrow morning. When they awake it will be a whole new world. One where Sam's purse can safely be placed on the floor without fear of territorial markings. Also in many cases I've heard the nuppinless feline is more docile and tends to lie around all day. I'm not sure how the boys could possibly sleep more but I'm sure they'll do their darnedest to squeeze in a couple more hours of shut-eye. I have trained them successfully to lie in the giant Betty bowl when I'm working at the dining room table - otherwise they get heaved onto the ground if they try to bat at my pen or lie on my pad of paper to prevent me from working. So now they leap into the bowl and get patted as their reward. Small problem. Only one cat fits in the bowl at a time. So it's first come first served at the Casa Big Cat and tough kibble for the slow cat who doesn't immediately jump in the bowl as soon as I sit down. Wonder if Betty has another huge bowl? This kitty casserole thing is going over huge! xxxdad

the kitten chronicles - part 120

Rooney feels he would survive better in the wild than Rufus. Why? He is always ready. I come up the basement stairs and I see just the barest hint of a cat's ear and as I near the top there he is ready to pounce. He is always ready to respond to an attack from his brother. "Ah ha you thought you would catch me by surprise brother, but I was ready." But Rufus is rarely planning an attack. He finds the whole thing silly to an extreme. Often he just walks casually by his brother sees him in defensive mode and he shrugs in a cat- like way. But should the day ever come when they're both stranded in the jungle then Rooney's superior skills at fending off an ambush will come into play big time." Tiger? Saw you coming a mile away! I was so ready! I was born ready! That Rufus, he'd just be a snack for the tiger." Maybe this will be useful if the boys ever become outdoor cats. Rooney will be ready for Weed (the huge 40 pound neighbourhood Tom)" Ya, ready to flee for his life", says Rufus snickering in a cat-like way. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 119

I have finally figured it out. The boys are pottery critics. And pretty darn tough ones at that. Don't like the colour? Smash!! Wow, this one isn't symmetrical. Crash! What was the potter thinking? Bam!!! They are working their finicky standards through all the earthenware at Casa Big Cat. Nothing stands up to their intense scrutiny. "This potter should be sentenced to life without a kiln", they mew with venom. The other night I was watching Ghost and the pottery scene came on - the boys attacked the TV. And I don't think it was Demi Moore's acting that provoked them (although that might have added fuel to the fire). Could it be that cats have an aversion to all things clay? Maybe it reminds them of kitty litter? Anyway the toll climbs alarmingly higher on a daily basis. Last night another Grandy bowl bit the dust - that's 2 in less than a week!! Then it's time for the Big Cat to Pick up the Pieces as the Average White Band used to sing. I'm thinking of putting rubber bowls on my Christmas list. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 119

The boys enjoy captivity. They happily leap into their cage. What the heck, it's just another grand adventure to them. We were off the the kindly cat doctor again for another round of shots. These fur-faces will soon be able to survive anything - plague, ebola, anthrax even cooties. Which is more than you can say for the Big Cat. Brought them back to the house and Gorrette marvelled, "They are sooooo big!" "Once there were just leeetle paws sticking out under the study door, now they are lions, no?" Well, yes. They think they're lions. They try to one-up each other in how high they can perch. To be able to spot their prey, of course. And in a weird turn of events Rufus now curls up in the giant Betty bowl on the dining room table. Kind of a kitty casserole. Just needs a flakey pastry top. Rufus would probably be OK with going in the oven, too. So warm! "This is even cosier than that cat cage and the carrots and onions in here with me are delicious!" "Rooney will never find me in here in a million years!" I've just noticed that cats need a lot of exclamation marks when they speak. They could work in advertising. SAVE !!!!!!!!!!!!!! xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 118

The senseless kitten attacks continue. Saturday I returned home from a 15 minute trip to get a Starbucks and saw through the window that the kitten destruction crew had struck again in my absence. They'd knocked a plant off a stand and consigned yet another Grandy pottery bowl to history. Then to make matters worse when Sam came over for dinner on Sunday they generously peed on her purse and bag. Claiming them for the cat nation? Who knows. But apparently they're getting increasingly territorial.
Soon they will directly challenge the Big Cat's personal turf. If they pee on my bass I sweat they'll be the ones getting turfed.
To deal with all this smelly business (until the scissors deal with the cause next week at the vet's) I've gotten an industrial air freshener that fires off a blast of lemony goodness every 30 minutes. I put it above the boys litter box and it scares the hell out of
them. It works off a motion detector so when they walk by it activates and blasts lemon at them. This causes them to skitter away to a safe distance and stare back at the unit with hatred in their eyes. "Why Big Cat? Why?!" This war is escalating boys and I have technology on my side. Which gives me a terrific idea- replace the boys with robot cats. Would they leave tiny piles of batteries everywhere? At least batteries don't smell. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 116

The boys discovered a lost Midnight Crazy ball in the basement this morning. Did craziness ensue? Well, not so much. I'm not chronicling kittens anymore. They took a few half-hearted swipes at it and then immediately flopped on their sides exhausted and bored silly. Apparently it takes a lot more to excite a teenage cat. Like a tap running. Oh brother, are these fur-faces weird. Still if I have one of the boys all calmed down and asleep in my lap the slightest noise from the brother in the other room rouses enormous curiosity. "What's going on in there?! Is he having more fun than me?" The cat in my lap jumps up and heads in the other room to investigate. Rooney is the most prone to this. He's convinced something fascinating is going on that is more deserving of his attention. Something at the door! A car horn! A bird chirp! Frankly, he'd make a darn good watchdog. I wonder why they don't use cats anyway? They're smarter and you could train them to press an alarm button. You could. Of course with my watchcats they'd just run up to the intruder then suddenly flop over on their sides so they could get their stomachs rubbed.
Not very threatening. Unless you're afraid of cats in which case it's terrifying. Ack! They're try to roll on me! xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 115

This morning the boys were violently hurling their bodies against my bedroom door "Wake up Big Cat! Wake up!!" What's up lads?
Is the Casa Big Cat on fire? Ordinarily they just scratch on the door. But no it was just a regular November day and they were full of feline energy. "lets get this show on the road, Big Cat!". This meant where they normally walk beside me during our morning routine they ran frantically. Down the stairs to their bowls. Down the stairs to the ironing board. Back up the stairs. Has someone been slipping Red Bull into the kitty water bowl? Bee? This is not good. When I left them they were maniacally batting at an extension cord. All the throw rugs in the Muskoka room were strewn in piles all over. And they were making this weird humming
sound. Although, it might just have been purring. Is the 24th of November something special on the cat calendar? Can anybody tell me. I'm a rookie cat owner. Maybe today is International Cat Liberation Day, kind of a Cinco de Mayo for the fur brain set. I fear
what damage may be done to the house in my absence. If anybody notices a big plume of smoke coming from East York today my worst fears will have been confirmed. The destruction is complete. The horror. The horror. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 114

People who know the Big Cat personally now routinely ask, "How's the destruction of the house going?" And swallowing hard I reply, "Ahead of schedule." When you house two adolescent cats who needs Tepperman? The boys believe in team work and apply this to all their undertakings. Plants. "You take the top and I'll take the bottom, brother!" The couch. "Lets both roll all over it - the fur will spread twice as fast!" Carpets. "I'm sharpening my claws - oh, you are, too. Good work!" Then add in the sad fact that the house smells like a giant litter box when I walk in through the door after a grueling day of writing about bladder control products.
Wait, that's it!!! I could outfit the boys in kitty TENA protective underwear. That would solve at least one problem. And frankly they'd be so embarrassed to be seen in them- they might start hiding out full time in the dark seclusion of the Casa Big Cat basement. I don't know why I haven't thought of this solution sooner. Clearly I'm slipping as a Creative guy. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 113

The days are getting shorter and the birds hungrier. I fill up the bird feeder so they boys can watch the Nature Channel from their chair in front of the back door. And the feeder is empty by the end of the day. The fur-faces look at me imploringly. "Why aren't any birds coming, Big Cat?" Then they lose interest and go to the basement to root through Sam's stuff. The boxes and bits of furniture form a maze that gives them a new playground. One sits on top of Sam's bookshelf and the other leaps up a set of 3 boxes -hop-hop-hop and chases him down. This results in the occasional crashing sound when one of Sam's pots is knocked out of a box to the floor. But no real damage to anything. So play on, lads, play on. The challenge is to keep bringing new stuff into
the house to stimulate them. Of course, I'm trying to go in the opposite direction and remove clutter. Less obstacles means a faster race boys. They already have a favourite track from the living room to the TV room at incredibly high speed which ends in the rug sliding into the china cupboard and furry bodies experiencing multiple roll-overs like a car crash. With all this dramatic
stuff going on it's very hard to focus on America's Next Top Model. But I do. I'm a champion focuser. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 113

Chicks love bad boys. It's the only plausible reason why Bee favours Rooney over Rufus. Rooney (the black and white cat to infrequent readers) is the bad boy of the Casa Big Cat. He walks with a unmistable swagger and repeatedly finds himself in trouble with his leader (me). This morning ironing my shirt was slowed by a certain black and white fur-face puncturing my shirt with his claws. Like a hockey player who moves in the faceoff circle, I ejected him from the room. This is the second day in a row he's been kicked out for this infraction. Does he care? Not one iota. He loves his bad boy persona. He's always the first to jump head first into the fridge (Bee kept both boys in the fridge with the door closed for a full very-chilly 5 minutes the other night to teach them a lesson) and the first to jump in the sink when the water runs. He also withholds his affections preferring to lie about a foot away from you - near - but on his own bad boy terms. There is appeal to this act I have to admit. He's the furry Elvis of the house. He even has the curled upper lip thing going I swear. He's bad, he knows it. What makes it work at Casa Big Cat is the kitty yin yang of it - together there is balance. However, if Rufus ever goes bad on me all bets are off. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 111

