the kitten chronicles - part 36

Give me your bored, your furry, your yearning to be free. Canada Day has inspired me. To quote (actually mangle) American mantras? Well, yes. It's just that the boys long to be free. Their new- found climbing skills have led to a lot of staring out the window, longingly. Just what's out there? Trees. People walking by. Birds! Wait, that's another cat!!! He's outside!! He's free!!
They look back at me, the Big Cat, their jailer." J'accuse, Big Cat!!", their burning eyes seem to say. Yes, they would like to go outside- and they haven't been out since that time when they were very small- about a month ago. But the cruel world is well...cruel. That's why they call it that. And they are still pathetically undersized. "Weed" the neighbourhood dominent male cat is twice their size. He'd turn them into kitty sushi with one swipe of his huge paw. Then there are raccoons. And worst of all cars.
So for now let them dream. And grow. Two healthy pursuits for kittens, dreaming and growing. And for us all. Happy Canada Day.
xxxdad

the kitten chronicles - part 35

Add Rooney to the list of names of those glad that England has been knocked out of the World Cup by Germany. It's not that he doesn't love soccer - his dribbling skills are unmatched by even the finest German players (or Brazilian for that matter). Of course, he happens to use a Midnight Crazy as a ball. It's just that the other Rooney on the British team was making my kitten crazy.
The announcers kept yelling his name at the top of their lungs during the game on Saturday, "ROOOOOOOONEY with a shot...
OOOOOOOOHH!" And this woke him up from his peaceful sleep on my lap repeatedly for the 2 and a half hour duration of the match. And don't think his little furry ears weren't stinging with the harsh criticism he kept hearing. "Rooney fumbled it bit there,
Rooney with a bad miss, Rooney seems a little off, today". With each rebuke of the fabled English striker, the poor little kitten
cringed thinking he'd done something terribly wrong. But England has gone home with their tail between their legs - I told this to my Rooney, thinking he'd find it hilarious, but he just muttered, "Eek".

the kitten chronicles - part 31

Aren't cats supposed to dislike water? This has been disproved by Mr. Rufus, aka, The Fisher Cat. Here's what happened. In the orgy of attention around the newly arrived kittens, the fish has been sadly under-attended. He bravely gulped away in a tank that looked like the Don River on a bad day. So I set out to clean his tank yesterday. This involves bailing the thing out into a bucket.
Of course, any new activity rates interest wih the boys and Rufus started first by leaning into the full bucket of water and then actually jumping in. I pulled him out dried him off with a dish towel and oddly enough, he didn't seem to be alarmed at all. But then, remember he is the kitten who washes his feet in the water bowl every morning - so he seems to actually like getting wet.
I thought this might chasten him and I continued to fill the newly cleaned tank a pitcher at a time. I'd almost gotten it all the way full when I came into the old kitchen (where the fish tank lives inside an old jukebox) and there's Rufus hanging precariously over the edge of the tank just about to go in after the fish and I grabbed him. I probably should have let the fur-face have a little swim.But I think he might have enjoyed it. Think I'll try him in the bathtub tonight. Could be a furry Michael Phelps. xxxdad

the small cat chronicles - part 1

The Small Cat Chronicles. Somehow it doesn't have the same perky ring to it? Yet, that is what the boys are now. According to the girls who came over last night for dim sum and kitten appraisal. I guess I can see that they are no longer two small balls of fluff but have grown into elongated, lithe versions of their former tiny selves. And oh, what leaping! Rooney couldn't stay off the kitchen counter - look at me I can make it in a single leap. Unfortunately right into Bee's avocado mixture. The girls were aggast at their lawless ways and bad manners - I guess getting raked with pointy claws loses its cuteness when the perpetrator isn't really a kitten anymore - but a bad boy teenager cat with an attitude. The Big Cat encourages this lawlessness the girls complain. Squirt them! Discipline them! Hiss at them!, they insist. Then they sing Sam's ultra-catchy Midnight Crazies jingle to the lads tenderly - "Midnight Crazies!!! Da da da da da da da da! The boys mistakenly think this is calling them and jump up on the kitchen counter.Eek! Ooops, wrong move. Dealing with teenagers - been there. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 30

