I am just me.

I’m a little like other cats

but mostly, I am just

Me.

]]> http://janebretl.com/2011/09/22/a-little-like-other-cats/feed/ 4 janebretl cowboy yawn sleepyhead http://janebretl.com/2010/12/28/this-kind-of-happy/ http://janebretl.com/2010/12/28/this-kind-of-happy/#comments Tue, 28 Dec 2010 14:49:13 +0000 Jane Bretl http://janebretl.com/?p=2449 ]]> I hope your holidays are filled with sweet surprises around every corner.

~~~~~~

But not too many sweet surprises — just enough.  (Too much of a good thing can leave you a little meepish.)

~~~~~

Wishing you this kind of happy in the new year.

How they still wedge themselves into the bed they shared as kittens, I don’t know.  Sometimes the combined weight will cause the cat bed to careen off the edge of the Kitty Condo Tower, sending Meep’s pear-shaped butt hurtling through the air in a desperate attempt to land on her feet.  She needs the tower to be a few feet taller to master that manuever.

Because as kittens are apt to do, they turned into Cats.

This cat formerly known as Mia — the perfect cat name I had chosen 21 years ago much the way a young girl would pick her favorite baby name — this cat has turned out to be not a Mia at all, much the way the name I dreamed of for my some-day daughter would be vetoed by my husband as the name of the girl in the back of class that ate paste.  Mia just didn’t fit right.  She was soon renamed Meep, in reference to the little squeaky peep she emits instead of a common meow.  Of course from there, it was a slippery slope to Queen Meepersly Squeakersworth.  (*Meep* )

In an unfortunate series of events, and without the use of performance-enhancing kitty treats or Ben & Jerry’s Mouse Tracks, she has morphed into a cat of Rubenesque proportions, a look that is difficult for a cat, or the rest of us for that matter, to pull off without ridicule.  Yet another visit to the Vet confirmed that cats do come in all different shapes and sizes, like the rest of us for that matter, and, while unfortunate, her shape is within the scope of normal.

*

Cowboy, on the other hand, is a long, tall glass of water.  He got to keep his name, because it fits him.

*

He has Ten Gallon ears.

*

So, by contrast?  When Meep stands next to him?  She looks like she has a tiny head and is wearing a furry hoop skirt.

Poor Little Bo Meep.  Maybe kicking back will tone her abs?

The cats have gradually come out of hiding, casting furtive glances around the room, listening carefully for the boys that had just recently been jumping out of the woodwork with Nerf “guns”.  I was repeatedly assured that no one was aiming at the cats, however I can speak from experience that the sensation of nerf darts whizzing past one’s ears is disconcerting at best.  I can only imagine how much it freaks out a cat.  Especially Meep, who is not quite sure how she feels about her own shadow.

I am thankful that these crazy kids are still very entertained and amused by spongey ammunition, truly one of the simpler pleasures of life.  And for some reason, they argue less when they are shooting each other.  I don’t care that the basement is redecorated in Early Pillow Fort Bunker.  Technology is great, but you just can’t run around the house and leap out from behind couches to ambush someone while brandishing a cell phone.

Anyway, the cats have cautiously ventured out and are settling back into naps on the now-quiet boys’ beds.

The dog is wearing a look somewhere between boredom and relief.

I have much more uninterrupted writing time.

The Fabulous Bicker Brothers, exit stage left, boarding the bus.  A  new year has begun.  And yep, you guessed it, I miss them.

Do not let the cat sit on a ball of Silly Putty.

Since she was a rescue puppy, we don’t know the actual date of her birth.  But, like most things in life, it works just as well if we just pick a day and stick with it.  So this is the dog’s special day.  Because every day isn’t a dog’s special day…. wait a minute, why are we doing this again?

Oh yeah, because we love that dog.

In years past, I baked her special doggie birthday muffins with bacon.  It turns out there is a medication for that.  I do not plan to bake her anything this year.