The boys are very clean. They groom themselves on a regular basis and their fur shines with a healthy glow. The cat doctor recently commented on the luster of their coats. Naturally the fur-faces are exceedingly proud of this. But even when you are a very conscientious groomer there are areas you can't reach. And that's where the brotherly buddy system kicks in. The boys lick the tops of each other's heads. And thus, the lone area that can't be self-cleaned gets managed by the other guy. It's a good system. It's also used to indicate "no hard feelings" after a particularly vigorous fight. First there's charging up and down the stairs, much wrestling, some biting and the occasional bit of yowling when one guy bites too hard. Then after staring at each other very hard with a look that says "Do you not understand the concept of "play fight"? That frickin' hurt!!" One will walk over to the other and lick the top of the other brother's head. And peace is in the valley. Peace keeping. Maybe Mike Pearson got the idea from his
cats. I'd like to think so. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 110

The boys are stubborn. It's not so much that they refuse to learn from experience, it's that they are convinced in their tiny furry minds that what they are doing is right. How else to explain that after dragging Rufus out of the ceiling in the basement (he looked embarrassed - I don't think he knew how to get back out) The next day I found the ceiling tile on the basement floor.
So some fur-brain had climbed back up there and his weight had made the tile fall out causing him to plummet to the concrete floor. I questioned Rufus about this but he just stared blankly back at me. "What tile? What basement? Do we even have a basement? "Direct questioning gets the Big Cat nowhere fast. I got the same result when I inquired of Rooney why he likes to like on the cold, hard stone mantlepiece of the fireplace rather than say a cumfy cushion. His defiant stare said it all. "Because I can,
Big Cat! Because I can!" It seems that anywhere high up is the new Mecca to the lads. The higher the better. If they could get to the roof they would be so proud. "Look Big Cat, we have climbed to the highest height in Four Oaks Gate!" Twin Sir Edmund Hillarys
that's what I've got here. Actually Rooney looks just like Sir Eddie after not shaving for two months with frost on his beard. I am
merely their humble Sherpa. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 108

Just when you think there's no more trouble they can get into kittens will find something. Saturday morning I'm downstairs ironing my shirt and Rooney is perched on the washing machine watching.But he's looking up at the ceiling. I hear some scratching noises above me. Raccoons in the basement? Couldn't be. Hey, where's Rufus? Somehow he had climbed up into the ceiling. So I removed the ceiling tile and lifted him out- covered in dust, cobwebs and insulation -idiot! Later that morning, I'm in the Muskoka Lodge to practice my bass and both of the boys run behind me straight into the fireplace and disappear. O.K. now this is concerning. Can they actually escape through the chimney? Somehow they've managed to climb up inside. Luckily they get bored and climb back down leaving little sooty paw prints all over the basement carpet. The buggers! Then to cap things off Rooney makes a mad charge for freedom out the door while I'm picking up the Globe. I turn just in time to block his escape with my foot. You know, I had thought the lads and I were like Robinson Crusoe, trapped together - but the boys think they're starring in Prison Break. The idiot fur-faces probably don't even know that show's been cancelled. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 107

This damn time change is confusing for kittens. The boys don't read clocks (although maybe I should put one outside the bedroom door just in case). So now they're happily waking me with their incessant scratching on the bedroom door at 6 in the freakin' morning. They don't give a hoot about school children needing sun when they walk to school - they're staying stubbornly on old time. Traditionalists, those fur-faces.
They do spring forward, however. When I open the bedroom door to yell at them to go back to sleep. Clearly, felines operate on some kind of primitive Circadian hard-wired impulse. The same one that makes them jump in the sink at the sound of running water?
Maybe that's instinct, too. Drink now. We could be dying of thirst later! This instinct could be leading them to sharpen their claws on Bee when she visits during the day when I'm not home - they're simply defending Casa Big Cat. You can't really blame them for that can you? Plus, they're confused by the time change. A least that's their defence.
xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 107

Dang! I missed the Cat Whisperer last night on TV. So I have no idea what to whisper to the boys to bend them to my will. Came home after a few drinks last night and tried some improvised whispering. "Please don't pee around the house!" "Do you have to shed your fur everywhere?" "Why is there cat litter strewn throughout the entire house?" and then quietly, "Help me, Jesus..." None of these heartfelt whispers seemed to strike a chord with the fur-faces. Much blinking. Occasional purring. And when Jesus was mentioned they both walked out of the room. I should have taped the segment. Or PVRed it. Except I don't have the equipment to do either. I'll try some more whispering tonight and if no further luck will go back to just yelling my head off at them. It reduces stress better than whispering anyways. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 106

The Cat Whisperer is in town and I'm so excited. He (or she?)is an expert in training cats who can pass on specialized wisdom guaranteed to bend your cat's will to the behaviour you desire. Tonight on the news on Global the Cat Whisperer will appear and will reveal some secret tricks. I could use the help. So far whispering has not worked at all but maybe you need to whisper your request directly in the cat's ear - and I haven't tried that yet. Screaming isn't working. That much is clear. The offending feline only gets a look of fear and confusion in his eyes at the sound of a raised voice. And goes and hides in a closet for a while only to sneak back into the room later and resume the same activity. Hopefully, the Big Cat will learn how to whisper instructions to his young charges in such a persuasive way that soon all counter- jumping -up- on, random defecating and odd bits of territorial urination will be things in the distant and smelly past. Still, one whispered phrase keeps repeating in my head -"fat chance", it says and then it laughs a whispered laugh. Which is pretty creepy. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 104

Yesterday I took the boys to the cat doctor for the first time. At first I was worried I wouldn't be able to get them in their cat carrier but a little Big Cat trickery worked beautifully. I simply put the carrier on the kitchen counter, then turned on the tap. When the poor saps jumped up to check out the sink, they were quickly stuffed in the carrier. Brilliant! They were complete champs getting their shots and anti-worming meds. They didn't even mew when jabbed with a needle. And the friendly Doc said they'd be very popular when they come back to have their nuppins removed. I guess "good patients" are appreciated in every line of medicine. "May we remove your nuppins?"
Nary a mew. "OK, that's a "yes" let's start lopping!"The lads have been deemed very healthy and both weigh over 10 pounds now. When they got home it was another matter
altogether, back to the silent protest. "How could you do this to us, Big Cat?!!"
"Why Big Cat? Why?" Ah well, they have very short furry memories so things will be back to normal by tonight. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - 103

The Maine Coon is some sort of huge semi-prehistoric cat. It actually exists. A couple of days ago in the paper there was a picture of one over 4-feet in length. Naturally, I showed the picture to the boys to inspire them. Frankly, I think the monster cat terrified them - they both ran out of the room and hid under the wing chair in the living room. This does not bode well for the boys going outside to the very scary real world. Out there looms Weed,(the neighborhood Tom) not nearly as imposing as the Maine Coon, but still twice the size of my teenage boy cats. I'm thinking I must change the kitten chow to real adult cat food in an attempt to "pump them up" as Hans and Franz used to say on SNL. The fur-faces are girly-man cats right now despite their in-house swagger. Plus, they're far too friendly- they purr at everything. This morning they both jumped in the laundry room sinks and this made them purr like crazy. Would an enormous Maine Coon cat do this? I don't think so. The Main Coon would shred the laundry and force people to stand on the dryer shaking with fear until someone with a tazor came to rescue them. Maybe I should send the boys to training camp in Maine this summer. Just a thought. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 103

Routine is very important in the cat world. The boys don't willingly tolerate change to their day. And 6:30 every morning they scratch at my door. "Come on Big Cat, time to get up!" I open the door and they charge in. Rooney runs all the way inside, Rufus executes a neat little U-turn and leads me down the stairs. I turn on the lights and fill their kibble bowl up, they take a couple of bites and as soon as they hear the water run in the sink when I'm filling up their water bowl they run over and jump in the sink. Jumping in the sink makes them very happy. They both purr loudly. Then it's downstairs to iron a shirt. They then jump onto the washing machine to observe this ritual. Very exciting. I have a shower. And they play in the storage room. Then we all go upstairs. After this they lose all interest in me and go about their own cat routine. If I happen to come home during the day this confuses them. They are in the middle of their extended lounging period and have no time for the interruption of the interfering Big Cat. "Get lost, Big Cat we've got a full day planned here. We've got 6 more hours of intense napping to do. There are sunbeams to sleep in, pillows to curl up on. Leave us alone and come back at 6 p.m." Fine, boys enjoy your day, you've got a schedule to keep. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles = part 102

Kittens have short memories. Either that or they're very forgiving. The boys and I have mended the fences and things are back to the normal routine at Casa Big Cat. They even went over to their food bowl and ate with great gusto ("Remember when we used to eat breakfast, brother? Those were good times, indeed!") I am glad that they can quickly forget the bad times because nuppin removal time is coming very soon. Possibly in the next day or two and the fur-faces will be really mad at the Big Cat for this one. We have already had a few unfortunate incidents of spraying so the visit to the cat doctor must proceed quickly. Eek! xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 101

Hell hath no greater fury no than a kitten scorned. Or is that no greater furry? The Big Cat has returned to the Cat House after a 3 day period of absence and the boys are not impressed. I thought they'd be over-joyed to see their fur-less leader, but no. They are furious with me. They express their anger by staring in another direction. Silent protest. What the hell, it worked for Gandhi. I look at them and call. And they simply gaze off in the opposite direction, as if to say, "Is that a voice I hear? No, it's just the guy who leaves us all alone for days on end!"It puts a lump in my throat.
The fur-faces have abandonment issues. Can't say I blame them. Our relationship is one built on mutual trust - they trust me to feed, water and care for them. And I trust them not to climb the sheers and to faithfully use the litter box even in the absence of Big Cat supervision.I will have to buy back their affection with some smoked salmon tonight from Relish. And heartfelt apologies, too. But mainly smoked salmon. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - pat 100