They say that cats are supposed to be smart. But I have to say I'm very disappointed with the boys stubborn refusal to learn English. We're talking very basic stuff here - particularly the word "No!" I use this often with them, hundreds of times in a day actually, and do they learn? No. This morning I was sitting on the stairs putting my shoes and socks on and Rufus suddenly attacked, jumping with full claws on my back. "No", I screamed. He looked at me with a complete lack of comprehension. I mean he didn't even reply with "Eek!" his normal answer to everything. His brother then dragged away my socks in the confusion.
Maybe this was a premeditated, highly organized attack? Rethinking the whole thing I'm coming to the conclusion that they are faking this lack of understanding. This means when I say" No" to sitting inside the vegetable crisper in the fridge," No" to licking my beer bottle and" No" to untying my shoelaces with their razor-sharp teeth while I'm still wearing the shoes - they're just ignoring me, the little, furry buggers. Steff says I should get a water pistol, but I'm thinking about a leftover sound cannon from the G20 summit - that would show them!xxxdad

kitten chronicles - part 30

I reached in to the fridge to grab a beer and as I turned back a kitten casually sauntered by me on top of the kitchen counter. He didn't even look pleased- like this was big stuff - I guess after a full weekend of no-holds barred climbing it's no big whoop. So ya, they can get up on everything. The boys are in their climbing phase and they are stellar climbers." The higher the better" seems to be their credo - tiny, furry Sir Edmund Hillarys who climb because its there. Of course this sometimes results in disaster. Last night during True Blood, Rufus had climbed up the plant stand and was perched in the diefenbackia plant when the first werewolf appeared on the TV set, this alarmed him so much he jumped to the top of the TV and knocked the plant, Grandy bowl and all, crashing to the floor. Big mess - plant now half its size! But does this in any way discourage the climbing? No. The climb must go on! And these kittens live to climb. Even Midnight Crazies pale in comparison to a good climb. I threw one to try to distract Rooney from knocking over the wooden salad bowl as he perched on top of the pine cupboard casually pawing at the strands of grass poking out of the ceramic purse hanging way up the wall. He looked at the bouncing ball from his lofty perch and uttered a dissmissive "EeK". Which meant, "Midnight Crazies, how last week!".xxxdad

the kitten chronicles - part 28

Midnight Crazies are more powerful than catnip to an active kitten. For new readers, Midnight Crazies are small plastic balls (about the size of a golf ball) with a jingle bell inside them. Cats use them to develop their "batting" skills. I know this because I read the package and "batting" skills are identified as important for cats. It allows them to do all sorts of things, the batting, I mean. Like wave at things that are passing them. Give a not-very-good high five. Hold up their paw when they need to leave the room. And of course, most importantly claw my ankle when I move my feet up to the ottoman. Anyway, I left a pack of 3 Midnight Crazies on the kitchen counter and went away for the weekend. When I returned Sunday afternoon, the kittens had a crazed look in their eye and the empty pack was on the floor - oh, so now they can get up on the kitchen counter!! They can even undo the pack -very clever. This is my third pack of Midnight Crazies. And still I can't find a single one in the house - they come 9 to a pack. That means throughout the house there are now 27 hidden plastic balls. But where?xxxdad

