Notice of interruption

The Kitten Chronicles will be on hiatus for the next 17 days while the Big Cat combs New Zealand for a good home for two very destructive fur-brains. The Chronicles will return March 9th.

the kitten chronicles - part 164

When you spend endless hours in the same tiny jail cell anything new tends to leap right out at you. Not that the Casa Big Cat is a cell, mind you, but the boys know this world intimately. So when I brought in the beautiful long-stemmed single rose that arrived for my birthday the boys spotted in the vase on the hutch right away. They immediately jumped up for closer inspection. I've seen this before so I tried to think of where I could put the rose that it wouldn't be chewed or knocked over. The bedroom, I thought, perfect. So I took the delicate rose upstairs to the bedroom thinking I had outsmarted the fur-brains at last. Then, I heard a crash
of breaking glass. The boys had taken advantage of my absence in the room to knock over my water glass, Aye carrumba!!!
It's like living with evil elves. Or maybe an vindictive polterguist. Except furry and purring when they do something bad. I fear for
the house during my absence in New Zealand there is still so much left to break. Sigh... xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 163

Cats continue to dominate the news. Yesterday the dispatches were full of "Larry the cat", the new addition to 10 Downing Street.
He's been brought in to deal with the rat infestation in the PM's official residence. Naturally, the boys are terrifically interested in
any cat-related stories. Rufus beamed (in a cat-like way) when I read to him how" Larry the cat" got his post. Apparently he showed skills playing with mouse toys in the Humane Shelter. Damn, Rooney could have easily got the job, then. He's a furry zen master of juggling a fake mouse. He tosses them in the air, batting them effortlessly with his paws at lightning speed. Pity the poor Wedgewood collection, though. And any bone-china figurines, as well. Rooney would dispose of them. This would greatly amuse the PM's two young children - his wife, maybe not so much. One other problem. Rooney still doesn't even understand Canadian English - it baffles him. He tips his head at me when I give him simple instructions( like being on an angle will help him understand better?). Imagine if he had to deal with all that confusing English slang like "cuppa", "boot", "lory" and "lift". His furry head would be tipping back and forth so much he'd seriously injure his neck. And then he would have to wear a collar. He famously doesn't do well with clothing (the humiliating "cape" drove him bonkers). So Rufus and I will have to put up with him a
while longer. No going across the pond for him. Although, all that water! Wow! He'd love that. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 162

Yesterday I read a story about a cat burglar in California who is actually a cat. At night he roams the neighborhood and steals stuff from people's houses. He's taken shoes, clothing -basically anything he can carry in his mouth and drags it back to his house. Rooney was impressed. This cat was an overachiever. Rooney so far has only taken my pens (very difficult to do work as a writer when your pen is missing) glue sticks, anything he can knock off the dining room table. This unfortunately includes his eye cream from the kindly cat doctor. I brought the cream home from the vet with every intention of putting it in Rooney's eye twice a day starting that next morning. Rooney scuppered that plan by making off with the tube during the night. "No Big Cat, you're not smearing that in my eye." The cat burglar cat displays his trophies proudly for his owners. My fur-brain hides everything. Luckily, these missing objects can often be found under the buffet, the couch and the piano - possibly under the stove, too. But I haven't moved it yet. I'll be that's where he's stashed the eye cream. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 162