The muffin recipe idea came from an actual cookbook.  I think I paid money for that book, although the purchase would have been in the name of my cookbook collection, not with plans for extensive usage.  I did make a few things, back when I was in the first-dog-honeymoon phase.  Then some of the recipes called for beef liver liquified in a blender, but I just couldn’t go there.   Just as a note:  although there are many main dish options in this cookbook — ‘Gobble Down Goulash’ and ‘Pawsitively Pleasing Pasta’, for example –  there is no Kitten Pot Pie, which I expect, if given a menu she could read,  is the very entrée Kenzie would choose.

But who am I to suppose such a conclusion?  Let’s let her tell us what she really wants.

*

My Perfect Day

by The Dog

Sleep on (or in) the master bed with Big D, my head on Jane’s pillow.

Wake up to the aroma of the kids’ breakfast cooking downstairs — time to check out what the Little One dropped so far.

Do yoga stretches:  down dogggggggg, uuuuuuuuup dog…  ahhhh.  Roll over for belly rubs from Big D.

Wander downstairs to find that the basement door that normally seals me off from the cats’ food bowls?? It is inexplicably left wide open.  Whoa.

Finish all cat food in bowls, and all surrounding schnibblets on the floor.  Consider the treats kept in the box of litter (crunchy on the outside, chewy in the middle… ) but reconsider when I hear Jane making coffee.  She might drop some beans.  L-O-V-E coffee beans.

After a quick drink out of the toilet to wash it down (refreshing!), I go to the back door and scratch to be let out.

Run around maniacally in the back yard, chasing all birds and squirrels off of the bird feeders.  Hey — if this is my dream day?  I actually catch one for the first time.

Tastes like chicken.

Do my ‘business’ in Jane’s flower bed, then scratch my claws into the mud in that illogical dog behavior that looks like I am trying to cover it up but I never do.  The mud feels good on my paws.  Hmmmm, what smells so GOOD out here today?

Scout out location of some possum poo for rolling in later.  No, now.  No, later.  No, must do now.  No, save it for later.  No — oh, I can’t decide.

Come running when Jane yells out the door “DON’T YOU DARE ROLL IN THAT!”  Puzzle for just a moment — how does she know I am about to roll in something pleasantly pungent?  Wasn’t she making coffee?

Come trotting in nonchalantly and go to food bowl to pretend that I never ate all the cat food and therefore I am hungry for my breakfast.

Refuse to eat dry dog food breakfast until canned food is mixed in.  (C’mon man, it is my birthday after all!)

Scratch at front door this time.

7.3 seconds after door closes, bark to come back in.

Stare at Jane sitting at computer, writing with a cat on her lap.

“Long walk, please.”

Feel dumbfounded that Jane has such lousy hearing.  I can hear the Fed Ex man drop a paper clip in his truck 10 houses away, but she is so human.

Momentarily distracted by squirrel on the suet feeder by the window.  That squirrel makes me very agitated.

Back to Jane.   Still typing.  Maybe I’ll just close my eyes for a little while….

{6 hours later…}

What, huh? What time is it?  ~yawn~  Almost time for dinner, that’s what time it is!

*

So, we love the dog a silly amount and we will enjoy her arbitrary special day and use it to remind us that all good things do come to an end so we can just enjoy every day with her now.  That was an awkward sentence but I think you know what I mean.  Her birthday will include an actual walk in that dream day somewhere.  If we find a squished roadkill furry woodland animal on the road, I will let her sniff it this time (but not roll on it).  And she’ll get lots of love.  And, possibly, some wet dog food mixed with rice and sculpted into a squirrel for dinner.  Something that can hold a candle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In fond memory of our good dog friend Angel, who passed away a week ago today and would have loved to share a birthday squirrel with Kenzie.  She was much loved and is missed.

“If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went.”