kitten chronicles - part 28

Instructions for the care and feeding of the boys during my absence: First, when you enter the house give a cheery greeting,"Boys!" Or something like that. This will signal to the lads that their new human scratching post has arrived.
Wait, lets go back a step. First, put hockey socks on on the porch before entering the house. Now, enter house and call out cheery greeting. I've left a package of Midnight Crazies on the kitchen counter if you need to distract them from running up your legs when you open the fridge to get a lemonade. Just throw the ball into the old kitchen this should buy you enough time to pour the lemonade and dab the blood off your legs with a dish towel. Please change the water. You'll notice floating bits in it -
this is because Rufus likes to wash his feet after he does his business - contaminating the drinking water for the rest of the day.
Reaction from his brother, "EeK!" Which in this case, means "yuck". Could you also sprinkle some food in the fish tank? You'll see it's in a clear plastic dish sitting on the shelf behind the tank. Make sure the tank is right against the wall or the boys will get behind there. Oh, and make sure the boys haven't already gotten behind there when you push it against the wall (see Kitten Chronicle - part 19," an inspiring tale of kitten heroism") One other warning, Roo-face is now an expert climber and could be
above you at any time and ready to pounce from the top of the piano or maybe a light fixture. Always look up. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 26

What kind of man writes a blog about kittens? Well, one who is remarkably comfortable with his masculinity. Tenderness for kittens is apt to raise a derisive snort among the young males around here. In fact, guys will walk pass my cubicle and catch the heading of this blog and assume it's some kind of dark satire. And they maybe right. On the other hand, mention to a female co-worker you have 2 very cute "Rescue" kittens and they will melt immediately (oh, and the boys definitely qualify as rescue kittens - they were in terrible danger of being stomped on by a horse - and if that isn't a rescue, well. I don't know what is...)
Yes, the boys are "chick magnets" of the highest order. Rooney with his flashing dark eyes promising bad boy danger and Rufus with his perky winning personality that wins him friends where ever he goes. They got it goin' on. And that's not just me saying it either - not a day goes by that people don't stop by my workstation and stare at the 2 huge framed portraits of the boys that grace my desk and shake their heads and mutter, "pathetic" under their breath. But sometimes they just coo, "CUUUUUUUTE"
Those are the moments I live for. xxxdad

the kitten chronicles - part quarter century

How to deal with a crazed kitten. First, you ask," what do you mean by "crazed"?" Well, it's relatively easy to tell when a kitten has reached this state. He has a slightly disoriented look gleaming in his eye -like he's having trouble focusing on what he's seeing.
"Are you the Big Cat? Or are you the new claw-sharpening apparatus I sent away for from the Sham Wow people?" A crazed kitten also has its mouth hanging open -"what sharp teeth you have, Little Furred Bite-inghood? All the better to bite you with." In this demented state a kitten will often already have its paw batting at you without waiting a decent interval to see whether you approve of getting slashed - say, when you're reading a newspaper. A crazed kitten is unresponsive to commands like, "No", "Down", and "Oh, my God don't claw me there!". And where you might normally give a rambunctious toddler a serious "time-out" to calm them down - you can't even pick up a crazed kitten to take it to its room - you'd lose your hand. Plus, the kitten doesn't have a room anyway. This is why there's no "Take Your Kitten to Work Day". Frankly, you'd need way more security than the G-20 to deal with a crazed kitten in an office setting shredding nylons at will and probably jamming the photocopier, as well. The thought of it is terrifying. xxx dad

kitten chronicles - part 25

Mayday! Mayday! The perimeter has been breached! All bets are off! The Huns are at the gate! Or at least the kittens. Came home last night and who casually hopped off the livingroom couch to greet me? The fur-faces! Yes, they got over the barricade and then spent the whole day in the livingroom. Luckily, not a thing was damaged. No curtains were shredded or carpets torn up. However, they did have to go the whole day without food, water and yikes! - a litter box. You see, once they got over the barricade, getting back to the rest of the house was quite another matter and they were trapped in the livingroom. Take that you two fur-brains. Yet, there were no accidents. Well trained these boys. There is no stopping them now, I fear. Last night to show off, Roo-face jumped from the piano stool to the piano and ever-so delicately padded around behind the pictures patting them gently with his paw as if to say" look what incredible damage I could do if I wanted!" And the Big Cat muttered, "you are this close to becoming a Rescue Kitten, mister." Naturally, he cooly replied, "Eek".

the kitten chronicles - part 24( I think, but I'm feverish..))