The boys love water this has been much discussed in previous entries. It fascinates them. Water from a tap, any tap is completely magical and never loses its appeal for them. Water in a bowl is a non-starter. They never drink the water I put in their gleaming stainless steel water bowl. And why would they when you can leap up into the kitchen sink and have all the cool fresh water you can drink right out of a tap? Sometimes they put their paws into the flowing stream and lick the water off the paws .Delicious! And only tastes just slightly of paw. But today I saw something that disturbed me. The fur-faces had moved the laundry basket (not that heavy, I'd just done the laundry) and pried the cover off the drain. A couple of months ago I wrote about how I discovered a bunch of their toys down the floor drain. I thought it was just an accident they had landed down there. But now I think it's a carefully crafted plan by the fur- brains to flood the basement. Damn, if they weren't shoving more toys down the drain. Deliberately. Eventually water will come up (they can see it down there) and voila - they'll have all the water they ever dreamed about right there on the floor. What they don't know, just being tiny-brained cats who can't possibly compete with the massive intellect of their leader, the Big Cat, is I plan to vastly increase the laundry in the basket so they won't be able to move it off the drain cover. I may even change my shirt 6 times a day like Bobby Kennedy is said to have done. That will show them. The Big Cat is clever. He's also clean smelling. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 160

I was typing in hitbyatrain the other day (the Old 97's website) and Google offered me some very interesting suggestions as it tried to guess what I was typing. One of them was" Cats who look like Hitler". Strange, I thought. Better go and check to see if Rooney is posted on the site. Luckily, no sign of my furface - but many disturbing felines with a bizarre arrangement of fur mustaches and combed bangs. They call them "Kitlers". I've decided Rooney looks more like Dizzy Gillespie with his soul patch. Still, when I was watching the Grammys last night and Muse came on with their song that sounds like the Chi national anthem ("they cannot control
us....we will be victorious" go the lyrics) the boys began march around the living room in circles. And I thought I detected a little bit of goosestep in Rooney's march. Particularly when the Muse lads sang the lyric about turfing the "fat cats" - he also glared at me during this part. Are they planning to overthrow the Big Cat? I wouldn't put it past them. But then who would run the can opener for them? Bet they haven't thought about that! Typically shortsighted these Chairmen Meows. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 158

"Is your house completely destroyed yet?", someone asked recently. Well, thanks for asking. I have to admit the firestorm of destruction that is living with 2 teenage male cats has slowed to a crawl. Yes, all the furniture in the house now looks weirdly like mohair with a fine winter coat of cat fur. And the carpets have been very efficiently shredded. So far so good. Pottery destruction has fallen dramatically (fallen dramatically, that's a good one!). Possibly because the fur-faces have broken pretty much anything not anchored down. Rooney still tests whether he can push an unsuspecting vase over with his paw. Picture smashing has been steady if unspectacular this month. Litter spreading is a growth industry, however. The boys are proud that you can find a few
grains of their eco-friendly corn-cob litter in every corner of the house - including, sadly the inside of my bed. The horror! The horror! Phone destruction is down but mainly because the goal has been achieved. Casa Big Cat now has only one working phone.
The boys have chewed through the cords on every phone- except the wall-mounted kitchen phone and they're working on a circus act where Rooney stands on the shoulders of Rufus so they can take out the last thing the Big Cat can use to call for help. Hello?...911?... cats are destroying my............static. Dial tone... xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 157

The classic deep male voice is a scary thing to young children. And apparently to cats. So like most cat owners I employ a higher sing-song register when communicating with my charges. They seem to like this. Occasionally I forget and go all basso profundo on them. If I have been "overserved" the night before a deep croaky "Good Morning Gentlemen" might greet the cats as I teeter downstairs. This seems to alarm them. Is the Big Cat suffering from Demonic possession? So I sing to them in falsetto and inquire if they're enjoying their dinner in the voice of a 6 year old girl. They find this extremely pleasant and purr. This morning however I could not be restrained. I was going to pick up the paper and as I rounded the corner I saw the palm tree knocked over, dirt spilled everywhere on the white carpet and the wrong tone just came out. "Who is responsible for this?", I roared in a very deep voice. When the boys hear this they instinctively flatten themselves on the floor like two furry pancakes to make their cat bodies as small as possible, so hopefully I don't notice them. Then they run. So I never did get an answer to my question. I should have used the high voice.
xxx dad