Will Rogers, 1897 – 1935

The dog and our dearly departed cat never had a fond relationship.  It was more akin to predator and prey.  Whatever undeciphered mixed breed of mutt we have, her DNA is hardwired to chase small furry animals.  So the new kittens must have looked like dog treats squeaky toys baby squirrels to the dog, and you can guess the delectability of small furry woodland animals, the same ones that taunt her in the backyard, just on the other side of her fence.

All of which makes these bedfellows all the more unlikely.

Admittedly, the dog has a “Just one little bite?  Pleeeease??” kind of look in her eyes.

Or perhaps it is really a look of “I hope none of the neighborhood dogs see this or I will be a laughingstock”.

“Perhaps if I feign disinterest, the cat will just leave.”

“No such luck.  Yawns are just contagious.”

Hmmmmm.

A Christmas miracle?  Just a warm spot on the couch?  My overactive anthropomorphizing imagination?

???

Whatever the reason, they remind me of a true sentiment of the season:

Peace on Earth

and goodwill among all.*

*even those who simply get along like cats and dogs

Why is a cat on top of thee?

*

O Christmas tree, O Christmas Tree,

why do the ornaments go * “wheeeeee!” * ???

*

The top does sway, the star did fall,

That’s why it’s tied right to the wall…

*

O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree,

A kitten treehouse you will be.

*

Happy Holidays to all!

Wait, um, I mean, those are not my windows… Ha! Silly me.  Yeah this is definitely someone else’s house and that kitten just looks like my kitten Cowboy.

But the point remains:  I have hit the 30,000 word mark on my NaNoWriMo quest, and am reminded that balancing on the very edge of my personal comfort zone makes my heart race, and the idea of leaping before I look? It is not the worst idea in the world.  Sort of liberating, actually.

She just likes to be tucked close under my chin.  Admittedly, I have a shelf-of-sorts, although it slopes gently southeast more with each passing year, so for now I try to hold her with my left hand and type with my right.  This is my dream problem, but it is a problem, as shown here in exhibit A:

i am nowtyping this witgh one hand whcih reaaly slashes the wordcount  productviity rate.  would be a goood idea to sollve this before say novmeber 1???

OK, back to two hands for a minute.  Maybe I should follow my own advice to my kids — think about the real problem and find solutions?  (They are sooooo tired of the word “solutions”…)

1. Kitten purring enhances productivity if/when I have use of approximately ten fingers.
2. Lap is not close enough to chin; although chin(s) keep migrating south also, there is thankfully still a large gap.
3. Moving shelf back to the north and increasing its level weight-bearing strength/buoyancy/perkiness would require costly surgery.

Here’s one thought:  the BabyBjorn was popular when my kids were babies, but I gave mine away years ago.  Even though the kittens are tripling in size every 48 hours, I still think Mia would be lost in a baby carrier.  Besides, she needs more of an under-chin sling, something shaped like a feedbag-of-sorts that can rest on the shelf-of-sorts, and keep her purring away in her ideal spot, hands-free .  The purring is as mesmerizing a writing aid as the cuckoo clock has always been;  I can just keep typing to the methodical beat of the clock and the kitten.

And perhaps the most poignant aspect of this situation?  Like The Ode To Joy, one never knows when the wonderful problem will stop as suddenly as it appeared, so one must enjoy the problem while it lasts.  The Ode ended as it inevitably had to do, and the Purring could easily find a more comfortable spot, leaving me in the silence I always wished for when the kids were small, and now dread.

So. There is how the idea for the new invention, The KittenKjorn, is born.

Admittedly, there is too small a target market (1? 2?) for this to be a viable business venture.  Plus the useful life of the product is short, unless you happen to also own a guinea pig or other furry mammal who also longs to snuggle under your chin (umm, yuck).  Here’s what makes the idea a winner for me though — when the kitten grows too large, which should be shortly after NaNoWriMo at the current feline growth rate, the KittenKjorn could be repurposed, maybe with snacks?  Say, Chex Party Mix?  Or cookies?  There will be a lot of editing starting December 1, and I do need to keep that productivity up…