Sam's squirrel is living an active life. One minute the damn thing is in the Muskoka room lying on its side beside my bass, then it's in the laundry room guarding the entrance. Then it's in the basement hall staring at me. And let's get this straight it's not a real squirrel, it's stuffed. I live alone with the two fur-brains as my only companions. So who's moving the squirrel around from room to room and posing it? The answer is Rooney. I've now seen him do this with my own eyes so I know the squirrel isn't magically moving around by itself. Pheeew! Two nights ago I watched as Rooney set the squirrel up in the entrance to the laundry room. Then he backed up and lowered himself into pouncing position. Without warning he fiercely attacked the defenseless stuffed animal, tossing it around like it was a well...a stuffed animal. Rooney is using the thing as kind of a tackling dummy to hone his skills. He's training to be able to defeat his brother in mortal combat. If he thinks Rufus is just going to stand there and be tossed in the air, he's going to be in for a big surprise. Rufus meanwhile, has taken to lying on the mantlepiece of the fireplace - not very comfortable - but impossible to surprise attack. Quite an elaborate chess game these two are playing. But it keeps life interesting at Casa Big Cat. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 99

The fur is flying at Casa Big Cat. And often the cat is flying with it. Actually I'm getting so good at the cat toss I'm hoping it could be made into an Olympic event. The question is Winter Games or Summer? I'm sure the boys would prefer Summer but I think Winter would be more exciting and maybe it could be performed on ice? The cats would slide then. Plus, it would give us another sure Winter medal. Why all the heaving of fur-faces? So many reasons. This morning I was singing My Furry Valentine to them as I ironed my shirt. When I got to the new lyric "Is your figure less that Greek, with your mouth do you say Eek!"( which I thought was very clever but they clearly felt was a demeaning reference to kitten-speak they haven't used in 3 months now) They used their claws on my shirt, thus prompting a tremendous cat toss. Animal rights activists fret not, the toss is gentle on both the tossee and and the tosser. That's why it's called cat toss not cat hurl. Anyway, the boys are not easily discouraged. They came right back and clawed the shirt sleeves prompting yet another record toss. At this rate we'll be ready for 2012 in no time.Go Canada go! Eek! xxx dad

the ktten chronicles - part 98

Size does matter. At least when it comes to litter boxes. This is the conclusion at Casa Big Cat. The lads' sand box had become increasingly messy so I up-sized it. Hell, it's super-sized now - a veritable football field of welcoming litter. This has eliminated the pathetic scratching at the sides of the tiny plastic enclosure that was driving me crazy. Turns out the boys just needed space. Give me land lots of land don't fence me in. Now we have no more mistakes from Rooney, although he has taken to clawing the heck out of the area rug by the back door leaving clumps of red wool everywhere, but this is a small price to pay in exchange for Bathroom Bliss. The spectacular new cat bathroom, like the bathrooms favoured in monster homes is an impressive 3-foot long Tupperware storage container. The fur-faces themselves seem very proud of their renovated facilities and they've taken to sitting proudly in front of it and just gazing at it as if to say "this is all ours!" Next they'll want a hot tub. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 96

Mongo Santamaria. Mtume. Ricky Ricardo. Great conga players all. But they have nothing on the orange and white fur-face who resides at Casa Big Cat. Yes, the Nature Channel has turned Roo-face into a superb percussionist. How you ask? Well, yesterday I had the backdoor open, the birdfeeder full and the chairs set up so the boys could watch the show - but with one small variation - I slid the glass down over the screen door (to keep the heat in)Then the show started. We were hit by a flurry of finches, sparrows,
chickadees - there were birds all over. This was extreme provocation for Rufus who reacted by drumming on the glass in very impressive bursts. Rat tat tat tat tat. This caused the birds to fly around in a frenzy. And made him drum even more frantically on the window. He's really quite talented. I put a Santana album on so he would has even more inspiration and some accompaniment - but it just irritated him. He glanced over his shoulder and gave me a whithering look. "Very funny",his glare said. Well, I thought so, but that's what passes for humour at my house these days. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 94

Do cats like music? Hard to tell. I plink, plank, plunk away in the basement and the boys join me. But mainly they just give me confused stares." What are you doing Big Cat?" Rooney will curl up behind the cushions on the bed and Rufus sits on Sam's office chair and tries to figure what's going on. Last night, I explained to Rufus that Rufus Reed the great jazz bassist and author of Elements of Jazz, my jazz instruction bible had advised in his book that any practice time can be valuable - even 5 minutes. This caused Rufus( the cat) to attack my bass and try to climb in an F-hole. Maybe he thought I was mocking him and that there was no such person as Rufus Reed? After all to him it's a cat's name. What human could have that name? Or maybe he's more sophisticated than I give him credit for and he was offended by my playing - I confess I might have missed a flat five while working on Herbie Hancock's Dolphin Dance. But going to E instead of B (as written) is perfectly acceptable. Damn these feline jazz purists. Whether they like my playing or not, the fur-brains are definitely trying to send me a message. They knock over my music stand and scatter the sheet music all over the floor in some kind of demented protest. Wait, the scattered sheet music could be a clue as to their intent. Maybe they're "Free Jazz" enthusiasts and totally reject structure, chords, - heck anything written - in favour of pure free improvisation. Listening to their atonal meowing to each other I suspect this is the case. So I will try to include some wild and sheet-music- free spontaneous numbers to see if they perk up their ears and launch into some kind of frenzied cat dance in tribute. I personally don't dig Free Jazz but I'm willing to compromise for the sake of harmony in the house. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 93

Yesterday the boys demonstrated yet another useful skill they aided the Big Cat in the clean up after a big Thanksgiving celebration. During the fete much in the way of cheese, crackers, olives, lettuce, turkey and pie crust was liberally tossed on the floor. Opa! This normally would involve the Big Cat crawling round on his hands and knees carefully picking up the debris. But the fur-faces came to the rescue. Doggedly (or actually cattedly) they combed every square inch of the floor and consumed every speck of leftover food. Yabi was no match for the lads. He might cunningly hide a small piece of cracker under a sofa cushion but Rooney would sniff it out and eat in (neatly, too - no crumbs for these boys). They even ate the stray olive pits although I fear this may not be the best for their tiny intestines. Anyway, all the tired old Big Cat had left to do was move the furniture back in place and Presto! Casa Big Cat is back in business. Oh, the power of teamwork! The floors are so clean I may have to cancel Gorette.
Imagine being put out of work by cats! Eek xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 92

I have created a TV channel for cats. This happened quite inadvertently when I removed my outdoor furniture from the deck and hung the bird feeder up outside the porch door. The boys naturally gravitated towards the window at the door where they could watch incoming black capped chickadees, cardinals and squirrels. So opened the door (there's a screen door so they can't get out) and put 2 chairs there. I've dubbed it the Nature Channel. The fur-brains spent 5 hours there completely engrossed by the local wildlife activity. This has proved to be more fascinating than even running water in the sink. And beats the hell out of Midnight Crazies (so 3 months ago, they yawn) The Nature Channel could prove to be a little more challenging in the winter, however. Opening the back door and letting sub-zero air in will be bracing to say the least. So lets hope for a little more Indian Summer so the boys can continue to enjoy the show. In November, no more HD. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 91

Last night Rooney and Rufus and I searched the house to try and locate the "tiny cat-pawed" dinosaur who the boys are convinced is destroying the house. No sign. On the other hand Joanie's closet had been opened - weird. And Sam's squirrel had been posed on the carpet facing me -disturbing. So I'm thinking of getting a guard monkey. Not a helper monkey like Homer Simpson. A guard monkey like they're using in India during the Commonwealth Games. The guard monkey is a bigger menacing monkey who is stationed in front of areas where invading gangs of smaller monkeys might try to terrorize. The bigger guard monkey just sits there and glowers in a ferocious way that deters the junior monkeys. He's like a monkey bouncer. You only have to feed the guard monkey peanuts and he's very happy to sit there. I like peanuts, too. So we could share them. Although, maybe the guard monkey wouldn't like this. The boys do not like peanuts except to bat them around on the floor so this would not be a problem. Anyway the guard monkey could look sternly at the fur-brains if they even looked like they were contemplating any terrorist acts like
smashing china, pictures, or even clawing furniture. Plus, the guard monkey would put an end to the idiotic excuse the boys dreamed up of the the "tiny cat-pawed" dinosaur. If they started that nonsense up again he'd just stare them down with one baleful glance. The best thing is after the Commonwealth Games are over many guard monkeys will be unemployed. So it would be relatively easy to get them to come to Canada and work for peanuts. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 91

The boys are speed freaks. Not in the drug abuser sense. More like Usain Bolt times two in your living room. This is the normal result of every 2nd Wednesday. That being the day Gorette comes to clean the house and the fur brains are confined to quarters in Joanie's office. I even tape the door shut so they can't stage a prison break. By the time I release them from a day of intensive cat napping they have a lot of pent-up energy. Last night they tore around the house at one point both cats ran right across my chest at full speed giving me heart massage inadvertently. The sudden pounding of their paws across my rib cage was more startling than who Tyra kicked off ANTM last night. Goodbye Lydia! Or Kyra! Or whatever your name was. And blondie, you're next! Tales of rampant cats strike a chord of fear in my Mother. So she's suggested I put bells on their necks - so you'd know where they are at all times. Personally I think the constant jingling would drive me crazy. And if I was woken from a really tedious episode of America's Next Top Model by intense jingling I might think Santa was in my house. Which is OK at this time of year but in the summer would be super disorienting. So Jingle Cats is not happening anytime soon in Casa Big Cat. The surprise attack is more fun anyway. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 90

