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