OK, I've checked the symptoms and I definitely have it. And frankly, it isn't that surprising to anyone who has witnessed the grisly sight that is my shins. I have Cat Scratch Fever. And yes, I too thought it was just a bad metal song by lunatic right-wing, gun enthusiast, Ted Nugent, that only made it to #30 on the charts in 1977 (done my research, too I have). But then I checked Web MD and it turns out to be a very real condition that affects 22,000 people in the U.S. every year. Symptoms include aches (check - especially my shins emit a dull throb that never subsides), discomfort (check - see previous reference to shins) and malaise (this explains why I can't summon the energy necessary to swat the fur-faced culprits away). Apparently the condition goes away by itself in time -though I am continually being re-infected. My only defense is the Midnight Crazy. Just like Pi used seasickness against Richard Parker and rocked the boat to keep him under control, I must endlessly toss a small plastic ball ( with a jingle bell inside ) to keep my small tormentors at bay. But given the malaise, I may soon be too weak to continue this. If you don't hear from me for more than 2 days it's because the kittens are now gnawing at my fleshy bits. xxxdad

kitten chronicles - part 23

Sam came home last night and the boys put on a show. First, she had to put on the prerequisite thick socks of the veteran Kitten Wrangler and then the show began. The lads started with a sparkling exhibition of their soccer skills racing around chasing the Midnight Crazy ball and performing bicycle kicks, feints and leaps- and all at breakneck speed. They stopped to catch their breath and bite her hands - fresh meat!(the Big Cat is old and sour tasting). Then they demonstrated their skills with their other toys like Birds of a Teather - very impressive! Climbing! And running up and down the stairs while battling!!! There's nothing like a new audience to infuse them with energy. They were in fact so excited we went out for ice cream to let them calm down. So they retaliated by knocking all my clean socks on the basement floor and chewing a Caribanna costume. Finally, at 11:15, the Big Cat decided to call it a night leaving Sam alone with 2 still very excited young cats. Did they ever settle down?xxxdad

kitten chronicles - part 22

"Boys, boys,crazy boys", I sing to the kittens and snap my fingers in homage to West Side Story. And crazy, fluff-headed boys they are. One is biting the other's neck as the other bites his neck - it's a battle to the death! How did I end up in an all male household? I know nothing of this. I've always prided myself on having girls. Much more intelligent and sensible! I remember taking Sam and Bee to the wading pool along with 2 Tinkler boys. As my girls calmly swam around, Matt and Sean hit each other over the head with plastic sand buckets. Boys, so primitive. Yet, here I am the Mayor of Boys Town. Last night they destroyed the
bathroom. They tore down the towels and senselessly battered the hanging string that rolls up and down the blinds, hurling their little feline bodies at the wall for an hour. Then, they TP-ed the washroom. An entire roll was intricately wound up and down all over the bathroom. Boys! What am I to do? Exhausted from all this chaos, the Big Cat fell asleep in the chair watching the final game of hockey of the year - until a kitten raced up the chair, perched on the top and began licking his leader's face gently waking him up. Boys.They've OK, I guess. xxxdad

kitten chronicles- part 20

The boys sense the growing excitement of the coming World Cup and are committed to training for it. And when you think about it, soccer is a natural sport for cats. For one thing they'd never get called for a "hand ball" - take that Maradona! - because they have no hands. Each day when I return home exhausted from a very taxing day of writing Blood Pressure Check brochure copy, I grab a pole and fish under the piano to retrieve some Midnight Crazies! For the uninitiated, they are small plastic balls with a jingle bell in them - when they roll they make noise - this makes kittens very excited. They bat them around and chase them at high speed. It's kitty soccer with a very high skill level. The boys are uncanny dribblers (and excellent droolers, too - you should see my shoes in the basement) and they perform a variety of moves any World Cup team would die for. They seem to have little sense of the rules, however. And no matter how much I scream at them and threaten them with a yellow card they still check each other viciously in a manner that would have them ejected from the game instantly.I'm hoping that when they see some actual soccer they will become better acquainted with the rules. You laugh - but Rooney now watches the TV. He sits attentively about a yard away looking up trying to make sense of it. Why is Sue Sylvester so cruel to the Glee kids?, he wonders. And then he gives up in despair and licks his hindquarters instead. He's very practical that way. xxx dad