This morning, in the newly redesigned Globe and Mail, I read an odd discovery that stopped me in my tracks. It turns out that one early generation of the dinosaurs had very small feet. Like "cat paws" said the headline. O.K., this goes a long way towards explaining just what has been happening with the devastation in my house. The kittens are innocent, after all. I hadn't investigated throughly enough. I just assumed when I saw muddy prints of cat paws beside a destroyed plant- it had to be the fur-brains. But this story proves conclusively otherwise. A dinosaur is loose in my house. Of course the boys weren't capable of such enormous destruction - they're tiny lovable kittens. Only a dinosaur with tiny cat paws would possess the necessary heft to smash so many things to fragments. I need to go home tonight and offer an abject apology to the lads. And then together, we will search the house from top to bottom, find the offending tiny-footed dinosaur and escort him straight out the door. Good riddance! xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 89

The boys have handsome new bowls. Wait, keep reading! It gets better. On an admittedly slow news day at Casa Big Cat the arrival of stainless steel bowls - donated kindly by Ravi, my tennis partner, is major excitement and a small blessing. The old bowls were a Corninware brittle plastic bowl (for kitten chow) and a Wedgewood china bowl with little Peter Rabbits hopping around on the rim (for water). For some reason, boredom? sheer orneriness? lack of kitten brain cells? - the boys automatically tipped the old bowls over soaking the protective newspaper underneath and creating a small river flowing down the living room floor. Wait maybe they spilled the water as a kind of caustic commentary about the Toronto Star which was neatly under their bowls. In which case, I approve (I only get the Star for the sports section) And frankly if the boys read Royston James or Rosie Dimanno while they're eating their breakfast - no wonder they comment by destroying the newspaper. Anyway, the boys can't knock over the gleaming new bowls. Order has been temporarily restored in the home of the Big Cat and the score now reads: Big Cat - 1 Messy Fur Brains
- 0. But there's plenty of game left to be played. I never count the boys out. If there's a way to tip those bowls over, they'll find it.
Right now they're probably up on top of the water cooler poised to swan dive into the water bowl. If this actually works I'll sign them up at the CNE as Conover's Diving Cats and I'll retire on the proceeds. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 88

My mother is officially terrified of the boys. This is a bit strange because she has never met them. But as a reader of the Kitten Chronicles she has been exposed to their bad behavior and is now convinced they will attack her during Thanksgiving dinner. To which I reply," Pshaw!"" Perhaps some comedic exaggeration has been employed in the tales of the fur-faces in this space?", I offer. Just ask Sarah Pallin, who on the weekend, blasted the "lamestream media" and accused them of constantly lying. And that's the big boys, the blogisphere is jammed full of blatant untruth. Well, of course, that's the fun of it. Do the boys really have razor-sharp claws and leap through the air at things in a random fashion? Actually, yes. But not all the time. Just when I need it to make a post funny. Did Stephen Leacock actually know A, B and C from the math problems in his short story? Probably, he was pretty old after all - I believe he used to drink sherry with D - but that's a story for another day. I promised my Mom I would imprison the lads in the basement to reduce the chances of an unprovoked attack. But they're getting very good at forcing open doors. Might be a chance of a special guest appearance at dinner. The horror. The horror! xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 87

Is this the final straw? Or just one more sad addition to the kittens trail of destruction? Last night I returned home to find the boys had demolished one of my home's most sacred artifacts. The photo of the baby Samantha lay in shards of glass on the floor. This is really too much!! I mean you'd be better off taking a picture of the baby Jesus and dragging it through the litter box. Or using a crucifix as a kitty chew toy! Worst of all the lads actually like Sam. So how could they treat her image so brutally? Maybe they didn't recognize her? After all, she's obscured by a basket in the photo and is bald. They know her only a a kindly girl who scratches their worthless tummies and has auburn hair and glasses. They probably thought the baby was a rival. Cats hate babies. This is well known. Just look what those 2 Siamese cats did to the baby's bottle in Lady and the Tramp. This is warning enough for anyone! They'll probably pretend nothing happened when she comes over. Heck, they pretended nothing happened when I confronted them and demanded a confession as to which of the fur-faces did it. It's a classic defense. Big wide eyes blinking.
Complete denial of any knowledge of wrong doing. Come to think of it the Leafs play that defense all the time, too. It's much cuter with kittens, believe me. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 85

Every morning when I leave for work I issue simple instructions to the boys. "Be good and don't destroy the house", I tell them.
They make soft observant mewling sounds in reply. Then as I get ready to back out of the driveway they stand like sentries on the two red chairs and watch me leave through the front window. As soon as the car leaves the driveway all bets are off. One leans over the the other with a suggestion for activities. "Brother, what if we climb the curtains?" "Boring", says the other one. "But if we climb this set of curtains we can leap off from there and land on top of the potted palm!" "Now you're talking!", the other furry
wrecking ball declares. And the latest wave of destruction begins. And to think I came up with the idea of getting a second kitten
so the first kitten wouldn't get bored and destroy the house. What was I thinking?!!? I've effectively doubled the capacity for demonic feline activity. Of course, all of this is just speculation. I don't speak that weird Eeking language they favour. So I can't actually prove they are plotting. They could be talking about Rob Ford for all I know. "I don't trust him brother, he sweats a lot and strokes his face like a cat according to this Toronto Life article." "He's a cat all right - a polecat!" the other replies. Then they laugh in that bizarre" Eeking" fashion. Cat humour. I don't understand that either. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 84

A Kitten Chronicle on a Sunday is a rare thing, but Monday I'm out of town and I have a sermon I want to deliver. It seems I've been rather rough on the fur-faces in this space lately and this has lead me to some soul searching. After all, why is Casa Big Cat my house? OK, other than it's called Casa Big Cat. What I'm getting at is we share the house, the boys and I. Just like every living creature shares the planet. The boys think house plants are toys - this is OK. The furniture makes a wonderful scratching post -
I can live with this, too. Even the occasional "accident" is entirely forgivable. The boys bring more than their fair share of joy into the house every day. So I am prepared to get along with their minor misdeeds. They're babies fer crying out loud- they need to try things and foul up every once in a while. Don't we all? So it is without judgement that the lads and I will live together this sunny Sunday. Who knows maybe I'll stand beside them and look out the window. Try and see what they see. A little feline perspective is good for the soul. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 83

Rooney needs to be sent to a re-education camp. Taught by a benevolent Chairman Meow. The reason? He doesn't really understand litter box basics. I'm not sure who to blame. His mother? The horse farm people who chucked him in the litter box as a tiny kitten? Anyway, here's his rather pathetic learning from Litterbox 101. First, go to the box (most of the time he gets this right although there have been unfortunate incidents in the past well documented in The Kitten Chronicles) Then do your business. He's pretty good about this, too. Step three, cover it up by using your paws to bury the evidence in odor-controlling kitty litter. Simple.
But this is where the black and white fur face deviates. He merely scratches the side of the litter box. This makes a big noise and convinces anyone who's listening that he's doing a great job. In fact, he'll scratch away for a full 5 minutes creating quite a ruckus.
Nothing gets buried is the point. Rooney clearly doesn't understand what the purpose of the pawing is. Sigh. Perhaps his brother could tutor him. "No not the sides, brother. Move the litter over the turd! That's it." It would probably piss Rooney off and they
start fighting and chewing on each other's nuppins again. And while we're on the subject of piss - that's another matter and involves a little trip to the friendly neighborhood Nuppin Chopper. Watch out lads! Eek! xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 82

Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me. This seems to be the fur-faces new motto. Nothing fazes them. "Jerks!!" Sam calls them when they snag her stockings as soon as she enters the house. "Weirdos!!", Sam exclaims as they run past her at break neck speed almost tripping her. Sam is not alone in cussing the lads. The Big Cat has been known to use very strong and occasionally salty language upon discovering the remains of the latest object the boys have reduced to rubble.
Not speaking any English is definitely an asset. It's hard to take offense at being called a jerk if you don't know what it means. "No comprende,Scene-e-yor", the cats blink back at me as I scream myself silly. "What do you think the Big Cat is going on about now?" Rooney will convey with an arched furry eyebrow to his brother. These cats are very cool. They don't get ruffled at all by raised voices. And no matter how horribly you call them out they just lazily roll on their backs inviting you to scratch their tummies. It's infuriating. And effective. Soon they have defused the angry situation and everything is all lovey dovey again. And they can get back on their hurricane-like path of destruction. Actually "Rooney" and "Rufus" would be great names for hurricanes.
Who do I submit this brilliant suggestion to? xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 81

Be on the lookout for two dangerous criminals - "Screw face" and" Pruney". Screwface is a 6 month old kitten, orange and white, known to leap into the center of potted plants and cause them to come crashing to the floor. Then when confronted with his feline crimes he lies stretched out on the floor with his tongue stuck partly out of his mouth in a demented manner (hence his nickname)
His brother and accomplice in crime is a 6-month old, black and white kitten who is so obsessively attracted to water his paws now are horribly wrinkled - giving him his criminal nom de plume - "Pruney". Both these vicious lawbreakers like to assume the guise of innocent kittens and will often be found happily purring by the scene of their crimes. "Did what? I'm just a cute little kitten", their behavior seems to say. Do not be fooled by this act. These heinous fur-faces are as lawless as they come. Come to think of it, the picture I drew to help the cat sitter tell the boys apart would make a damn fine Wanted poster. Thing is you don't really need a poster - they're very easy to catch. After they commit some terrible act of destruction they come up and rub against your leg. The nerve of those cold-blooded fiends. xxx dad

