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