the kitten chronicles = part 157

Talking to your cats is OK. When it gets bad is when you begin to think you understand the cat language and think they're having
a conversation with you. At least that's the thin line of sanity I'm determined to preserve in Casa Big Cat. And right now, there's
no inkling at all of any comprehension of all the meowing going on at my place. The boys call each other (at least that's what I
think they're doing in some rudimentary sense) but I have yet to decipher it. No Margaret Mead in Casa Big Cat. When I imitate
the yowling the lads just give me dirty looks. And sometimes destroy a piece of pottery. I do need to get them to come to my call occasionally - like when I have to lock them up in your mother's study (AKA the kitty cooler) when Gorette comes over to clean. And they completely ignore conventional stuff like "Here kitty kitty." "What the hell does he want? So demanding that pathetic Big Cat."Then I yowl. Quite badly actually. And I'm sure it means nothing in cat. But it works. The boys obediently trot upstairs to investigate who or what is foully mangling their language. And possibly to inflict severe punishment on the perpetrator. Then before they can find a pot or a clay platter to reduce to shards, I quickly shut the door on them. Ha, the wily Big Cat has triumphed
again. Frankly. actually learning a second language is overrated. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 156

I enter the house singing. "What's new pussycats whoa oh whoa oh whoa!" And the boys don't seem to be at all irritated by my
Tom Jones .Rooney rolls around on the mat by my feet and Rufus rubs up against my snow filled pant cuffs. The Big Cat is home!
All is right with the world. Who cares if he mocks us with his singing? We will soon be gorging ourselves on delicious tuna pate with gravy. This sounds awful but the boys love it. They are freaks for soft food from a can and the soft-hearted leader is giving it to them more often .It makes them happy so why not? The forecasted weight gain by the kindly vet has not occurred. The boys stay lean and muscular with their incessant high speed chases. With the odd break for when one fur-face gets trapped in a room behind a closed door. Not surprisingly, the trapped one is always Rooney. He runs upstairs goes in a bedroom and leans on the door 'til it closes. Then he can't get out. Rufus must stand outside and mew for help from the Big Cat to free his clueless brother.
So far Rooney has succeeded in trapping himself in the office, my bedroom and the upstairs bathroom. Maybe this is a clever way the boys can exercise their leader by making him climb stairs. Stop watching "The Policewomen of Houston" and start climbing Big Cat! Good thinking, lads. I'll give you soft food as your reward! xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 155

Rooney has turned the tables on the Big Cat. He is now training me. Very clever, this cat. He doesn't want to sit in my lap and get patted like his brother. If I pick him up and put him there he jumps off soon after. But he needs affection. So he has set up patting stations throughout the Casa Big Cat. For example, in the morning I sit on the wooden stool in the foyer to put on my winter boots. As soon as I do this Rooney quickly jumps up on the ledge where the mail is and rolls around to get patted. If I'm working at the table writing headlines he jumps into the Betty bowl and rolls around to get patted. At first I thought I was training him but it's pretty clear this isn't the case. He's in total control. He maintains his fierce sense of independence and still gets all the love he needs. My training is coming along nicely - just ask him. He's now working on getting me to pat him when he's in the kitchen sink - where Bee thinks I should be spraying him with water to stop him from jumping up on the kitchen counter. And like a big sucker I go ahead and pat him in the sink. What the heck. He's a very happy well-adjusted feline who often purrs just lying there on the floor in front of the hot air vent. He's probably thinking about how he's got me wrapped around his little finger -or make that paw. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 154

King of the Hill is currently very popular at Casa Big Cat. Not the Beavis and Buthead animated spin-off, the" who can get the highest?" game for house bragging rights. Rufus began this morning by perching ever-so delicately on top of the ironing board (while still folded and leaning up against the wall. Rooney countered by assuming a position on top of the leather chair (didn't really look too comfortable - but hey, this game isn't about comfort, it's about reaching for the sky.) Rufus then leaped to the top of the piano in retaliation (it's like the freakin' arms race at my house these days!) So Rooney leaped on the kitchen counter and knocked over the vase holding the chopsticks - smashing it on the floor. Basically this was conceding he couldn't get as high up as Rufus so what about a little meaningless destruction instead? Always a popular choice with the fur-faces. Frankly I could see the next couple of moves like a Grandmaster of Chess - Rufus climbs into the ceiling tile and Rooney knocks over the television. I fooled them both by going to work. Without an audience the game isn't nearly as fun. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 153