The kitten Chronicles - part 80

The Kitten Chronicles is a brilliantly crafted piece of writing (well, OK brilliantly crafted might be a stretch. How about a not too many typos piece of writing?) This is because I write it at work. Heaven help the poor sap who tries to write at my dining room table. As soon as I sit down one kitten or another leaps up and lies directly on the paper I'm writing on - I move him discreetly aside and then he swipes at my pen as I try to write desperately. Then if I make the mistake of trying defend the pen - aha! - the kitten knocks down my unguarded beer bottle. It's like chess - but with much messier consequences. My train of thought is constantly being derailed. I put one kitten back down on the floor and the other one jumps up to take his place. They're like tag-team wrestlers." Tag, go get him brother, give him the choke hold!". And who can blame them? Kittens are illiterate. They can't appreciate the artful combination of verbs, nouns and a lot of showy adjectives. Hell, they can't even find the litter box (well, in fairness one of them can't - Rooney are your ears burning?) In order to get any work done at all I must distract the fur-faces by running the water in the sink. Last night I managed to crank out 12 TV scripts in this manner. My water bill is going to be
positively brutal. Eek! xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 79

The boys have taken up bird watching. They are avid about it. If they had tiny Tilley hats, shorts with too many pockets and binoculars they'd fit right in with the Point Pelee crowd. They stand on their hind legs in the front window and admire the passing flocks with intent interest. Rufus will meow a deep meow to his brother if something particularly remarkable flies by. "There goes a black capped chickadee, brother" Then Rooney will reply, something like, "There goes brunch!" And they'll both errupt into much Eeking kitten laughter. Cat jokes are an aquired taste - just like the taste for chickadee with a squeeze of lemon. Sometimes Rooney tires of this and lies on a pillow on the couch where he can still see the action - but from a distance. All this standing and watching is murder on the hind legs. Maybe I'll subscribe to the Bird Channel on Rogers for them- it might keep them away from what's left of my plants. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 78

Is the squirrel a natural enemy to a cat? Somebody please tell me. This will help explain why the boys have chosen to use Sam's stuffed squirrel as a designated punching bag. But let me back up a bit. Sam loves squirrels. This is public knowledge. And so, much to her enormous chagrin, people give her representations of the noble squirrel hoping to delight her. It doesn't. So deep in the basement among the boxes that returned with her from London there was a life-size, gray, stuffed squirrel. Somehow the ever curious fur-brains found it, dragged it out and proceeded to beat the hell out of it. It is about 2/3rds the size of them and like schoolyard bullies, they can mercilessly kick it around - they'd give it a wedgie but luckily for the squirrel it has no clothing to wedge. What do the boys get out of this? A feeling of animal kingdom superiority?" Bet you wish you were back up your tree now don't you you fuzzy peanut-muncher!!" they cackle. This of course just sounds like, Eek Eek - but I'm translating. Then they pound it with their powerful back legs. They better not try this with a real squirrel or they'll get their nuppins cracked like a walnut. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 77

The cat's out of the bag. Well, not at my house. The boys are in every bag. Last week, Allie was over and the fur faces dove in her purse. What were they looking for? Breath mints ("my cat's breath smells like catfood!" says Martin on The Simpsons) Or maybe they were going to lift her credit card and head for Katmandu. Who knows with these guys? Yesterday Roo-face hopped into Sam's laundry bag and wriggled around while Roon Toon pummeled him from the outside. No wonder so many kittens end up going down the well - they're willing participants in their own demise. They can't resist climbing in the bag. Being half in the bag myself many evenings I see the appeal. It's cool and dark in there... so peaceful... no worries. Anyway, this is just one more in the constant stream of observations that kittens keep going where they shouldn't. And going there constantly. Sam was over for Sheppard's Pie and rather than have the lads dive into the still warm pan, I hid in above the counter and danger and promptly forgot about it for a day. Found it yesterday. Ooops. So I put it back into the fridge. Had it for dinner last night. And.. I'm still alive.
You have to be pretty resiient to survive living with two cats bent on endless destruction. And the Big Cat is. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 76

Oops, got so busy I forgot to post yesterday. Don't think the boys will survive the football season. Too much yelling from the Big Cat. Apparently football involves a lot more personal direction from the fan/viewer than other sports. I tend not to yell at the TV when I'm watching tennis or baseball. But this past Sunday was the opening game for my beloved Washington Redskins. And for added excitement levels they were playing the hated Dallas Cowboys. So I just have to scream. This terrified the boys so much that they both climbed into "the fort" (the cardboard box on the living room floor) and cowered in fear. Why was the Big Cat so angry? We're not on the counter. We're not chewing the dried flowers. Why Big Cat why? The poor little fur brains didn't realize that the stream of verbal abuse was directed at the TV not them. No more NFL for you Big Cat. You're going to have a heart attack. And then we will dine on your soft chewy bits. Eek! xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 75

Thinking outside the box is bad if you're a kitten. Creativity in where you go to the bathroom is severely frowned upon at Casa Big Cat and Rooney is back to confused behavior that could wind up with his little fur-brain self being shipped back to the horse farm. Which raises the question can cats learn? Today I read of a man in Florida who had blamed his cat for the porn found on his computer. He claimed the cat had walked on the keyboard and activated the sites. The judge thought otherwise. Cats walk all over everything in my house - so it could be possible. But I think they'd go to a site like Running Water. com or How to Break Out of a Locked House.ca Yesterday, Rufus singed his tail on the stove element - the smell of burning cat hair competed with the smell of roast chicken for a while until roast chicken won out- thankfully. Will Roo-face learn his lesson? Time will tell. But then his black and white partner can't even find the litter box. Still, I'm glad they don't know Joanie's password. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 74

It's important to stretch. The boys do it constantly. They're like Jose Canseco but without the steroids. When I open my bedroom door in the morning the first thing they do is stretch and sharpen their claws on the carpet before they run into the bedroom. This is because they have been lying in front of the bedroom door listening for any sounds of my getting up. And if you've been lying down you must stretch - no matter if
you've only been lying down 15-seconds. This is a hard and fast rule with the boys.
As a result, we have no kitty injuries on our team. No cats go on the DL - ever. After stretching you are ready to fire around the house like a madman chasing the other guy
- then you exchange positions and become the chasee. This morning for some reason the fur brains were whipped into a froth of high energy chasing leaping on counters running along the top of the piano and finally knocking their food bowl over spilling kibble all over the kitchen floor. "I'm not your maid!", I screamed at them in frustration, "clean it up yourselves!"We'll see how this tact works out when I return home tonight. If there's still cat chow all over the floor there will be hell to pay. That will be a very clear message to me that they've spent all day stretching. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 73

Rufus is transforming himself. He is going from a mere cat to a meerkat. I observed this curious phenomena last night. Both the boys spend lots of time standing up at the window looking out at the world passing by. Sometimes it's the front window in the
living room, sometimes it's the french door in the back. There's always something to see. But Rooface has taken this to a new extreme. He can now stand straight up on his back paws without support. Like a meerkat. Or a very short human. He thinks he's more like a very tall and stately cat. Now if he could only walk like this, he thinks. He would quickly displace the Big Cat and become the new ruler of the house. Oh, what a glorious reign it would be, too. Water would run constantly in every sink.
Dried flowers would be free to be swatted at will. And no doors would be closed! The former ruler, the late Big Cat, would have to share all his meals openly with the leader of the new regime. And think of it, it's all because of a relatively simple new skill - walking upright. The black and white doofus has no aspirations in this vein. When Rooface practiced his standing without leaning on anything skill last night (look, Big Cat, no hands!) Rooney charged him from the blind side (wouldn't Sandra Bullock have loved that tackle!) and knocked him flat. That'll teach him to take on airs. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 72

The boys have split personalities. During the day they're keepin' it gangsta. They slouch around the house like bad boys, knocking things off shelves and ledges and snickering at the damage that ensues. Eek Eek, I knocked something else over today - I'm the badest cat in this house. Last night, the victim was the wooden pear on the fireplace mantel - clunk! It bounced on the floor sending me into the darkened living room to see whether burglars were breaking in. I turned the lights on and the fur faces sneered at me - ya, we just knocked something down, wanna make something out of it? This street attitude is especially comical when you consider their other persona - hopelessly desperate for affection (I told them affection has two f's especially when you're dealing with me). When the brothers are in this phase, they will lie on my lap in a boneless state to have their stomachs scratched. My biggest problem then is patting 2 cats with one hand - the other hand is holding a beer bottle.
This state of relaxation doesn't last long though, they get their lovin' and move on. Got some gangsta moves to try out. And an image to keep up - suppose some rival cats were to spy us through the window - we need to preserve our street cred, they think. Street cred? Ha. The boys are scared to step out on the front porch, let alone the street. Wimps. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 71

I remember reading an article in Toronto Life where Harold Town said he hated house plants. To him they were a sorry replacement for sculpture. The boys are big admirers of Harold and are apparently doing his bidding from beyond the grave.
Their relentless quest to eliminate my plants continues well, relentlessly. On the weekend, they took out the giant potted palm as ruthlessly as contract killers. The palm, my pride and joy as a successful plant, had grown to a towering 6 feet in height. The fiendish fur-faces decided to chop it down to size - I can picture the spirit of a slightly drunken Harold Town egging them on. "Theesh right, my lads, down goes the tree to be replaaashed by a full-sized statue something with a strategic fig-leaf!!!"
Somehow they succeeded in breaking the palm tree in half. Did they climb it? Hurl their little furry bodies off the couch at it?
I don't think they used a chain saw because I don't have one. Good thing, too. With a chain saw at their disposal they could make quick work of the plants and then move on to the furniture - a horrifying thought. And yet, everyone thinks they're "so cute" when they meet them. Even Nighthawk, who loves plants as much as kittens. So sculpture it is. I'm gettin' me some big heavy bronzes.
When they fall over they might just squash one of the two plant killers in the process. Be careful what you wish for boys - you just might get it! xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 70