kitten chronicles - part 20

The Big Cat gets asked a lot of questions about his small fur-faced companions - OK, mainly, "Do those scratches hurt?"But there are other questions. So here are some FAQ's about the boys and their multi-faceted lives. Question: What do they do all day? Answer: Lions sleep 19 hours a day on average. To which the boys say,"Pathetic!" They sleep 21 hours a day and would sleep longer if the Big Cat didn't come home from work and cruelly wake them. Question: What do they eat? Answer: Iams Kitten Chow. Ants, sow bugs, lady bugs and salt from the Big Cat's ankles. Oh, and shoelaces from sweat-encrusted tennis shoes. Question: How did they get their names? Answer: Rooney is named after Wayne Rooney, the foul-mouthed English striker who is very talented, but a bit of a lad. And Rufus is named after Chaka Khan's first band - you can't go wrong with Chaka Khan. Question: Do they ever say anything but," Eek"? Answer:" Eek" can mean many things in kitten-speak. Such as "Guard your nuppins, brother 'cause I'm going to gnaw on them!" Or it can mean "Rufus is standing in the water bowl again, Big Cat." Yesterday, Rufus came up with an entirely new sound that wasn't Eek! Remarkable.He was perched, dangling off the end of my foot high above his brother and he turned and coughed at him, like a lion, deep and throaty -for a kitten, anyways. Then he did it again to mock his brother - "I'm up here and you're not!" - he seemed to be crowing. Rooney found this completely ridiculous." You're not a lion", you could see him thinking in his tiny furry brain. And then he replied," Eek"- but really dismissively. But I guess you had to be there. xxxdad

kitten chronicles - part 19

Blogspot is all blogged out this morning - but the chronicles must go on! This can be transferred later to it's proper home. So yesterday, I walk out onto the tennis court in my 70's style Jerry West NBA shorts and Ravi says, "Oh my God, what happened to your legs?" I'd quite forgotten that I am now hideously deformed thanks to my small house guests. "Kittens". I replied. "More like wolverines", he observed. Then he said something that made me think, something along the lines of "Oh, you're becoming a parent again..." Interesting. Never thought of it that way. Does this mean I'll be combing the streets of Leaside at 3 in the morning on Saturday nights searching desperately for Rufus, like I did with Samantha? Or pulling Rooney out of the Wally for drinking under age like I did with Stephanie? And what of my rather lenient style of parenting, could this be a chance to try a new stricter tact? Maybe this time impose curfews and have a schedule for washing dishes and cutting the lawn. One look at my heavily scabbed shins suggested to Ravi that I was a pretty piss poor disciplinarian. Can a Big Cat change his spots? Not bloody likely. Meet you at the Wally for a pint, Rooney, oh and tell Roo-face he's buying. xxx dad

Cute, lovable companions? Or furry freeloaders? This is the topic of today's chronicle. It was prompted by my discovery this morning of a scene looking suspiciously like a typical teenager's room. Socks and underwear were strewn everywhere on the floor and laundry was deposited in every corner. Worst of all, the Minotaur mask had been chewed on, and it's basket- stand trashed. The boys had done a number on the basement. And those socks? They were my clean ones. Errrrrr! Time for the freeloaders to earn their keep. And I've got a few really good ideas on that subject. First - jean disstressers. They are already very skilled at this and with time and training they could learn to artfully create rips and maybe even chew the jeans to make them soft and worn just like Jesus Seven and other $400 jeans sold in Yorkville. Second - piercing! They're also supremely talented at this- as my scarred legs attest. I would of course supervise until they got good." Rufus, this girl would like a nose pierce" Eek. Much screaming from the girl. Oh, sorry he missed! Maybe I could let them practice on less sensitive areas like the belly button until they got accurate with those little razors they wield. Anyway, I definitely wouldn't let them do any of the delicate below the groin work for at least a year. Eek! Ooops, now you're circumcised!

