Personalites Have Emerged and the Kittens Have Grown!

Charlie on his TV tray for breakfast

Cinder relaxing

Chester being cute

We've had our kittens for about a year now.  And they've grown into monsters. Not just metaphorically, but literally.  They all weigh around 11 to 14 pounds and when they race through the house it sounds like a herd of horses. 

Their personalities have come out in force as well.  Charlie is a clown.  He loves playing with springs and talks up a storm when it's time to do so. And he has to have his own TV tray when we eat.  Chester is a ringleader when it comes to mischief.  He's always into something and then acts like he did nothing. In fact, if he's in trouble, he'll run to you, meow and then roll on his back to look cute.  It's hard to punish him then. And Cinder has become quite the speedy demon despite her robust shape.  She's quick to play, but doesn't have a grasp of what "keeping her claws retracted" means.  But, being the only female, she does keep the boys in check.

At night, they have a routine which we are obligated to obey. It's called Movie Time.  We go to bed, they gather on the bed and we all watch a movie or the news.  If we don't follow this routine, they meow and get mischievous because it messed up their evening.  And Charlie always has to eat some of the popcorn.  It's his bedtime snack. Once the movie ends, then it's time to shoot a spring down the hall for them to go play with and then we can close the door and go to bed.  That's how every night goes.  And we don't dare change this quotidian custom!

Overall, they're a fun group of fuzzballs and quite the intelligent pack. It would be hard to live without them now that they've grown attached to us like barnacles to a ship.

Carpet Cuisine

Dinner is over. I have some scraps of chicken and steak left. So, being the nice guy I am I decide to share the scraps with the cats. I drop them in their dish for them to munch on at their leisure. I go about cleaning up the kitchen after dinner.

Within a few seconds, the cats heightened sense of smell quickly draws them to the food bowl like a tractor beam on an alien spacecraft.  Pulled relentlessly to the food bowl, the cats stop, staring at these meaty morsels of goodness.  Their noses waggle as their olfactory meters check out the newest snack.

Seems tasty.  Smells good.  Easy to eat.  All those thoughts race through their minds as their tiny mouths reach for a snack. And then the unbelievable happens.  They pick up the meat, wander away from the food dish, look for some carpet and drop their meat cube there to eat.  As I glance over and see this happen, I quickly retrieve the food and put it back in the dish. I tell them that is not the place to eat their greasy food.  They look at me with questioning eyes, glance at the bowl and back at me and then they pick up the meat and drop it back on the carpet.  Why?!

After another retrieval and placement of the food into the appropriate dish, the cats begrudgingly eat their meat.  They're not the happiest campers, if ever a cat would enjoy camping, but they eat it anyway.  And when they finish there's no "thanks" or acknowledgment of my kindness in their behalf.

So, I begin to wonder. What is it with carpets and food? Do the cats feel that adding carpet fiber to their meal enhances the flavor?  Is this their feline version of seasoning? Do they view it as a giant place-mat? Is it a fuzzy food dish?  I just don't know.  If there were no carpets in the house, would they carry the meat around in their mouths for minutes, hours, days or months searching for that one lone piece of carpeting upon which to lay their food?

It's similar with vomiting.  Why is it that when they get sick or have a hairball that needs expelled they always run to the carpet?  They could be standing on acres of hard flooring and yet if they felt the urge to hurl they'd hold it and run pell-mell as fast as possible to the nearest carpet upon which to discharge their internal refuse.

Cats have their own rules and ways of living.  I wonder what it would be like if I could crawl inside their brain and think like they do and see things the way they see.  I'd probably end up pouring my food on the carpet and eating dinner.

On the Verge of Death

Right around 5:30 p.m. every day, our cats almost die.  That's when I come home from work and feed them.  But for them, waiting those extra few minutes for me to put things down, take off my coat and settle in seems like an eternity.

Running to the back door, the cats immediately start meowing, standing on their back feet trying to unlock the door with hands they don't have and feigning their demise if not fed within the next few seconds.  With forlorn eyes they stare at me and meow pitifully echoing feelings of emaciation and imminent death if their food bowl isn't filled with delicious food NOW!

Their meows carry the message of being on the verge of death if thou (me) dost not fill their bodies with nutrition sooner rather than later.  To wait to eat another second is a crime against felinity.  My name will become hated and despised on cat TV across the nation as one who cares little for the lives of fuzzy creatures in that I make them wait far too long to eat their evening meals. Should I wait another second or two, they would persuade me to believe their bodies will keel over, furry mounds of death dotting my floor and they'd expect me to live in misery the rest of my life knowing I allowed them to die within one minute of my arrival home.

The scratching continues, the meowing escalates to a crescendo, the eyes widen in sheer terror of possible death due to malnutrition and dehydration, so at 5:30:30 p.m. I drop everything, open a can of cat food, set it outside and watch as the human-like creatures begin eating without any hint of concern over the anxiety and guilt they've bestowed on me.  They look up from their bowls through the back window and glance at me as if to say, "what do you want? We're eating."

Huddlefuzz, Spud and Pumpkin

You might remember the account in the Bible of the three Hebrew boys who were thrown into a fiery furnace for refusing to bow down to a pagan idol.  Well, did you know that they all had two names?