There was commercial on the Super Bowl for a digital software company that featured cowboys trying to herd cats. It was very funny. And the idea was that herding cats was difficult to well nigh impossible. If that's true, the Big Cat should give up advertising and start a cat herding workshop. It's easy peasy. The aforementioned Big Cato just says,"C'mon boys let's go!" And said boys follow. We go upstairs like this. Downstairs to the basement.There's nothing to this herding stuff - in fact, it's more like a stampede. I simply start them with a crisp command and they run way ahead. Sometimes for fun, I fake them out - I start them up the stairs - then I double back in sneaky fashion and just plunk myself down in my chair. They come downstairs minutes later to find me cruelly laughing at them. "Psych!", I yell in glee."But Big Cat, why did you not come up the stairs? Why Big Cat? Why?"they plead with their big moist eyes.
And then I feel a tremendous pang of remorse. Often, I'm so moved a single teardrop will fall in my chili.Then the boys, seeing water, pounce on me. Their revenge is terrible to behold. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 69

"Don't go chasin' waterfalls", sang the late Lisa Left Eye Lopes. I never really understood what that meant, but the song was catchy as all get out. The boys are only too happy to go chasin' waterfalls, on the other hand. Ah, the simple things that keep them and their little furry brains delighted! Last night, Bee just turned on the tap and let it run in the kitchen sink- this was major league fascinating for the lads. Rooney was brave enough to stick his head right under and drink and drink and drink. Free water! What a concept! Roo-face was more guarded, he stuck his paw under and licked it - "you're right, brother - it is free water!" Forget about expensive cat toys we have a faucet. Bee wants to get them a kitty fountain. Frankly, we've already got little cat footprints over every surface in the house -could it get any worse? Naaaaah.If we ever have a break-in, the detectives will have an impossible job finding the "perp's" fingerprints - they'll come to the conclusion that it's the work of a cat home invasion gang. And that's what the boys truly are. They just haven't tied me up and duck-taped me to a chair.Yet. They're planning it - as soon as they figure how to turn the tap on by themselves. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 68

A recent study shows that people over 50 actually like to read "bad news" about younger people - it somehow makes them feel superior. I thought a lot about this as I gathered the top contenders for a kitten news story this morning. Should I lead with a joyful report of kitten athleticism? Last night,in an amazing feat of feline ballet, both the boys jumped 3 feet in the air and soared over Sam seated on the couch narrowly missing her full cup of orange juice. "Did you just see that?", Sam sputtered in amazement. "Is that that going to be in the Kitten Chronicles tomorrow?"So yep, it's worth mentioning.
Also under consideration for reportage - Roo-face's unbelievable memory.He was down in the laundry room fishing for lost cat toys again yesterday under the dryer. Now that I know what he's after (see "Kitten down the Drain" - part 60) I took a coat hanger and pulled out 6 Midnight Crazies and 2 mice. Of course, once they were recovered from their hiding spot they held no interest at all for the fur-faces - finding them was all the fun. But the top story again goes to a tale of woe. I dropped Sam off at Leo's last night (where he was pacing back and forth like Rooney outside the bathroom door when I'm having my shower). And I returned home to devastation. Somehow, despite only weighing 7 pounds each, the boys had successfully knocked over the palm tree in the living room leaving a huge pile of dirt on the white carpet. It must have taken both of them working as a two-man wrecking crew to knock over a pot that weighs 50 pounds...
So bad news wins the day. And bad news about stupid teenagers - bonus! Makes this over-50 blogger feel, well decidedly superior.xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 67

This blog went dormant last week as the girls and I went to Stoney Lake for some well deserved R&R. The boys were left in the capable hands of a trained kitten wrangler. But still there was great angst. Would they complete the destruction of the house? Would the drapes survive? Would there be a mounting collection of "presents" to discover behind the furniture? So many questions. And the answer is happily the house survived - only a ceramic pot painted by Samantha was turned to shards (a challenge for Sam to fix, too)The fur-faces staged a massive Love-In at the official return of their leader.
And were so concerned that they followed me relentlessly for the next two days to make sure I wasn't going to abandon them again. After much patting, stroking, ear scratching,and very loud purring, they settled back into their normal routine. The pair plan to finish off the wing chair in the living room today with their claws, today. All is right with the world the Big Cat has come home. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - route 66

Who's in the howwwwwse? Inspired by the YouTube video of the drugged-out girl at the dentist, this will be today's topic. Regular readers know the answer- the boys are in the house. And since they spend way more time than I do in there - maybe it's their house, not mine. And maybe my constant complaints about the fur brothers reign of terror are unfair. They could be right. Why should dried flowers be classified as decor and not a plaything? And why aren't house plants a food group? Shouldn't cushions always be on the floor? Magazines were made to be shredded not read, right? The correct answers to the above questions are of course a) No b) No c) No and d) Yes, you can shred any magazine with Stephen Harper or Lady Gaga on the cover. Really, this issue of who's house is it anyway is all about compromise. And since the boys are totally unyielding in their campaign to remodel the house we share, it's clear the Big Cat will be doing all the compromising on his end. Dried flowers are dust collectors, anyway. Death to dried flowers! Wait, they're already dead. Seems like I'm already beginning to see the world through huge,slightly- yellowish kitten eyes.Hey, why was the Rocky theme song Eye of the Tiger and not Eye of the Kitten? The kittens of the world demand a recount!!! xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 65

The boys fascination with water took a calamitous turn last night. I was filling a pint glass with water from the Cedar Springs cooler and Rufus, attracted by that much water all in one place, leapt at the glass and knocked it out of my hand smashing it. Glass and water were all over the kitchen floor. A time-out was required for the boys while clean-up ensued. It's bad enough when I find muddy footprints in every sink in the house, but when a man can't even enjoy a simple,re-hydrating glass of water, well this is too much. Sam has observed this and now has to be wary about soaking her bras in case a kitten takes a bath in the basin full of Secrets from you Sister finery. All it would take for the boys to be banished permanently would be for Sam to have a single bra shredded by razor-sharp kitten claws. Hence, the door to the laundry room is now firmly closed. I'm thinking of filling the bathtub and letting them try some real swimming out - I think they'd love the rubber duckies. I know the Big Cat does. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part when I'm 64

Kittens as excuses. Talk about an undervalued part of pet ownership. Here's what I mean. Say the party is slowing down or hasn't really ever gotten going, one can just trot out the old "my kittens are destroying the house, regretfully I must depart" excuse.
Works every time. Of course, it is true, the kittens are destroying the house- their furry pace is unstoppable. But I can slow it with my presence. So there's a vein of truth in my begging off. Today, I read of a soccer star who was arrested for drunk driving because he said he had to go to the hardware store to purchase tools to free his cat who was trapped under the floorboards.
Frankly, I buy this excuse 100%. The boys are regularly mere seconds away from being trapped or encountering certain death every day. I must, as the Big Cat, save them by yelling things like, "Don't chew on that electrical cord, Rooney!!!" Or, "no Rufus, don't leap up on the stove, that element is red hot!!!" Barely averted disaster is the norm at Casa Big Cat." But you're never home," my uncle pointed out the other night at dinner. This is true. And it means just one thing - the lads are saving up all the drama 'til I return home just to liven up my dull life. Oh, the compassionate, little fur-faces. Raising my blood pressure will keep me alive! Eek. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 63

Persistence and stubbornness are two new kitten characteristics. This weekend while downstairs doing the official Big Cat laundry
I noticed the boys have become very adept at removing the metal grate that sits over the drain in the basement floor. They can hook the grate with their claws and they drag in off. Then they like to stare down the drain hole and ponder. Where does it go? Is that water down there? It fascinates them. And scares me. Here's why. I caught Roo-face halfway down the drain hole with just his back paws braced to hold him up. I pulled him out just in time I figured and then to stop them from doing this I put a pair of winter boots on top of the drain. Ha! This is a red flag to a persistent kitten. They just knocked the boots over dragged them out
of the way and moments later I caught Rufus again halfway down the drain hole. Kitty suicide? Who knows with these fur-brains ?
Then I put the laundry basket with the boots in it on top of the drain to stop them. The boys left, defeated. A Big Cat can be curious, too. So when they left I removed the basket and peered down the drain on my hands and knees. Damn, if there wasn't something down there about 2 feet down the hole. I reached in and pulled out 2 soaking wet stuffed mice and a Midnight Crazy ball. Amazing. The boys had knocked them down the drain hole and Rufus remembered and was trying to retrieve them! Smart
these kitties. I hung the two drenched cloth mice by their tails from the bra dryer - that looked very weird and gave Roo-face a quick pat - clever kitten! xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 62

The boys have developed superior skills at lying around. It's a bit of a teenage cat thing. You walk for a bit and then with no notice at all you collapse on the floor like you haven't got a single bone in your body. This is the young male cat's way of communicating" I don't care, I'm so cool". Sometimes this stops your brother from attacking you. One of the boys will be poised and twitching, just ready to run and pounce on the other - and then the other one cleverly does something unexpected!
He lies down in a heap. This apparently looks so overwhelming attractive to the other guy, he doesn't attack, he lies down, too.
The pair of them go around the house this way now looking like Dali melting watches. And it doesn't just have to be on the floor.
Suddenly crumpling on the top of a chair is also very much in fashion at Chez Big Cat. Frankly, I'm envious. I would like to suddenly fall into a comfortable heap on the floor it would be a very effective tactic in advertising. "what do you mean, change the copy?!, I'd say and then, bing! I'm lying on the floor looking so relaxed. That ought to surprise the hell out of a client.
The downside? They'd probably immediately call 911. And I'd need it. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 61