sebenteen

I was just trying to heat up my Swedish meatballs last night, when they attacked from both sides. Putting down the red-hot plate, I gingerly dislodged a frenzied kitten off each thigh and deposited them on the floor. "Go eat your.......kitten chow!", I cursed. But suddenly this struck me as completely hilarious - particularly the word "chow". I mean how ridiculous. No one has used the word "chow" since the 40's or 50's and somehow it has become associated with pet food. I laughed to myself. The boys looked at me blankly, their little, flat, furry faces contorted in puzzlement." Eek", said Rufus plaintively Then, I remembered Purina Cat Chow...chow, chow,chow with cats doing the cha cha. That was even funnier! And all because some copywriter liked the alliteration of the words "cat" and "chow". Now kittens can have "chow", too. What a wonderful world we live in! And what about Tender Vittles??!! (created by my mentor, Paul Break) Vittles are something favoured by the likes of Cleetus the Slack-jawed Yokel and often involve bits of raccoon roadkill...Naturally visiting the museum of advertising history that is my mind these days I was easy prey for the next sneak attack. The boys got Swedish Meatballs for dinner after the plate hit the floor. Chow chow chow...indeed.

Sweet sixteen

This post goes out to somebody having your back. It's important in the human world and for my furry companions. Last night, it was "closing time" at Chez Big Cat. The Blue Jays had lost in horrible fashion and it was time to slink off to bed. So I went through my nightly ritual. Lock the door. Shut off lights. And turn off the light in the jukebox above the fish tank. This done, I started to head upstairs to bed. I was stopped by an incessant and plaintive Eeeking. OK, what is it now?, I thought to myself wearily. I followed the Eeeking. And there sat Rooney, by the fishtank, continuing to Eeek! Where's Roo-face?, I asked him. I called his name and looked around the various rooms - no Rufus. Rooney stayed by the fishtank. Finally, after not spotting Rufus anywhere I moved the fishtank/jukebox back out from the wall- and an embarrassed Rufus climbed out of the back of the jukebox.
Somehow he had scooted behind the fishtank as I turned out the light and moved it against the wall - geez these boys are lightening fast! But to the point - Rooney had rescued his brother by calling me. Amazing! I am now considering leaving the bedroom door open at night so if a Crystal Meth Tweaker breaks into the house the boys can warn me -Eek! But I'd probably hear the screams of the Meth-head when the boys ran up his jeans - so the door stays closed for now. And Rooney gets the kitty medal of valor.

kitten chronicles part 15

Curiosity killed the cat. Or so the saying goes. In the case of my two young charges curiosity motivates the cat. Today I was downstairs in the basement happily ironing my shirt for work and who proudly strolls into the room head held high? Rufus. He was practically beaming with pride. How did you get down here?, I demanded. Well, Sam and I couldn't help noticing that he's getting bigger and stronger than his black and white brother. We were right. Now he can jump over the formcore poster of Bill Lambeer (the famous 7 foot centre for the Detroit Pistons known for blocking shots - but apparently not kittens). I knew this day would come. Then to compound matters when I got upstairs, somehow Rooney, not to be outdone by his brother had gotten into the livingroom. The Horror! The Horror! I think it's because he's fast and somehow scurried past me when I was dealing with the Enbridge Service guy who was working on the AC this morning. He too was proud. he'd already knocked over the Rolling Stone magazines from the coffee table and the cushions on the couch. What fun! So what was the flummoxed Big Cat to do now that he's been outsmarted? Sigh. I took down the barier to the basement - still hoping I could keep them out of the livingroom. As I left for work two very excited kittens proudly ventured down the basement stairs. I'm verklempt!