The boys Hebrew names were Hananiah, Mishael and Azariah.  The Babylonian chief court official, Ashpenaz, by order of King Nebuchadnezzar, then changed the boys names to Babylonian names. They were then known most commonly as Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego.

So, why bring this up?  What's it got to do with cats?  Well, it seems pretty common that in most households, animals may have a given name but based on their antics and behavior they often receive silly names or "pet" names as well.  Thus, the account of the three Hebrew boys got me thinking.

We have three cats named Baby, Piggy and Sassy.  Baby is really a baby in the sense that he feels he should be treated and coddled as if he deserved everything.  He's needy.

Piggy was named for his curled tail which resembled a pig when he was little. He's very loving, protective and adventurous.

Sassy is the only girl.  She's calico and when she was born she gave early indication that she would be in charge, be first and everyone would do as she said. Thus her name because of her sassy attitude.

Over the years that we've had them, they have all received other silly names.  So, while we were sitting playing cards the other day, new names popped into our heads based on their current activity.

Baby was outside in the cold looking in the window.  He was huddled tight trying to stay warm when the name Huddlefuzz popped into my head.  Then we saw Piggy laying in front of the fireplace. We laughed and said if he was named potato we could call him a baked potato.  And then the name Spud came to life.  And over the last year, Sassy has gotten bigger and lazier.  Being a calico, she has the coloring's of a pumpkin.  Thus, the new name Pumpkin became reality because she really is rounder than she used to be.

As any animal lover knows, pets can have multiple names that they answer to and that we know them by.  Years ago a so called "expert" said animals did not comprehend their names.  How untrue that is! Our cats know all their names and whether one person calls them one thing and another calls them something else, they know who they are and come running when called, most of the time!

The Cathouse

Well, it's happened.  My wife, the cat lover, couldn't stand the fact that the cats had nowhere to sleep or rest outside in a protected area, especially if we were gone and it was windy or raining.  So, we bought this dog/cat house. Did they like it?  

The first few days they sniffed it, walked around it and ignored it, as cats do.  But as the days went by and they realized this new "thing" wasn't going to move, attack them or leave, they decided it might be okay to venture inside.  So they did.

Since we also put a nice cushy pad inside the house, they've now decided laying in there is cool. And, of course, it's now become a race to see who gets inside first.  Although there's plenty of room for all three of them to use it, only one at a time goes inside and blocks usage from the other two.  In fact, two of the three use it quite often.  The third cat, Piggy, has decided that it's quite the cool structure to be used, not inside, but on top. When the sun shines or the weather is dry, the roof of the cat house is his lookout point, sun-bathing arena, pop the other cats on the head as they walk by platform. 

All-in-all, it has grown on them, not literally of course because then it would crush them, but figuratively.  When the wind is howling or the rains are blowing, if the spoiled little fuzzes happen to be outside, most likely you'll find one of them inside the cat house peeking out the door watching the world go by and waiting to come inside the biggest of all cat houses, our home, which for some reason they seem to think is theirs!  We're just glad they like the little house which we purchased, at the behest of my wife, just for them.  

Selfish little things!  These entitled little beings better be thankful.  Right!

Feline Freeway

I sit quietly on my couch.  The sunshine is blazing outside.  The back slider is open, the door into the garage is open and the large garage door yawns open allowing the outside air to blow through the house.  Relaxing, a cool gust of air wafts through the living room and the sounds of birds chirping outside fills my ears.  These peaceful events are suddenly shattered by the sound of huge elephants with super-padded feet roaring through the house.  The galloping sounds of several of these beasts comes and goes as the Doppler Effect is manifest for a split second.  By the time I turn around to see what the commotion is all about the house is quiet, the birds chirp and a breeze drifts over my body.

I relax once again, resting my body and enjoying the evening breeze.  Within seconds the crescendo of a herd of elephants roars into being and is almost instantly gone.  I turn, but not quick enough to see what the commotion is all about.  I suspect, but have no proof.  As I once more let my muscles relax into a pool of ooze, it quickly solidifies like quick drying glue as the sound of Africa echoes off the walls. Turning quickly, I catch a glimpse of white fur disappearing out the back door.  I also notice a sudden pain in my neck where a muscle appears to have been pulled when I whipped my head around so quickly.

Trying to slowly turn my head back around while massaging my neck, the sounds of monstrous soft padded feet comes out of nowhere.  Since I haven't turned my head fully back into place yet, I am able to witness the fuzzy event.  Three of my cats have turned the house into a raceway.  Coming in the back door, going through the house and out the garage, they encircle the house to re-enter the back door again. Fur floats lazily in the rays of sunshine as the cats weight decreases with each pass through the house and their coats of fuzz diminish atom by atom, hair by hair.

I shake my head and have to chuckle at the cats ability to turn something simple into a great game of cat and cat.  Massaging my neck muscles, I slowly turn my head back to its created position.  A few more passes of feline freeway fills my ears before I hear a soft thud as two cats collide with the wall. The third has made the slight bend through the laundry room and out the garage door while the other two quickly regain their balance and re-enter the racetrack of fun.  I laugh, but only for a second.  A pain shoots up my neck.  I need to get a heat pack to fix what these mischievous felines have caused me by their cat antics.