My kittens are growing up. But a different rates. Rufus is now relatively reasonable. You can discuss things with him and he tries very hard to understand the Big Cat's point of view. Like I'll be eating my healthy chicken salad watching The Wire and he'll jump on the back of my chair and very gently put his paw on my shoulder, as if to ask, may I come down and partake of your chicken salad? And I will look into his huge yellow eyes and say firmly, No. Then he jumps down. The other boy not so much. He jumps right into the bowl of chicken salad and wonders why the Big Cat is screaming in horror. In the morning, I open the bedroom door and Rooney rushes past me - any room with a closed door is a big adventure to him. Rufus stands there and waits to be patted and then goes in. Rooney is still very excited by my homemade cat toy - ribbons scotch-taped to a bamboo garden pole and will jump and chase it like a madman (not the advertising variety). If I held the pole over the railing on the 2nd floor and waved it enticingly he would happily leap to his death without looking. Rufus yawns openly at the pathetic pole. The thing the brothers have in common is fur. Oh ya, and they lick themselves between the legs. Eek! xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 60

I thought cats didn't like water. Not the boys. Their favourite spot is the sink. Any sink. The bathroom. The kitchen sink. The big sinks in the laundry room (boy, will they get a surprise if they leap in there when the the machine is on rinse!) Why they like water so much is beyond the Big Cat's understanding. They like to bat at the tap and catch the drops in their mouth. Come to think of it I like to do that myself. Maybe they learned it from me. They seem to like having wet paws, too. Does it cool them down in this blistering heat? Wait, the air conditioning is set at 16 degrees - so that can't be it. They like the tub, too. But I think that's just because they like to play mini-soccer with the bath beads. Oops, squished one, what's this sticky stuff on my paws? Think I'll lick it and find out. Uggh! Then they go around blowing little soap bubbles for the rest of the day. Eek! xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 59

The boys were in my dreams again last night. In the dream they have somehow gotten into a pack of markers and had wound up with colourful splotches all over them. In a secondary sub-plot, Willie Nelson was asking to borrow my car to go on tour to pay off his debts to the IRS. This was alright with me in the dream because I was confident the car could hold all his equipment and it's good on gas. Meanwhile, technicolour kittens ran wild all over the house. Clearly, sleep dep is taking a horrendous toll on my sub-conscious. I'm not sure if I should blame too many episodes of The Wire before bed (very addictive) or the book I'm reading
Fragments of the Whole by some lunatic Aussie. Tomorrow is lock-down day for the boys (cleaning lady day) so they had better enjoy their last taste of freedom. But they better not play around with markers. If my dreams turn out to have some remote basis in reality it could be very scary. I would like to talk to Willie Nelson, though. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 58 haircuts!

I was sitting in the Big Cat chair reading the paper this morning and I came upon a perfectly ridiculous article. Somebody is now shaving cats!! Not in a Gillette kind of way - more like those ludicrous poodle haircuts. I called the boys and they came immediately (finally something they accept as viable training). I showed them picture of their breatheren with peace signs shaved into their fur. Hearts shaved into their fur. Initials shaved into their fur. And they both started to giggle uncontrollably Eeek Eek
Eek!! They found it so funny! Then they looked at my face - to scare them I made it very serious looking - they suddenly looked terrified and bolted out of my lap straight down the basement stairs to cower behind the furnace. I really think some gang signs
shaved into their fur would make them more ferocious looking and would make Weed think twice about messing with them. Maybe I could train them to hold their little paws out in gang symbols, too. East side - with their claws sticking out. It would be so awesome. Tribute to Biggie. They're down with Biggie - at least I'm pretty sure it's Biggie they like not Tupac (too skinny).
I also still have the electric razor I used to give the girls their trendy undercuts with - shave off more, Dad!!, they used to plead.
Now if I can only find the two hiding fur-faces. I know they're in the house somewhere. Here kitty, kitty....xxxdad

the kitten chronicles - part 57

There's a very good reason Pavlov didn't use cats in his experiments. If he rang the bell to signal there was food, most of the time the cats wouldn't salivate, they'd barely raise a furry eyebrow. Still I persist in a vain attempt to keep the boys off the kitchen counter - at least when I'm preparing food. I spray them with the squirt bottle repeatedly and this seems to catch them by surprise every time. They are intensely stubborn little fur-bags. They seemingly can't distinguish between daytime - Big Cat's not here we can walk freely on the counter! Long live kitten freedom! And night time -we're not allowed on the counter? Why?, Big Cat, why? Making this futile game of crime and punishment even more futile, they purr when they jump back up on the counter after being sprayed, as if to say, we are friendly little kitties, how can you treat us so badly? Rooney is the worst (he of "I can't find the litter box" fame)He just keeps coming back for more like Paul Newman fighting George Kennedy in Cool Hand Luke (lie down, Luke, lie down!)The upside is after repeated spraying with the water bottle he is a very clean cat. At this rate he won't have to lick himself for a month. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 56

I don't often dream about the boys. Actually, make that, I never dream about the boys. But last night, for the first time, they became subject matter. This dream was set at the ski cabin?! I remember Rooney walking down the hall towards the cabin door. I picked him up and looked at him, he had a gash behind his ear. The boys are playing too rough, I thought in the dream. Then, I noticed another kitten coming down the hallway, at first I thought it was Rufus, but then I noticed it was a tortoise-shell kitten and its fur was horribly matted - one of the boy's sisters! Soon all three sisters looking scruffy and ferocious were walking menacingly down the hallway. So it was them who had attacked Rooney!I woke up (it was an early morning mini-dream)right after this. According to Leo Dicaprio in Inception this means that the dream was actually 5 seconds long - or have I got it wrong, it was 5 hours long? Clearly the dream means in my mind I have saved the boys from the horrors of growing up on a farm. And that the ski cabin is becoming the perfect setting for a horror movie, "Attack of the Feral Kittens!"Eek! xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 56

Why didn't I decide to get poisonous snakes as my pets of choice? OK,so you have to watch out where they are when you enter the house, but I already have to be vigilant about that with the boys. The snakes could take care of any mouse problem - so again that puts them even in the plus side of the argument with the fur faces. And here's where poisonous snakes are more lovable that kittens. They don't destroy anything. Yesterday's casualty was a gorgeous Betty platter. The boys, in their addled headed wisdom thought it would look better on the floor - in pieces.Honestly, these cats should have their own demolition business - Pussy Pulverizers. In ancient time cats were feared to be possessions of the devil - and frankly I wish the devil would come and take his possessions back. Good riddance - hope you enjoy what they do to your underworld realm, Satan. Me, bring on the hissing cobras. Cuteness is overated. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 54

Slightly weary from the long weekend and gimpy-kneed from 3 rounds of tennis I bade farewell to the boys this morning. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do", I called happily to them. They looked up at me their eyes huge and moist like I'd just destroyed their day. And I thought of course, virtually everything they like to do, I wouldn't do. Like ripping dried flowers out of vases. Spreading rubber bands all over the kitchen floor. Chasing a highlighter marker around the counter until the cap comes off and yellow markings get everywhere. Drinking from the toilet. Climbing up the curtain in the bedroom. Batting at plants until the leaves fall off. And using the wing chair as a nail sharpener. In fact, the only thing that I do that they like to do is have a nap. Man, the Big Cat is incredibly boring, they think. And that's why they never follow my advice. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 52 hopeless

Kittens don't judge. It's one of their most attractive features (and you thought it was those big soulful eyes - though maybe the eyes run a close second).Yes, it would have been mighty easy to snicker at the Big Cat in his T-shirt and underwear this morning at 6:00 desperately trying to iron a shirt for an 8 o'clock meeting. They could have mocked me relentlessly. Hey Big Cat, nice hair, fella! Or, hey Big Cat, why is one of your eyes glued shut this morning? And then laughed with that terrible mocking Eeeking kitten laughter. But no. The boys refused to pile on. Or kick me with a furry paw when I was less than my best. The boys give only unconditional love. Well, maybe a few conditions - but they're pretty minor. Feed me. Pet me. Don't introduce any more new litter boxes as some form of kitty IQ test. And I'm good with that. And don't we all need some unconditional love. I think I feel a song coming on "what the world needs now is unconditional love, sweet love." As I sing this the boys are thinking, "What a big hopeless sap!" But they resist saying it. Just barely. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 52

The boys are under house arrest today. The cleaning lady is here. So they're confined to the office with the door firmly closed. This means lots of napping. Because although I put all their toys in the room they associate this room with sleeping - it's where they sleep at night - so they can be close to the Big Cat sleeping across the hall. Bee has pointed out however, that sleeping isn't the only thing they do in the room. They've also chewed through the phone cord disabling the phone in that room. So it's tough luck for them if they have some emergency and need to call out. They should have thought of that before they chewed through the cord! Hey, I wonder how much electrical charge runs through a phone wire? Maybe this accounts for Rooney's dazed state and his recent inability to find the litter box? He's had electro-therapy. Oddly, he isn't any calmer.Good thing he doesn't dip his feet in the water bowl like Rufus - wet feet plus electricity would give him a seriously bad hair day. Eek! xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 51