From what I understand UFC is very popular with the younger demographic. What they find appealing about it is the no-holds barred aspect of the fighting. Go ahead do your worst and winner take all. These people should see the boys go at it. George Saint Pierre has nothing on the lads. For one thing biting is perfectly legal in a fight between the two fur faces. So is scratching. And kicking the other guy in the nuppins (or where the nuppins formerly were located in this case) If you like your fights savage and as unencumbered by needless rules as possible by all means come to Casa Big Cat one night and see the boys go at it. The fury, the speed and the intensity are unrivaled and very entertaining (unless a flying cat knocks over your beer in which case it is very annoying.) There are still a few rules in cat fighting. 1) No fighting when a cat is trying to eat. 2) No fighting when a cat is trying to lick itself (cleanliness is sacrosanct to the boys). And lastly, no fighting when Rufus doesn't feel like horsing around. He's very strict about this. And he has to be or his brother would fight continually every minute of the day. If Rooney attacks when Rufus isn't in the mood there is hell to pay. Rufus exacts punishment that is terrifying for his brother to bear. After this is over. They both lick themselves to settle down and all is forgiven. And so when you hear people talk about a "cat fight" you now know what they're going on about. And yes, fur does literally fly. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 152

Wake up Big Cat! It's Snowmaggedon! The boys were very excited this morning and wisely started scratching at the bedroom door at 6:30. Plenty of time for their leader to shovel snow before going to work. Still for all their hysteria there wasn't much snow.
Boys you should have let the Ol' Big Cat sleep. The fur-faces are also rev'd up about the coming Super Bowl. Rooney is growing his fur in a gigantic 'fro in tribute to the Steeler's fearsome Troy Polomolu. Rufus is convinced he looks like the Pack's Clay Matthews.
They are practicing their tackling at high speed. And both Super Bowl teams would be impressed. The boys leap in the air and crash into each other, often biting. Of course,in the NFL biting is not allowed. Also hard to do when you have a helmet on. Helmets are for wimps, Big Cat. We are tough. We need no freakin' pads. We can leap twice our own body length. Try that Hines Ward! Then they snicker thinking about Hines Ward trying to attempt this. To demonstrate their skills they then leap over my bass in the living room like it's a set or tires and they're doing an agility drill. Careful boys, damage that instrument and you'll find yourself outside in Snowmaggedon. Hope you can see the Super Bowl on the TV from there. xxx dad

the kitten chronicles - part 151

Winter boredom is a killer. And how do you combat it? If you're a cat stuck inside a house in East York day after day you may resort to wanton destruction. Actually "may" is too mild. Destruction is your mainstay in the fight against boredom. Looking for something to do? Quick knock a picture off the piano. Remove the leaves from a plant. T.P. every room in the house - it's fun!!!
So it was with satisfaction that I viewed the return of an old favourite game last night. It's called' kitten in a blanket' and it involves no destruction - imagine my relief. Here's how it works. One cat crawls up under the blanket over the couch in the TV room. He twitches provocatively. The other fur-face notices this twitching. What is it? Something's moving under the blanket! The cat on top then "tries to establish the identity of what's twitching". This involves biting the twitching lump through the blanket. And pouncing on it. Which of course results in even more frantic twitching from under the blanket. Eventually the twitching lump twitches so much it falls off the couch and onto the floor. And look! It was Rooney after all! What a surprise! The regular chasing resumes.
Nothing gets broken. The Big Cat smiles. He is pleased. xxx dad