What can we learn from kittens today? Take the stairs. The boys favourite training site beats any toy (including Midnight Crazies)for fun that's never boring. One routine goes like this. One kitten lies on the landing at the top of the stairs. He pretends not to notice his brother at the bottom of the stairs. "La di da, I'm just chilling here having a little cat nap - I totally don't expect to be attacked". Then, the one at the bottom of the stairs twitches in anticipation, his muscles straining, like Clint Eastwood in the showdown of a spaghetti western. One little twitch. Another. "He's not expecting anything - the poor furry sap!" Then he charges up the stairs at breakneck speed and.."oh no, he knew I was coming!". They both leap 2 feet in the air and chest bump like they're celebrating a touchdown. Sometimes locked in a mortal death grip they'll both tumble all the way down the stairs without letting go. Because they have no bones in their bodies they survive this terrible fall. It's not all high energy on the stairs though.This morning they totally ignored me when I came out of the Big Cat bedroom. They were completely preoccupied by chasing an ant on the stairs. Both are now very accomplished ant hunters. I'm so proud. And to think just a couple of months ago they were just two scared balls of fluff who slept curled up in a heap on these very same stairs. Perhaps there's hope for the world after all. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - half century

What happens when you have to write a blog on a slow kitten news day? No, the kittens aren't slow - the news is. Some might argue that every day is a slow news day when kittens are the subject, but they don't read this blog. So here's the status. The boys are happy. They purr when I iron my shirt. The purr when I put on my shoes. They even purr when I aim the the sprayer at them when they're on the kitchen counter. "Eek, don't shoot! I'm purring." And they haven't destroyed anything in 2 days. Even the scars on my shins are completely gone. What did Julie write about when she was executing some minor Julia Child recipe that wasn't that interesting? You know, like say, hard boiled eggs? I know,bitter fights with her husband! Damn, that's not going to work for the Big Cat. For now peace is in the valley. As I left for work, the boys perched on the top of the two chairs eyeing me through the living room window. Was it my paranoia or was there a gleam in their eyes? Could be trouble tonight. Stand bye. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 49

Tales of wanton kitten destruction are very familiar to readers of this blog - but a good old-fashioned rip-snorting mystery, now that's new. First, the carnage. Came home last night to find the boys had somehow knocked Sam's prehistoric slate caveman depiction off the fireplace reducing 2 Grandy turtles to pottery shards. I can hear Joanie's voice, "Steve, those cats have got to go - they're destroying this house!".
Ho hum. I'm used to living in Beirut by now. So here's the thrilling mystery part. I got dim sum, ate it (delicious!) and left to go to the Beaches Jazz Festival. When I returned I found an empty plastic fortune cookie wrapper on the basement stairs. The boys had gotten up on the kitchen counter (more training necessary!) found the fortune
cookies and eaten one. Including the fortune. One theory. Or they just played with the cookie as a toy - but then, where are the broken cookie crumbs and the fortune? And since when do cats like cookies? Anyway, I wonder what the fortune read? "Kitten who eats fortune without reading it, misses the chance to know his future."xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - where's my whip?

The Big Cat only vaguely remembers the rules for training wild animals neatly assembled in The Life of Pi. #1. Make direct eye contact #2 Never turn your back on the wild animal #3 Establish territory. Or something like that. I'm not sure kittens are trainable anyway - but I persist. Making direct eye contact I yell at Rooney, "get out of that plant!!!" And then for good measure, I squirt him. He just looks back at me using all his devious powers of kitten cuteness, somehow making his eyes bigger and moister - but maybe that's the spray bottle -and seems to say, Why?, Big Cat Why?
I'm sure Sigfried and Roy went through this many times and would probably counsel
old-fashioned teutonic persistence - I'm thinking a skin-tight spandex suit and a German accent would lend more authority to my commands. Still, I try in vain to school them not to jump on the kitchen counters, not to rip the leaves off all my houseplants, not to chew on electrical cords - wait - there's a pattern here. Everything involves "not" doing something. Perhaps, if I tried to get them to do something instead? Perfect.
Tonight we'll start with jumping through a flaming hoop - off the kitchen counter.
That ought to challenge the little fur faces. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 47

Dogs wake you up in the morning because they want to be taken outside for a walk. But kittens? What the hell do kittens want at 6 in the bloody morning? The Big Cat's fawning attention, apparently. Just the smallest noise from my bedroom like a toilet flushing, for example, rouses them from their very light slumbers next door in the office and has them "Eeking" and scratching at my bedroom door. "It's morning, Big Cat! Come and greet the dawn with us - it is fine!", their Eeks tell me. Usually I can't hear the pathetic mewling, but the fan in the bedroom has starting making a noise like
a Midnight Crazy ball jingling right in the bedroom - so I turned it off. Wait, maybe that is an actual Midnight Crazy ball and the boys are ringing it like an alarm bell.
Slowly the boys are breaking their leader down through sensory deprivation.We will
break you like a twig, Big Cat! Like a twig. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 46

Naming the boys after variations on "ruin"has proved to be very appropriate. A day without devastation is like a day without sunshine in the Big Cat's house. Yesterday they knocked a plant (I moved to the livingroom to save) off the stand smashing the Grandy bowl that held it and leaving the floor a soggy shard-filled mess. Am I upset? No. Because of small victories. Rooney is using the litter box. Whoo hoo. Although he is still confused and for the past 2 days I've caught him scratching on my chair ready to deposit a surprise - then I quickly scoop him up and toss him in the litter box and he does his business in the correct receptacle. The boys have also decided the wing chair is a dandy scratching post and the uphostery is dotted with hundreds of tiny pinholes. Sigh. The Big Cat is happily using 2 spray bottles to enforce the rules of the house - but frankly I can't keep up with the boys trail of destruction. And if I sprayed them for every offense, they'd both be dripping wet at all times and would catch kitty pneumonia. Plus, the coughing from the pneumonia would keep me awake at night. The Big Cat needs his sleep after all.xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 45

Not everyone can handle change. This was proved this weekend at Chez Big Cat. I had posted earlier in the week that the new Clever Cat litter box was proving a problem for Rooney and despite me catching him making scratching motions on my chair and plunking him unceremoniously into the litter box - he never got the hang of it. That is putting it mildly. Saturday morning, I sat down and tried to read the paper all the while getting a distinct smell of cat poo. Had Rooney had another accident? But where? The Big Cat got up from his chair to have a look - and immediately uttered a piercing scream causing kittens to fly out of the room. The cause? On the chair was smeared cat feces - the rest was on my shorts. The Big Cat had failed the Princess and the Pea test miserably and had plunked himself down on a big turd.It takes a big cat to admit failure and admit it I did. I cleaned out the Clever Cat super-smart litter box and dropped it off a Goodwill (barely used). Then I picked up the $3.99 Loblaws litter box we had been using and reinstalled it in its rightful place. Harmony has been restored in the household. Rooney happily kicks the kitty litter all over the floor - but he uses the litter box. "The world is so big and we are small", goes the kindergarten adage "change is bad". Rooney is a Luddite just like the Big Cat. xxxdad

the kitten chronicles - part 44

The war is over. The kittens have won. It is with considerable abject humiliation that the Big Cat tenders his complete surrender to a very well-coached kitten team.Here was the final straw in the 3 month-long power struggle. Opened the door last night, a kitten walks out the front door, followed by his brother, Luckily for me they seemed dazed and confused by their freedom and I quickly scooped them up. Rooney was already walking down the front stone steps. Scared out of his mind by this, the Big Cat staggered inside, plopped the kittens down - and immediately I was assaulted by an even more heinous occurrence - cat poop on the living room carpet!Apparently the boys had scaled the barricade and then were trapped in the living room all day with no access to their litter box.With predictable foul results.What to do? As I got in my car this morning, I looked back to see both kittens pressed against the living room window.The little scheming fur faces! Clearly, as soon as I leave, they jump the wall and enter the forbidden room. So a chastened Big Cat went back in the house, tore down the blockade and opened the doors. The house is theirs. All is lost. Hail to the victors! xxxdad

the kitten chronicles - rooney's bad day

Pee in the wrong spot and it can get you in a lot of trouble. Just ask Ben Rothlisberger. The bad boy quarterback of the Steelers is being criticized for peeing in the woods while playing a round of golf. The black and white kitten is Ben Rothlisberger in a fur suit. Yesterday, he peed on my chair, peed in the "fort" and twice missed the litter box with a pile by a foot. To be fair, Rooney is befuddled. Where the hell is the litter box? OK, there's this big bin thingee sitting where the litter used to be - but where's the freakin' litter box?, Big Cat! Thinking we would all just take a step back to happier less messy times, I took the Clever Cat lid( with the hole in it) off the top of the fancy smancy new litter box. Now he just has to hop in. Hell, his brother can do it. And give him a superior look,too - Eek! Anyway, the poor little gob-smacked black and white fur bag has one more day to get his act together. And then.... that Clever Cat litter box is going straight to the Blue box. Or maybe I send Runes to a school of higher learning? P. U.?xxxdad

the kitten chronicles - part 42

It's official, I have one clever cat. And one...well, not so clever. Readers of yesterday's blog know that the Big Cat began a kind of social experiment yesterday using cats as lab mice. I installed a high-walled litter box with a lid on it called "Clever Cat". The cats jump in through a hole in the lid - by doing this they can be acknowledged as "clever". Anyway, some kitten is not getting it. I was greeted on my return home yesterday evening to a neat pile of cat poo right beside the litter box." So, which of my two boys is a little slow?", I ask myself. Well, I've actually seen Roo-face use the new set-up, so... that leaves one very confused black and white culprit. This morning things got worse. Way worse. I came up from my morning shower and stared in horror - a huge puddle of cat pee was pooled on the Big Cat's personal chair. So now it's war, is it? Fine. I picked up both boys and tossed them in the study (the cleaning lady's coming today). But when I picked up Rufus, he actually hissed at me! Brotherly solidarity? So this battle is shaping up as two against one. Let the games begin, my little treacherous friends, let the games begin. xxx dad